Baltimore’s Best Dive Bars

Feb 08, 2024

By Lydia Woolever

Photography by J.M. Giordano

Lettering by Luke Lucas

Spot illustrations by Jason Schneider

ALLY HUTCHINS HAS SPENT MOST OF HER LIFE behind the barat 1919. On a Wednesday evening in late October, the 60-year-old Baltimorenative stands with her back to the register, taking drink orders from patronswho arrive as soon as the door opens at 5 p.m.

“Hi, Dominic—what can I get for ya?” she shouts to a regular, her gray braid swinging as she lets out a raspy laugh and The Young Rascals’ 1967 “Groovin’” plays softly on the stereo.

By all accounts, Hutchins is at home here, as her family bought the place and its blue neonsign back in 1984, and she now lives upstairs with her husband, John, and theirbull terrier, Sniffy. Usually, though, she’s downstairs, amidst the tchk of beer cans andabove the other loose-leashed dogs who mosey in through the alley of this neighborhoodhangout, tucked back from busy Fleet Street on the eastern edge of Fells Point. In fact, blink, and you can miss it. Though not once you’re inside.

“Put something up and it never comes down,” she says, lookingaround the shrine-like walls, where every inch is covered in fading photographs, folk art, bumper stickers, cattle skulls, and Christmas lights that glow year-round—an eclectic patina that reflects the cast of local characters who have made this place their bar.

“We’ve had two deaths here, one wedding, and some people have even told me that theygot pregnant because of my drinks,” says Hutchins. “But at the end of the day, it’s just a bar. Sometimes magic happens.Sometimes nothing does.”

Of course, such stardust does not grace every drinking establishment, and barslike 1919 have become an endangered species. Today, we call them dive bars, which was once heard as an insult but is. now an undeniable term of endearment, particularly in these changing times. As longtime owners age out, new developers increasingly move in, leaving a sleek homogeny of high-end cocktail bars and hipsterfied microbreweries in their wake.

Dive bars, by contrast, defy definition, ranging in the eye of the beholder from simple, old-school, corner taverns, beloved for their bouffanted barkeeps, to rough-around-the-edges drinking dens, with loud music and dim lighting. Always, they sell affordable drinks and lack most modern amenities. Maybe there’s a jukebox, or a dartboard, and often, a well-worn pooltable. The faint whiff of cigarette smoke is commonplace. As is Keno. Don’t expect a website or social media—just know that they close late (or at a last-minute time of their choosing) and a handful still open at sunrise. Night and day, there are regulars, many of whom live within crawling distance.

“Peoplewould probably strike if we closed, so we keep going,” says Ana Marie Cushing of Cat’s Eye Pub on Thames Street, even as neighbors like BAR and The Wharf Rat fall like dominoes.

In Baltimore, neighborhoodbars were once a dime a dozen—some straightlaced, some rowdy—with seemingly everyblock offering a beer and a shot to a mix of shift workers, sailors, artists, newspapermen, and other street-roving souls. In 1968, there were 2,200 liquor licenses to today’s 1,221, and by 1979, Baltimore magazine predicted that, soon enough, “New bars will all look the same, and how a drinker is to tell one hanging-fern/exposed-brick/butcher-block-tabled spot from another escapes [us].” That proved alarmingly prescient. Then the coronavirus pandemic closed even more of these one-of-a-kind haunts for good.

“When one place goes, a little piece of you goes with them,” says Andy Norris, second-generation owner of Bertha’s Mussels, which will shutter on South Broadway this month after 50 years in business. “People come here from other places and find their own families. Which epitomizes Charm City.”

Indeed, these bars are intertwined in Baltimore’s identity—frayed tethers to its underdogspirit and blue-collar roots, crumbling temples of simpler times. Here, conversation conquers digital scrolling, and community is formed over strong-pour communion. At their best, these are everyman spaces—where regardless of age, class, race, or gender, everyone can come together over the Orioles, Utz, and Natty Boh. Though some haveundoubtedly opened their arms to outsiders more than others.

“We welcome everybody,” says Ben Franklin, veteran bartender at the Mt. Royal Tavern in Mid-Town Belvedere. “That is, until you become an asshole—then we throw you out.”

No nonsense. No nostalgia. No irony. No frills. No fuss. Baltimore dives hold the line between the past and future, where behind brick glass and Formstone facades this city can remember where it came from, and, with a good buzz, consider where it wants to go.

