Booze off the beaten path

By Jordan Hickey

Published Sept. 2, 2008

It shouldn't come as a surprise that the MU student population is a lot like a team of draft horses. We tend to fixate on that which is in front of us: the ever-escalating price of books, the downtown bar scene stuffed to the brim with clichés and the thong belonging to that one girl (or guy) in physics who sits in front of you and tends to lean forward a lot. That being said, I'd like to be the one to take off the blinders, give you a good smack in the face and say, "Wake the fuck up!" But I can't. What is below is a guide to some of the lesser-traveled Columbia establishments of note that provide an excellent service, food, beer and so forth. But it's only a guide. You're the one who has to provide the initiative to get to know the community and take a look around.

Cooper's Landing

I tell myself that what I'm eating shouldn't exist. It's Thai food and Guinness, and I think it should go without saying that there's just something about Thai food being sold on a Missouri riverfront that is ... well, kind of unsettling to say the least. The fact that it's really damn tasty makes me suspect that I'm dreaming. But the blend of Thai, imported beers, barbecue and domestics is really just scratching the surface of what comprises the identity of Cooper's Landing.

There are rainbow umbrellas and a constant influx of cyclists with spandex leggings and shorts who don't remove their bike helmets when they go into the store. (I suspect they're afraid of losing that sense of identity.) There are the people that you know will never leave. Inside there's a gathering area with folding chairs and printed tablecloths made out of plastic and a big screen TV that broadcasts sports events and home movies (when we first walk in, there's a local belly dancer gyrating on screen). On the outside porch, a can has been labeled "Tips - Musicians 401K."

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a huge fan of traipsing through the outdoors. When I think RVs (like those scattered nearby), I think hot cousins; I think cowboy hats and the innocent country gal with homemade clothing and a brother who makes meth in the trailer. But there's a special attraction that Cooper's Landing has - the fact that so many different peoples can come together over Thai or barbecue and enjoy the surroundings. It's magical, shit.

The Hideaway Club

I don't trust the pickled sausage. Deep within the cloudy, green concoction of brine - and whatever else it is that has the properties to pickle meat - the thin, slightly blurred fingers of questionable-meat-like-substance are leering at me. I don't trust them, so I drink beer. Boulevard. Down the bar, there are the barstool fixtures hunched over the counter like clocks on a mantle that grunt and chime with some degree of regularity. They eat a few sausages dripping with brine, and I find myself wondering if they'll die as a result.

The air is rank with memory in The Hideaway Club. The dartboards are pockmarked, and there's just this feel to the place that makes it seem almost like sacred ground. But what makes this place so incredible isn't just the way that locals are (typically) willing to chat and pass the time over a few drinks, it's the freedom that even outsiders have to form memories of their own. Case in point: The first time that I went to The Hideaway, I partook in the celebration of middle-aged woman's wedding anniversary and rode a motorized wheelchair going 40 mph down a long stretch of pavement in front of industrial storefronts just down the road from the bar at 2:30 a.m. (A few notes on this: one, this was probably a one-time experience due to a rather bizarre chain of events. Two, I hadn't been drinking at all that evening.)

That's just the sort of place the Hideaway is. As long as you're respectful of the place, Hideaway will make you glad that you came.

Black and Gold

Black and Gold is a clash of cultures, of indelible substances that refuse to be blended into one fine assimilated whole - like oil and vinegar ... or the colors black and gold. The camouflage hats and open-back dresses, high heels and camo shirts are intermingled here. They bond over $1 Busch on Wednesdays, shots of Jäeger, and in a pickup parked in front of the bar where a couple guys are "tailgating" for the Mizzou game.

I'll be the first to admit that sometimes the thought of dashing away from B/G is rather appealing. The façade is nicely stylized hardcore non-descript and the confederate flag decals ironed on the back of canvas jackets may be the first thing you lay your eyes on when the door swings open. But if you sit for about 10 minutes or so, you'll come to realize that this place has a color all its own, one that I can guarantee you won't be seeing downtown.

(As a rule, the atmosphere of B/G seems like it's changed each time I've gone, but there's typically a solid crowd on game days.)

While you may not always be treated to raucous bachelorette parties or song choices that include classics like "Let's Get Drunk and Screw" or "Redneck Woman" (seriously), the provided seating allows for endless entertainment. If the potential for that kind of fun doesn't quite seal the deal for you, it's worth mentioning that the ubiquitous woodcarvings of Greek letters, birthday messages and drunken notes scribbled in Sharpie that blanket the tables should certainly be incentive enough to drop by. (My personal favorite: "SEABISCUIT Biscuit Hitler." Really, I can't make that kind of stuff up.)

Lucy's

The first time that I called Lucy's in McBaine, Missourah, it was to ask about their hours of operation. I was then told that they would be closing sometime around when the last dog barked. I didn't know what that meant.

The town of McBaine, Missourah, has a total population of 17, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I may have seen a third of that when I went to Lucy's for lunch earlier this week. There's a faint wafting odor of cigarettes and fried chicken that permeates the air. Portraits of the patron saint John Wayne are hung above the door. They look over the expansive collection of cowboy memorabilia in the place that has been left in the past. There's an old cigarette machine with new cigarettes.

Of all the places that are included in this write-up, there is none that is so starkly "townie" as this. While I enjoyed intermittent conversation with the women behind the counter (who were very much amazed that I ate two cheeseburgers), there's certainly an air of "this place is for the people who make this town their home." That's not to say that I wouldn't count this among the necessary places to visit while attending school in Columbia, it's just that you don't always feel like this is someplace you belong.