A few months ago, I did a boys trip to Atlantic City. A former co-worker invited me to join him for a few days of R ‘n’ R while he played in The Junkies poker tournament. After getting permission from Tish, I began to do my usual investigation of what places to have fun and dine in.
At the time, I was visiting a few speakeasies in the D.C. area and was thinking this would be a good way to broaden Shorty’s palette. Oh yeah, I forgot to introduce the man who invited me…Ryan Sonner, aka Shorty. He is an ex-writer at the newspaper we worked at and after deadline we would go out and visit the W.V. brass pole ballet.
(Ed’s note: Shorty edited this post for clarity and to make sure the entire story was told as accurately as possible, as the author is likely to conveniently “forget” things. He has added his thoughts throughout, as you’ll see.)
The best story from those early years:
I had settled in for the night. Popcorn had been made, I’m comfy in my recliner with an old shirt and boxers – I know you didn’t need that visual. All set to watch some TV, when a knock at the door disturbed my world. The Ex answered the door, she didn’t know either of them. Shorty walked in along with his better half and the BH looked me dead square in the eyes and said: “I wanna go look at some Tits!”
Needless to say, we headed to brass pole ballet!
Hey…when a woman wants to go to a strip club you don’t ask questions, you go!
Back to present times, a few restaurants popped up but most were in Casinos and were signature restaurants of celebrity chefs. This interests me, but it doesn’t. When I searched for speakeasies, a few came up and of course they were closed. A few cigar bars, one of the best had closed down at the Revel but other existed. Then one link kept showing up, Atlantic City Bottling Company. This looked like an online liquor store. I meander around the site and discovered that they have a speakeasy/restaurant in the back…The Iron Room.
This had potential, now if I can only convince my Miller Lite swilling friend to put on a pair of big boy pants instead of cargo shorts. I could help him discover the difference between eating & dining.
(Shorty here: Miller Lite tastes great and is less filling. Don’t hate.)
As I fed him my findings, he was cool with whatever we did. When I informed him that reservations were a must for this joint, he wanted to know whether he needed to rent a tux, smart-ass!
I coordinated with him about the time for our dinner because of the tournament. If he was in the final seating and had a shot at winning (Shorty here: HAHA! I wish!) then I could make the reservations later and he could pay with his winnings. Reservations were made, and my mini vacation was set in motion.
The week of our trip, I spent my evenings getting bags packed and all the necessary tools; cigar cutters, torch lighters, respectable stogies and anything else for an alcohol soaked time in Atlantic City. (Shorty here: Note that all that took an entire week worth of evenings. Typical old man. He ended up packing one bag. The Big K’s Note: A bag of cloths, a cooler, a tote full of stogies and one with toiletries. That make 4 bags bitch!)
I planned to leave around 7 in the A.M. to rendezvous with Shorty at his crib. Of course, my ride into No.Va. was like a normal day…it sucked (Shorty here: Not if you know how to drive).
After Siri took me into the wrong neighborhood…bitch, I finally arrived only to hear: “Where the hell have you been!” I wanted to kick his testicles into his throat!
After he got his bunched up panties adjusted, we got on the road to Jersey.
We listened to The Junkies as we sped around the Capital Beltway. A 4 hour ride to the Jersey shore and I don’t remember the exits being that far apart from each other in the Garden State. As we pulled into A.C., Shorty points out the now closed Revel & Trump Taj Mahal Casinos. We are staying on the marina because those casinos seem to be thriving. (Shorty here: The marina casinos provide you the best chance not to get murdered.) Since we had time before check in, he was in search for a small dive bar to grab some grub and adult beverages. We traveled up and down this one street looking for this place and he finally spotted it…Pic-A-Lilli Pub.
A crusty looking establishment that has all the signs of a dive bar. Shorty swears by the Buffalo Chicken Egg Rolls. An order is placed along with Chicken Tenders and Onion Rings. PBR Tallboys were ordered to get the day of drinking started. Shredded chicken tossed in a buffalo sauce then deep fried in an egg roll wrapper…can’t get any better than that. The tenders were similar but the surprise was the onion rings lathered in the same buffalo sauce. It was worth the hassle to find this place! After a few of Americas finest pilsners (sorry Shorty), it was on to Harrah’s to get settled in.
Of course the room wasn’t ready!
Shorty wasn’t happy and his panties were starting to ride up again. What could we do? Shorty played a few Nationals jersey numbers at the Roulette table and then we headed to the nearest bar and the wait began. We drank (Shorty here: we drank heavily, as you’re about to find out.) and planned our evening, as he waited for a text from the front desk to let us know our room was ready. The beer flowed and the time past. “Shorty, have you heard from them yet?”
It was after 4 p.m. and still no room. He paraded over to the front desk and was civil about it and that’s when she informed him the room wasn’t ready. I shook my head, and that’s when she said; “I know what I can do.”
