Dallas's Most Authentic Dive Bars
Pull up a stool, order some cheap whiskey and don’t forget to duck when the beer bottles fly
Who's it for? Couples and families—there's even a high chair.
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Tradewinds Social Club
2843 W. Davis St.
Dallas, TX 75211-3679
Category: Bars/Clubs
Region: Cockrell Hill
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Ships Lounge
1613 Greenville Ave.
Dallas, TX 75206
Category: Bars/Clubs
Region: East Dallas & Lakewood
Lakewood Landing
5818 Live Oak St.
Dallas, TX 75214
Category: Bars/Clubs
Region: East Dallas & Lakewood
Winedale Tavern
2110 Greenville Ave.
Dallas, TX 75206
Category: Bars/Clubs
Region: East Dallas & Lakewood
Cooper's Restaurant and Club
2424 S. Cockrell Hill Road
Dallas, TX 75211-8102
Category: Restaurant > American
Region: Cockrell Hill
New O'Malley's Club
2720 S. Zang Blvd.
Dallas, TX 75224
Category: Bars/Clubs
Region: Oak Cliff & South Dallas
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Hipster Dive
5818 Live Oak St.
214-823-2410
To call the Landing a dive is sort of like calling a laptop DJ a musician. The crowd is mostly younger, and it's hard to qualify anything in Lakewood—an area full of trendy restaurants and yuppies who call themselves bohemian—a dive. Plus, the place's slogan, "An Upscale Dive," presents two problems. First, many would make the argument that it's a contradiction in terms. And second, there's the matter of self-identification: A dive can't know it's a dive.
But in the Landing's defense, the food and drinks are cheap, and the place welcomes all to come and slump into one of its booths dimly lit by a vintage Bud lamp. Decoration is mostly of the sentimental variety, with photos of beloved regulars and a shrine to the late, beehived waitress Lucille. The CD jukebox—not one of those Internet things, thankfully—is heavy on local bands, indie-rock and classic country. It's a rare and heartening sight to see Baboon, Squeeze and Johnny Cash rubbing shoulders, though the impeccably selected music also raises the issue of an all-out hipster takeover.
But on any given night, there'll be at least a few old-timers and punch-clock types yelling at whatever game is on and pounding back liquor like it's the eve of Prohibition. And in a weird cultural paradox, if the oldsters were to stop coming in, the hipsters would fear for their dive-bar cred and stop coming as well. And if that happened, it will once again be the domain of the colorful characters who order cheap beer, not because Pabst Blue Ribbon and Lone Star are this year's ironic trend, but because that's what they can afford.
Who's it for? If you can't name your favorite album by Waylon Jennings, Big Star or The Pixies, you might be out of your element.
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Dive Where You Could Take Mom (If She Doesn't Already Work There)
6524 E. Northwest Highway
214-750-5833
Pity the band that competes for patrons' attention against the raucous games of darts, shuffleboard, pool, cards and shit-talking on a Saturday night at the Copper Spur Saloon—especially if the band in question, a marginally talented cover outfit, is playing for free as an "audition" for possible future gigs. Judging by the crowd's indifference, this freebie will be the cover band's one and only appearance.
It's a tough crowd, but maybe they're just following the lead of owner Nell Scarborough, a stocky gray-haired woman whose quick movements belie her years. She watches over her customers like a mother whose children long ago stopped disappointing her and have since become a source of amusement. When a player at the card table requests a cup of coffee at midnight, she makes no effort to oblige.
"He wants a coffee," she shouts across the room, smirking. "What does this look like, a Starbucks?"
"Hey, Nell, I'll have a decaf latte," blurts out a regular seated near the shuffleboard tables. Others join in, hooting and calling out ridiculous orders.
"You people think this is a Red Lobster?" Scarborough yells to nobody in particular. "This is a beer joint!"
Red Lobster probably wouldn't hide a franchise behind a Tejano club in a potholed parking lot across from Keller's on Northwest Highway. But there's no hiding the beer—cold, cheap and American—or the constant din of clinking bottles pounding against tabletops or shattering in trash cans. Of course, with happy hour prices including $3 wells till midnight on some nights, the harder stuff isn't an uncommon sight.
As much as Scarborough seems to enjoy ribbing her patrons, she looks out for them too. Minutes after I enter alone, she approaches me, an obvious outsider, and begins to quiz me, somewhat aggressively: Where was I from? Where did I hear about the bar? What bars did I usually frequent? Did I work nearby? She seems content with my answers because she replies to each with an enthusiastic, "Well, there you go!" She takes her regular seat at the bar, the stool nearest the front door, and recounts our conversation to a middle-aged guy sitting next to her, making no effort to lower her booming voice.
I figure I'd better make myself look busy. There are no empty chairs at the card table and the video poker machine doesn't take singles, so I put a dollar in a Cherry Masters 96 eight-liner and draw out the experience with minimum bets. "For Amusement Only," the disclaimer warns, so I try to look amused.
A drink or two later, an attractive 40-ish blond waitress visiting the bar on her night off stops by to make sure I'm OK. She says I look lost. I must be. Of the couple dozen people in the bar, the only other two around my age appear to have come with their parents.
Who's it for? Best enjoyed with a group of drinkers who realize that mechanical bulls are for tourists.
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