At the very least, we can still pull up a barstool and push the limits of last call just a little bit longer,particularly at watering holes like those featured below.

“This place has given me life,” says Hutchins, noting that her daughter, Zana, who manages 1919’s live-music lineup, hopes to take over the bar one day. By 6 p.m., it’s standing-room only, and no one seems to mind.

“I’ll probably stay until I can’t get up and down the steps anymore,” she says. “Besides, what else am I going to do?”

There are few places in Remingtonwhere the old andnewly revitalizing neighborhoodcollides more than thisblush-colored hole-in-the-wallon Miles Avenue. For thelast two decades, 3 MilesHouse has been anenclave for longtime locals towind down after a hardday’s work. Most regularsknock back cans of red-labelBudweiser, with scratch-offssold behind the bar,along with Newport cigarettesfor the smoking patio out back.It’s the old guard for the firstfew hours of service, but onweekend evenings, more recentresidents trickle in for thelacquered jukebox and games of darts under the watchfuleye of a painterly portrait of JohnWayne.

Know The Way:Get buzzed in through the 27thStreet door, next to themural of the bar’s late house cat,Missy, who was known tocurl up against customers.

Beloved by bartenders,this shot-and-a-beercombo wasapparently namedfor the post-shiftdrink of steam locomotiveworkers inthe 1800s. Whetherdowned as a slow sipor quick chaser, itremains a cheap,stiff way to take aload off. Never gowrong with abourbon and Boh.

There is a good chanceyou’ve driven down FleetStreet a thousand times andnever known that on theedge of a quiet alley sits thishidden gem of aneighborhood bar. Once youdiscover its blue neonsign, you’ll want to returntime and time again to thisnarrow Fells Point rowhouse,covered in an eclectic mix of mementos gathered overthe last 38 years. Amidstdusty chandeliers and colorfulstring lights, it’s a whimsical swirlof weird and wonderful thatbottles some dwindling essenceof Baltimore, whereartists, musicians, and otherbohemian types mingle withboth lifelong and come-lately neighbors over cans ofbeer, booze on the rocks,or owner Sally Hutchins’special dirty martinis. Onweekends, expect an impressivelineup of live alt-countrytunes, from bluegrassresidencies to theirmonthly hootenanny.

Must Love Dogs:Enter like a localthrough the side door,where repeat customersoften bring four-leggedfriends for happy hour.

Google might say that Buck’son Belair Road—pronounced“b’lair” in these parts—ispermanently closed. But pastnortheast Baltimore’s autobodyshops and car dealerships,on the literal city-countyline, you’ll find this circa-1950tavern is still kicking, though justbarely. Into the ’90s, the family-run, former “stag bar” (akamen only) was a popular hangout forColts players like Art Donovanand Bruce Laird, but many of its biggest fanshave kicked the bucket in recent years.Even so, the Coors Light signturns on daily at 11 a.m., withWBAL on the TV, a Sun on theoak bartop, and perhaps the city’sbest dartboard in the back room. During a recent lunch beer, onelocal, whom the tenured bartenderreferred to as “the mayor,”topped off his own tequilaand talked about how bustlingthe place used to be. Take hisadvice: “If you’re not lookingfor a lot of wild and crazyexcitement, come on down, sitwith the old farts, and have abeverage.”

All In The Family:The second-generation proprietor,Chuck, passed away in 2004,when he was eulogized inThe Sun as “the host with themost,” leaving the business tohis son-in-law.

There was a time notthat long ago whenevery Baltimore divekept a rail bottle ofwhite-label PikesvilleSupreme behind the bar. Firstdistilled in Marylandin the late 1800s,the rye whiskey wasdiscontinued in2016, much to thechagrin of imbiberswith frugal wallets and decent taste.

The red neon in the oblongwindows of Butts & Betty’sspeaks to the sort of all-service glory days that this 87-year-oldlinchpin once offered nearPatterson Park. Unlike thepackaged goods advertised onaging bar signs across the city,this Gough Street bar toutedsandwiches and money orders,while a newer marquee withsome missing letters also nowtrumpets lottery, NFL, and aworking ATM. Sadly the hotpastrami has disappeared, likemost of the Bethlehem Steelworkers who used to show upfor drinks and dinner at 6 a.m.Pizzas now get nuked behindthe bar to help buffer theJameson and Jell-O shots thatflow so freely here.Keno and a purple pool tableencourage you to stay awhile,while neighborhood pups, likePenny the pug, greet guestslike they own the place.