A smile spread across Shorty’s face and we were on our way to nearest elevator. This area seemed a bit remote. I figured he pissed the ole girl off and she is sending us to a room next to the noisy kitchen. I. Was. WRONG!
He pushed the button for the penthouse. Now We’re Talking! (Shorty here: Seems like a good place to mention that the room was comped for both nights. You really shouldn’t go to Vegas or Atlantic City without getting something for free, right? At least, that’s what I learned from Swingers.)
A big ole room, with an incredible view. It was time to start thinking about going to the Borgata for the evening’s festivities. The Junkies were hosting a party at The Gypsy Bar which is a Tequila Bar. After changing into proper clothing, we grabbed a cab and headed over the B Bar to burn a few stogies, and more drinks.
I found a quaff-able Fr
ench Cab Sauv as he enjoyed his Miller Lite to pair with our stogies. (Shorty here: We burned a pair of awesome Sons of Anarchy Black Crown cigars. Excellent choice. In related news, my new dog is named Jax.) The evening was young and my buzz wasn’t bad. Little did I know, it was about to get worse!
On the other side of the Borgata was The Gypsy Bar. There wasn’t much of a crowd at the start so we sat at the bar and enjoyed the next round of drinks. I ordered Makers & Ginger and he stuck with the barley & hops (Shorty here: I somehow drank a shitload of Bass Ale and enjoyed it.). The tabs were paid and even though I enjoyed my lone drink, it wouldn’t be the last. I don’t remember who bought the next round (Shorty here: Probably me. Don’t recall.) but multiple drinks were handed too me and I kept hearing “it’s on me.” We got to meet a few of the Junkies: Lurch, JP & Cakes were present for the event.
We struck up a conversation with the guys next to us. We rambled for awhile and the one says; “If you can guess what we do for a living, we will buy you a drink.” I’ll take you up on this, I thought to myself.
I did a quick look at them, I had a few ideas. Chefs or Cops as I kicked it around in my head, I went with my first guess.
“Based on the way you’re drinking and the full sleeve of tattoos, I’m going to say; restaurant industry.” When they said Cops, I thought to myself, CRAP!
This is when the night got…what’s the phrase all the kids use these days: Cra-Cra? (Shorty here: No. The kids do not say that. No one does. Please don’t do that again.)
I as I stated earlier, we only paid for one round of drinks. I had counted 6 Makers & Ginger, with the rest of what I consumed I knew the next morning wasn’t going to be pretty. (Shorty here: Shocker, The author forgot a few things. One of the cops urged me to ‘friend’ him on Facebook so that we could stay in touch despite living 5 hours from each other. Anyway, Lt. Dangle didn’t even have his own Facebook page. He used his wife’s. His wife is not unattractive. The other cop got hammered and proceeded to unsuccessfully hit on a pair of women who were in town for a convention. They were very unattractive. After his attempts to woo the women fell flat, he decided it was time to sneak a few creepy pictures of one of the Junkies’ wives. It was all very awkward. We left before someone got arrested or punched in the gonads. Also, because we’re old and it was getting late.)
Back to Harrah’s we go and Shorty thought it was a good idea to go to some burger joint called Bill’s Bar & Grill and feast on greasy burgers and fries.
As morning came, I was right! I wasn’t feeling up to my wonderful self! A little ill from the over consumption and Shorty wasn’t feeling the best either. He felt so bad he by-passed his tournament to sleep off the hangover, but by mid-morning he was up and out the door to play some craps & blackjack. I stayed in the room hating life and slowing getting back to normal.
(Shorty here: I felt pretty crappy, but managed to pick myself up and lose a disturbing amount of money at the tables. Note: Do not play blackjack at Harrah’s. They will rape you with no lube and laugh at you while it’s happening.)
Shorty made a quick appearance to change into his swimming trunks and headed to soak in the hot tub. (Shorty here: The scenery in the pool area was fantastic, one of the best features at Harrah’s. I spent most of my time there in the 105-degree hot tub, sweating out the previous night’s poison. For the better part of two hours, I was surrounded by about a dozen voluptuous and comforting floatation devices. Let’s just say I’ve spent time in worse places, to be sure.)
I crawled out of bed showered and went to find food. Slices of Sicilian Pizza is the cure of a hangover. Most of the hardcore drinkers I know would tell me “Hair of the Dog!” Around 3 in the afternoon, I sat down in the lobby bar and had a Coppola Merlot, and after the first glass I was back to normal.
I talked with the bartender about the food scene in A.C. He mentioned a few places that I made a note of and when I told him our reservation plans for that evening, he said: “That’s the best place to eat in Atlantic City!”
I think I did good!
