By Erin Randolph firstname.lastname@example.org
Frogs is confused. The suburban
strip mall establishment, located
at 7460 Hickman Road in Windsor
Heights, has a name that would
suggest it caters to the near-Depends
and colostomy bag crowd, yet its
clientele is made up of twentysomething
punks, hippies and preps. Ebenezer
Frogs has a dècor that
suggests, thanks to an abundance
of exposed wood beams, a ski lodge
or a German beer hall, yet the
Irish drinking songs on the jukebox
and the abundance of shamrock-related
regalia suggests it thinks itself
an Irish pub. And the fact that
it's in a strip mall in Sherwood
Forest, well, that just means
it's in the suburbs.
Though the Bar Fly has spent
a great deal of her life living
in the western suburbs of Des
Moines, she never knew the place
existed. Neither did Drinking
Assistants Brian and Drew, who'd
scouted out Frogs earlier in the
day while they had a car serviced
at a nearby Phillips 66.
We decide to head there on a
Friday night, and we're greeted
by a small crowd of young'ns mingling
around the bar, which, oddly enough,
is sunken into the ground, as
its floor sits at least a good
foot below the level of floor
where Ebenezer Frogs' three pool
tables (at 75 cents a pop) sit.
We head straight up to the bar
to order our drinks ($2.75 domestic
bottles, though the bar also has
22-ounce bottles of Bud Light
that are a mere $2 on Mondays)
from an indifferent bartender
before retiring to a table near
the door and jukebox.
We're joined by Drinking Assistant
Nicole, and later, Chris, who
upon entering the door says he
likes the place. However, within
a minute, Chris has already changed
his opinion, as he spouts off
negative comment after negative
comment. We chalk this up to the
fact that Ebenezer Frogs doesn't
take credit cards, making Chris'
desire to get even more hammered
a little bit harder than he'd
"They don't take credit
cards here," Chris says dejectedly.
"Because this isn't a bar
"It's not?" Nicole
"Apparently not, because
they don't take credit cards."
Nicole and the Bar Fly head
up to the jukebox, where a sign
touts $5 for 18 picks. Well, turns
out it's 30, and finding that
many songs worth playing proves
to be a difficult task. We decide
on a whim (one obviously not thought
out well enough) to play an Irish
song called, appropriately enough,
"Come Back to Erin."
When it comes over the speakers,
however, it's apparent that what
we thought would be an Irish drinking
song turned out to be some mess
of an opera song.
"Good pick, guys,"
Brian says sarcastically.
"We had 30 picks and there
aren't 30 good songs on there,"
the Bar Fly says, trying to redeem
"Why couldn't you have
picked an Irish song like, 'I'm
Drunk and I Pissed My Pants'?"
Had it existed, we might have.
But speaking of pissing, the
men's bathroom is home to a sign
that says, "If you have an
8-inch dick, let go of it, cause
it ain't yours."
But we spend the rest of our
night amassing a table full of
Bud Light bottles, listening to
our good and also questionable
picks on the jukebox and watching
people who appear to be regulars
disappear into the bathrooms for
a considerable amount of time
or wander in and out of the pub
every 15 to 20 minutes.
We're not sure if we'll be back
to this ski lodge in a strip mall
(with shamrocks, stuffed animals
and frogs for decorations). Perhaps
when we're hard up for an open
pool table, a relatively cheap
drink and a mediocre jukebox.
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