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| - every time i come to phoenix a pattern develops. i get off the plane. breathe in the warm air, think to myself, i could live here. then the mother tells me about some "fabulous" place (usually part of some fox or lettuce entertain you entity or some other yuppie/old people chain) that we HAVE to go to. we go, wherever she takes me, we are surrounded by douchwits and faketitterellas talk about how great sarah palin is or just how great they are. i get impatient and irritable and swear i will never ever live here.
it didn't happen at bloom. i did throw up in my mouth a bit as we walked by culinary dropout at the douchery on the patio, but bloom had a great fucking happy hour. pastrami sandwich was huge, as you get fries and a pickle for about 6 bucks, i got me a little wine trifecta, the calamari were tasty as, and the basic salad was on par. we did hear some asshole old people being dicks to the waitress about the size of their happy hour martini glasses, but it was shortlived.
the quality and portion of the food for the happy hour prices were impressive compared to other happy hours that try to do the same. i would go outside and get a table at the end. as tasty and affordable as it was, im much more excited to embark upon a dive bar tour of the city...
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