After Shorty got back from swimming and gambling most of the day, we changed into our proper attire and went for a pre-dinner drink. He opted for beer and I had a club soda just to be on the safe side. (Shorty here: Notice a trend?)
Our cab took us to a sketchy part of town and I was having second thoughts about this place. The street was empty and off in the distance we could see some lights in a store front. He pulled into an alleyway and directed us to a side door to the building. I’ve been in redneck bars like this with friends…we were lucky to get out alive.
We stepped inside and the nice bar area looked like a 5 star restaurant. After we got checked in we were seated and drink menus were presented to us. Shorty not backing down from the debauchery from the previous night, decided on one of the signature drinks, the house made Creamsicle. With all the mixes and bitters made on site, these drinks will be memorable. Being the wine lover that I am, I choose a Spanish Grenache to enjoy. As we sipped on our drinks, we looked over the menu. We discussed appetizers and decided the plate of house prosciutto and steak tartare would be a nice start. I’ve never really enjoyed tartare that much and Shorty had never tried it before, so while he was feeling adventurous, let’s not disappoint the boy!
The small plates are brought out and you would have thought we hadn’t eaten in days. When I suffer this much after a hard nights drinking, I always feel I could eat the ass end out of a dead Rhino! But we had to refrain a bit as we needed to select our entrees, Shorty selected the Grilled Salmon and veggies and I took a more Americana approach and picked The Flat Iron Burger.
Shorty gets another one of their signature drinks that has vodka, a little vermouth, peach juice and served with fresh raspberries. The drinks were quite tasty but as always…I’m all about the wine! (Shorty here: He misspelled ‘whine.’)
I’ve noticed the Grenache’s from Spain are a bit aromatic or herbaceous than those I’ve tasted from Australia. This had crunchy tannins and very fruit forward. It was nice to finally get a decent glass of wine.
Our dinner is served!
The burger cooked medium-well, two thick slices of Slab Bacon top with fresh Gruyere all resting on a toasted Brioche bun. The house cut fries were golden brown served with the chefs own ketchup. Time to dig in!
By the way Shorty was eating, you would have thought he was getting the electric chair and this was his last meal. I told him to come up for air at one point. He gave me this cold dead look that I knew I needed to keep quiet and let him eat. Don’t come between a man and his food.
The Flat Iron Burger was all that and a bag of chips! And based on the way Shorty was licking his chops, I’m guessing his was good too. (Shorty here: It was very good. Don’t go to AC without visiting this place. Also, you should enjoy a sandwich at the White House Sub Shop. Jersey doesn’t do many things well, but those shoe-lickers sure do know how to make a sandwich.)
As we head back to the casino, Shorty raves about The Iron Room. His plans are to revisit in the spring with the better half. I’m glad it made an impression. (Shorty here: We cabbed it from the casino to the restaurant, and hitched a ride back to the casino via Uber. We highly suggest Uber. The cost was about the same as a cab, but we got to ride in a tricked-out Chevy Tahoe with leather seats and a driver who actually knew where the hell he was going. Remember: cabs are terrible. Uber is not.)
The bed called my name (Shorty here: Again, notice a trend? It rhymes with mold.) and the blackjack table called for Shorty’s money. That ended our last night in A.C.
Friday morning came and it was time to pack up and head back to Ole Virginia. We zipped around the room and are loaded and ready to go. We have to make a stop for breakfast. He wanted a good home cooked breakfast and he got it! Gilchrist Restaurant was another hole-in-the-wall with some amazing cuisine. I got French Toast, Home Fries and Sausage and Shorty got the a Crab and Spinach Omelet with all the fixings. Good Damn Eats Y’all!
We made a few stops along the way and I tried to steer Shorty away from the game plan. Traffic was starting to get a bit heavy as we rolled into Maryland. He asked if I had ever been to a Tilted Kilt? Hell No I Have Not! A flip of his winker and we were off the interstate and rolling into the parking lot. I wasted no time bellying up to the bar. Ordered a Natty Boh’s and some boneless wings. As for the Ambiance…nice kilts!
Once we got on 95 South there was that wonderful sign…Welcome To Virginia!
For a Friday evening traffic wasn’t bad and the boys trip was about to come to a close.
Oh, there will be others and a return trip is being planned. Of course, we will not have a repeat performance of the last one. (Shorty here: Correct. It will likely be worse because the old man will be older and even less likely to handle his liquor.) Lessons were learned and if we run into those to cops from Jersey…what happens in Jersey, stays in Jersey or something like that.
(Shorty here: Seriously, it was a kick-ass trip that WILL happen again. We urge you to visit Atlantic City. People talk as if that town is dead. We can assure you it is not. Hell, the old man didn’t gamble one penny and he still had a great time!)
Below is the photo of me and Shorty with our new friends: The Jersey Cops!
crazynvirginia 