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| - Musketeers. A curious little place. Not exactly a sports bar. Not rough enough for a biker bar. Not seriously drink- or food-oriented to be a real restaurant. Not polished enough to be a chain. Okay, that's what it ain't. What it am?
Musketeers is a clean, well-lighted place for booze. (I think they may have been confused when naming the place; the Cavaliers played just across the farmland from here, and they may have thought, "Cavalier? Musketeer? Shot 'n' Beer?") They toss in a whole raft of sports junk hanging from every quasi-level surface in the joint to appeal to the jock whose last success was in the junior high intermediate high hurdles at sectionals. They have a few dozen tee-vees, all of which are set to a different, random channel, to appeal to the socially/developmentally disabled and those unable to make eye contact with their date OR their beer. They have some food, all of which is pretty damned tasty.
They also have some pretty nice servers, bartenders, managers, lackeys, soap scrubbers, glad-handers and one woman who appears to have no discernible task than to drive men totally mental. What was I saying?
Place looks like they did their level best to convert a machine shop that skipped rent into a bar 'n' grill. Not bad, but charming it ain't.
I usually get a pizza to go, then tell my daughter, "Oh, it isn't quite ready yet. I guess I'll have a dozen beverages while we wait." They are just so CUTE at that age!
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