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| - A gargantuan severed buffalo head, periodically decorated for holidays and/or sporting events, holds court over the open air expanse of the main dining room. The servers glide about all in black, smiling at the madding lunch crowd. There are all the expected cheap beer specials, but what really surprises is the black bean burger: crispy and light and served on a delicately buttered roll--it is more or less the antithesis of the pile of sauce-saturated wings or ground chuck artery clogger one might expect to find here paired with a PBR dispensing helmet...that is until one loads it up with grilled onion, egg, and avocado. These are necessary additions, however, bolstering the sandwich's natural richness, and in keeping with the spirit on things. Make no mistake, HB is a bar designed for ravenous fans of all manner of sport and debauchery. The other day, a group by the window watched a fifteen foot Budweiser bottle balloon inflate and waiver in a fry-oil scented breeze across the narrow street to the Q, the consensus being that here was a sentinel implemented to keep watch and give the occasional belch of blessing. Salute the bottle, and the ol' shaggy noggin on the wall that looks like Grendel's distant cousin (crossbred with Sasquatch perhaps, to enhance its heavy American charm). Dig into your veggie burger or perhaps your savagely named and evidently super-juicy "motherclucker" and prepare to soon be bemoaning and/or praising the work of muscular men on the televisions.
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