How Much is that Doggie in the Window

Place Two: One Trick Pony

Going to One Trick Pony on October 3, 2008, would be a lot like starting a MySpace account on October 3, 2008. With either venture, their peak in societal relevance and importance has come and gone, making those respective endeavors somewhat of a wasted effort. That is, the time involved could certainly be better spent elsewhere. But, if you take the time, you'll find that none of your friends are there, anyway.

This characterization might be unfair. After all, One Trick Pony is ten years old, which is an awkward age within the context of downtown Grand Rapids--too old to be cool, and too young to be a landmark. Accordingly, One Trick Pony has the feel of a place that is built for suburbanites who want to have dinner downtown on a weekend. In that respect, it's like the B.O.B. for acrophobics or agoraphobics. Unfortunately, the Pony's current role as a Mecca for gastronomic gentrification^TM might be hard to sustain long-term, especially when that demographic discovers that the vastly hipper Rockwell's/Republic has valet parking, thus obviating the need to set foot on Divison Avenue (yikes!). In any instance, the empty tables in the picture to the left, which was taken on a Friday night, remove any doubt that One Trick Pony is a Place that Nobody Goes.

Ambiance: Two Tumbleweeds

I'd always wondered what Applebee's would be like if it were downtown and called One Trick Pony. However, it's all very clear to me now. Putting old musical instruments on the wall probably seemed like a good idea back in 1997, though the same can't be said of that guy's haircut (zing!). Honestly, though, the look of exposed brick is rarely improved upon through strategic trombone case placement, and the walls of the Pony are no exception.

Consumables: Four Tumbleweeds

The Pony has an extensive menu, with items like Portabella Wellington and Pesto-Rubbed Salmon. Along with a better-than-it-needs-to-be selection of microbrews on their equally extensive drink menu, OTP (yeah, you know me?) rates high in the consumables department.

Hidden Treasure Factor: One Tumbleweed

To constitute a Hidden Treasure, a Place needs to be either (a) hidden or (b) a treasure. OTP is on Fulton, just off Division, so it can hardly be called hidden. As for treasurosity, I just wasn't feeling it. Sometimes you enter a Place Nobody Goes and immediately want to leave, which seems like the opposite emotion that one would experience when happening upon, say, some gold doubloons or pieces of eight. I must say that One Trick Pony felt more like the former than the latter, and it is therefore entitled to only one Tumbleweed.

Place One: The Hideout

I once drove past a burger place; it may or may not have been Mr. Burger. Their sign out front declared, ‘[y]ou can have bacon on any burger.’ Though hardly a ringing endorsement for Mr. Burger when taken literally, I chose to interpret the phrase as some sort of aspirational metaphor. Equal parts ‘when life hands you a lemon, make lemonade’ and ‘the fundamentals of our economy are strong,’ the burger-plus-bacon mantra speaks of optimism, self-sufficiency, freedom, and personal taste. It is with that spirit that our journey at Places Nobody Goes began.

The Hideout is a microbrewery that shares an address with a hot tub rental organization called Hubba Tubba, which seems like a surefire recipe for dehydration and a sedentary lifestyle. Traveling to The Hideout is an experience in and of itself, as Plaza Drive is a long, meandering, unlit road with apartment buildings on both sides and only a sign consisting of poster-board, magic marker, duct tape, and a dream to guide the way (see picture, above). At the end of the road, The Hideout beckons.

Immediately after walking in, it became apparent that seating was at a premium on this particular Saturday nite, but only because there were no more than a dozen bar stools total on the main level. Our group of four ended up at a long table that was shoved against a wall, which meant that two of us were facing a windowless slab of cement adorned with a clock. The Hideout combines the best aspects of microbreweries with those of being placed in Time-Out by your kindergarten teacher.

There is more to The Hideout than initially meets the eye, though. Upstairs there was more seating, along with a foosball table, shuffleboard/carpetball, dart boards, and a computer. The computer was a desktop, ostensibly from the mid-90s; a sign above the monitor said that it was not for playing games. So, if you plan on going to The Hideout, leave your SimCity diskette at home, or something. Also upstairs was a table of people eating pizza that they had brought in from a nearby restaurant. There is also a significant outdoor component to The Hideout that included a drained swimming pool, baggo/bags/cornhole, ladder golf/hillbilly horseshoes, and more shuffleboard. This place would be perfect for an Out-Of-Shape-Guy Decathlon.

Ambiance: Two Tumbleweeds

There isn’t much to say that hasn’t been said. The outdoor ‘beer garden’ area is about 3x as large as the main-level seating area, which, for unexplained reasons, is somewhat unsettling.

Consumables: Three Tumbleweeds

Giving credit where credit is due, The Hideout does make its own beer. While Tumbleweeds are not ordinarily given for effort alone, making beer seems complicated and ambitious, or at very least utilitarian and time-consuming. Furthermore, there were 10 or so beers available when we visited, and the four we tried exceeded our admittedly low expectations. In terms of food, though, the menu contains five items: chips and salsa, nachos, a soft pretzel, a cheese and crackers plate, and popcorn. If you add Swiss Cake Rolls to the list, you basically have my after-school snack options circa 1995.

Hidden Treasure Factor: Two Tumbleweeds

The Hideout asks more questions than it answers (e.g. What's the story with the drained swimming pool? How does Hubba Tubba fit in with the overall business model? When did you realize that being three miles from anywhere that someone could conceivably happen to drive by and wander into, depite being located in the middle of Grand Rapids, was a bad idea?). That said, these questions are not quite interesting enough to require answers, which is somehow analogous to the awkward position of The Hideout within the PNG calculus: it isn't good enough to be considered important, and it isn't bad enough to be, either.

Somewhere, Dr. Atkins is Weeping

Within the context of law school, it's been said that you can get a free lunch any day of the week if you look hard enough. On a given day, this may mean giving blood, feigning interest in an extracurricular noon-hour lecture, or joining the Jewish Legal Society.

Today an opportunity presented itself that combined two wonderful things: (1) pizza and (2) a portly man introducing advanced computer-based searching techniques. But at that point, things took an unusual turn, as the free pizza was topped with penne pasta. It is safe to assume that this previously unknown pizzeria is a Place that Nobody Goes.

A post based on an actual visit to a Place Nobody Goes is forthcoming, perhaps as early as this weekend.

It Starts

We go to Places Nobody Goes, so you don't have to. The premise is simple: there are a lot of businesses in Grand Rapids that no one talks about, and to which even less people go. They may be wonderful or they may be terrible, although common sense would suggest that they are closer to the latter. In any event, we consider it our responsibility to find that out and report back to you.

You're welcome.