Leading Ladies:The bartenders ofthis fourth-generation, family-run,woman-owned businessare that just-right blend ofsurly and sweet that makes amodern Bawlmer hon.

If Baltimore had an officialhonky-tonk, it would be downthe cobblestones of ThamesStreet and up through the turquoiseportal of Cat’s Eye Pub.Seven days a week, this FellsPoint anchor cranks out a seriousroster of live music—fromrock-and-roll and blues to funkand jazz by notable local andregional favorites like Nothin’But Trouble, Sean K. Preston,and Ursula Ricks—luring a rug-cuttingcrowd, always ready for a good time. Maritimememorabilia nods to the neighborhood’s past, when wateringholes like this old faithful weresafe harbor for the tugboatcaptains and visiting sailors ofa working waterfront. As fancyhotels, valets, and bouncersmove in on the surroundingblocks, Cat’s Eye, circa 1975,keeps the salty-dog flame burning. Pick one of the35 beers on tap, ogle at the old oil-painting homage to Ireland, andask for second-generation owner TonyCushing, who is oftenbehind the bar and ready to pour a round ofshots.

Love Letters:After severalcoats of paint, management hasconceded that the bathroom graffitiis a rite of passage. Grab aSharpie and leave your mark.

Let’s pour one out forthose that have left us lately.

American Harry’s Backstretch SaloonBad DecisionsBARBertha’s MusselsDimitri’s

The DizzHoliday HouseLeadbetter’sLong John’s PubMidway Bar

Morsberger’s TavernPark InnPop’s TavernRendezvous LoungeThe Wharf Rat

We got into a heated debate atthe Mt. Royal Tavern overwhether Club Charles qualifiedas a dive bar. Low lighting?Check. Cheap beer and shotcombos? Check. A Rock-Olajukebox featuring an incrediblycurated catalogue that ranges from David Bowie to Björk?Check, check. Sure, Club Chuck,as it’s affectionately known, ishard to categorize, but in oureyes, this Art Deco hideout hasall the charm, edge, and crimsonLynchian lighting that fits thebill. Open Wednesday to Sundayuntil 2 a.m., it’s a rendezvous fornight owls of all ilks, often featuringa cast of creative charactersand the occasional visitfrom our own Pope of Trash,John Waters. Trust in the frontwindow’s neon “Cocktails”sign—the bartenders here makebona fide concoctions, often featuringmacabre names likePersephone and Corpse Reviver.We opt for the rye Manhattans.

Pulp Fiction:Owner Joy Martin’smother, Esther, opened the baras The Wigwam in 1951, whichWaters once described as “Studio54 for bums.”

Waxing rhapsodic about last-of-their-kind dives is especially true when it comesto stalwarts like The Drinkeryon Read Street. An institutionof the local LGBTQ communitysince 1972, this buttery-yellowbuilding on the western edgeof Mount Vernon is one of thelongest-standing gay bars inBaltimore, with the loss of otherinclusive establishments perhapsepitomized in The Hippo becominga CVS. Inside, the V-shapedbar follows the shapeof its snug room, and all aroundit, a buoyant crowd rubs elbowswhile Whitney Houstonblasts through the stereo.Order a cold can of Union CraftBrewing’s locally made DivineIPA, or a mixed drink of yourchoosing, but buyer beware—these are heavy pours. (Luckily,there’s a throwback snack machine to soak up the spirits.)“Dive bars are just more fun,” says manager Larry Evener.“There’s camaraderie—everybody gets to knoweverybody.”

Boogie Shoes:On our lastvisit, the back corner turnedinto an impromptu line dance,and all were welcome to join.

It’s been 15 yearssince Marylandbanned smokinginside bars andrestaurants, andwhile we don’tmiss the overflowingashtrays,we do have a softspot for the fewold dives thatnever got rid oftheir retro cigarettemachines.Some places stillsell packs frombehind the bar.

There’s a decision that mustbe made when visiting Frazier’son 36th Street in theheart of Hampden: to enterthe cavernous Cheers-like hallto the left, with its back billiards,compact bar,and shlumpy leather couchamidst a cacophonous swirl of’80s music and ole Bawlmerodes—Pimlico, Memorial Stadium,Arrow Beer. Or to enterthe small, rock-ish side bar to the right,with its single pool table andfading framed posters from the 1979 City Fair. “It’s crazyover there, isn’t it?” said oneregular on a Thursday evening,referring to the former as wesidled into a green laminatebooth in the latter. The sidebar opens at 5 p.m., while servicestarts at breakfast orlunch with hangover-curingcomfort food next door. Bothspaces draw a diverse mix oflocals for $2.50 happy-hourdrafts and a late last call of 2a.m. Karaoke is over, but trivianow takes place on Tuesdaynights.

