With respect to Dan’s Cafe on 18th Street:
Just how divey is this Adams Morgan bar? So divey that it’s one of those places that has objectively smelled worse since D.C. banned smoking in bars six years ago. Hot in the summer and cold in the winter, this anonymous looking and sparsely decorated watering hole along 18th Street NW serves up some of the strongest drinks in town: order a rum and Coke, and you’ll get an eighth of rum, a can of Coke and a bucket of ice. It’s an unpretentious place to spend a night, but be forewarned: it’s not the type of place you should go to end a night, because it’ll end badly.
Unpretentious is right. The first time I went to Dan’s I made the mistake of ordering a Sierra Nevada. (It was on the sign listing their beer selection.) Here’s how that went:
“I’ll have three Sierra Nevadas.”
“Sierra Nevada? Who the fuck are you, Bill Gates? We don’t have Sierra Nevada.”
“Okay, well, what do you have?”
“Alright, three of those.”
“Three Millers for Bill Fucking Gates.”