Back In The Day:Circa 1939, the original Frazier’sused to be located on the now-residentialcorner of West33rd Street and Elm Avenue.

One might not expect to find acorner bar best known for itsdevotion to Chartreuse on alist of local dives, but next year,Idle Hour turns 20, and all along, thebeloved South Baltimorehaunt has straddled itsgood taste with an unpretentious irreverence, making itright at home in the once-working-class neighborhoodof Riverside. For certain customers,house picklebackshots are preferred over thatsignature green liqueur thathas been made by French monks since the 1700s (andwhich this bar was once apparentlythe top-seller of inthe entire United States). Onyour way in under its tiny tinawning, smack a favorite bumpersticker on the collage-likedoor, then grab a well-wornstool and listen to the recordplayer spin all night. A fewyears back, their loyal followinghelped raise over $50,000to keep the red lights glowingon Fort Avenue. Here’s to another 20, at least.

Rock On:The bar hosts BYO vinyl and DJnights, with listening sessionscurrently in collaboration withWYPR’s Essential Tremors radio show.

Searching for a dive bar inUpper Fells, you’ll likely walkright by Mary’s on its sleepycorner of Gough Street on your way toward its neighbor, Butts& Betty’s. Don’t come lookingfor loud music and stickycounters. Instead, owner JimPoniatowski keeps his pint-sizeparlor impeccably tidy,and he’s always on call, either in hisbackroom recliner or at thebar watching technicolor TVshows. Walking inside is like steppingback in time to the bygonedays when every Baltimoreblock had its ownstandby, tended to by thefolks who lived upstairs. Westumbled upon this multi-generation, circa-1959treasure years ago and havekept it close to the chest ever since,in hopes that it would stay as unchangedas it was that firstevening. Red awnings andwood paneling wrap the roomin warmth, and cold cans ofBoh are served with an itty-bittybeer glass, like the shiftdrinks of yore.

Greatest Hits:Mary’s has one of the lastlegit jukeboxes in the city,spinning classics like Elvisand Patsy Cline.

Everyone knowsthat Baltimore isUtz country, and agood indicator of alocal dive is oftenfound behind thebar, where a smallrack hangs fun-sizebags of these Pennsylvania-made potatochips. Extrapoints for thosewith the crab flavoror Party Mix.

In our eyes, the Mt. Royal Tavernmight be the best dive barnot just in Baltimore, but theentire world. In this city, though, it is theultmate granddad of such institutions,where locals know itas MRT, or even more aptly,the “Dirt Church”—that unorthodoxmecca congregatingall walks of city life for nightsof bacchanalian revelry alongits long blue bar and beneathits Sistine Chapel-replica ceiling.“Beware pickpockets andloose women,” one sign warns,though the clientele is largelyan amicably inebriated MICA-meets-buccaneer bunch. Followthe red neon sign inside, wherecheap beer, hefty shot glasses,and bags of Utz are in stockseven days a week, starting at10 a.m. Pay your hand-writtentabs with cash only andchat up your barkeeps, whoare full of colorfully R-ratedstories. (The bar once installeda “cuss bucket,” which didn’tlast long, of course.) The back smokingalley is a party in its ownright, and the real-deal jukeboxis one of the best in town,featuring everything from TheMisfits to Tom Waits andHowlin’ Wolf.

Pen Pals:Ask your bartender for the giftpack: a house postcard tosend to someone special anda matchbook that dubs thebar “where art is bullshit andgood bullshit is an art.”

Once a neighborhood of factoryand waterfront workers,the Fort Avenue stretch from FederalHill to Fort McHenry usedto be a haven of blue-collarbars. These businesses havebeen replaced by condos andcoffee shops, but Muir’s is stillthere, with its pinnacle spireand “Beer Wines Liquors” neonsign. Circa 1944, it’s the oldestcontinuously owned bar on theblock and still run by thenamesake family. Don’t let thebright lighting and white wallsof recent renovations fool you;this is still a true-blue cornerbar, with one retired barmaidturned neighborhood barflyrecently schooling us on hermashed potato recipe. (We’ll take it to the grave, Sharon.) Theyopen before lunchtime, Mondayto Saturday, when NaturalLight beers and neat JimBeams are go-to orders.

Harbor Heritage:Three generations ofBaltimore’s industrial musclehave run this bar. The originalowner, Roland Muir Sr., was atugboat captain; his successor,Roland Jr., was a longshoreman(and National Brewing Companyemployee); and his nephew,Tom—the current owner—works at the Port today.

On a leafy residential street onthe western edge of FederalHill, Mum’s is a far cry from theMother’s Grilles and Mad Riversthat make up much of therest of the neighborhood. Thegritty dive is a cocoon of darkwood and crotchety service,with a sign shouting “THISIS NOT A FRAT PARTY” to thepacks of post-college kids whosometimes stumble inside. OneWednesday night this fall, the L-shapedbar was full of low-key locals,ranging from millennials toboomers, with one young couple playing pool beneath theseemingly sole light source:a green-glass billiard lampshade.The old jukebox has been digitized,and we’re patiently waiting for live rock concertsto return by the boarded-up fireplace, where alife-size cut-out of Luke Skywalkernow watches over in theirstead.

Hot Shot:Forget Fireball—first timers should order the“Number 1 Special,” which includes acan of Boh and a shot of “Evil,” aka asweet, house-made, cinnamon-honeyode to the Lithuanianliqueur, Viryta.

Most folks know of this hallowedHoward Street venue as arock club, with music loverswandering down the alley tocrowd the mosh pit forconcerts beneath the twinkle ofits grungy old disco ball. Upstairs,though, is another story, wherea mishmash of red vinyl booths,checkerboard linoleum floors,local art, and a lone pool table createan oft-overlooked yet quintessentialdive. Open nightly, theOttobar lounge is a rough-and-tumbleretreat for hipsters andhard-rock enthusiasts, with aconstant rotation of events,from drag shows and danceparties to their infamous MetalMonday showcase. The logofamously features a martinibeing stirred by the namesakebar cat, but we lean towardNatty Bohs and whiskey-gingerales.

Music Maven:If you get thechance, chat up owner TeclaTesnau, who has many a storyafter being with the businesssince its humble downtownbeginnings, circa 1997. “Thesecrazy little bars are great placesto get steeped in the pulse ofthe city,” she says.

One local bar owner told us that wehad to check out this weatheredCanton pool hall. It’s where heand his staff would end upafter closing time, which makessense—following a busy nightof hospitality, Pol’s is the kindof unassuming corner jointwhere the industry, or anyneighborhood regulars, like theones who rooted on the Ravensduring one fall visit, can beanonymous. This Foster Avenueelder dates back to 1934, which,upon closer look, you canclearly see in the silver bar, thebrick-glass windows, and the pink-and-cream subway-tiled walls.TVs and video poker now distractvisitors waiting their turnat eight-ball.

Earn Your Stripes:The billiard table, with its goldentrophies lining the top of themantle-like bar, is a stop on thelocal pool-league circuit.

Harford Road used to be a seriousstrip for unfancy neighborhoodbars, from Dead Freddie’sto Holiday House. Slowlythey’ve closed or changedhands, but Shamrock Inn remains—a city-limits melting potthat, with a blessing from habituéJohn Waters, was voted oneof the best bars in America byEsquire magazine in both 2007and 2011. It’s one of the fewplaces “that hasn’t been affectedby real estate porn,” wrote Watersback then, and that’s certainlystill true today. Past thecobwebbed cigarette machine,snag a busted barstool and signal owner Terryfor a beer from the packaged-goods cooler. “You actuallylike that stuff?” asked one eyepatchedpool shark swigging aNatural Ice when we orderedour first Boh. Whatever you’redrinking, you’re here to watchthe wannabe Cool Hand Lukes heckle each other over solidsand stripes. On occasion, coverbands and DJ sets fill the backroom.

Order A Poor Man’s CrabCake:Eating food at a dive baris a bit like Russian roulette, butthis compact flat-top-fryer combo fuelsa full food menu, from grilledcheese to Baltimore coddies, aka “the poorman’s crab cake.”

Whatever youropinion on TVs inbars, there are fewbetter ways to bondwith strangers in Baltimore thanby bellying up for aRavens or O’s game.Remember the dinof local drinkerieswhen the Birdsmade it to theAmerican LeagueChampionshipSeries in 2014?

On the corner of Conkling andBank streets, a white sign with agiant green arrow points downsidewalk steps to one of the lastbasement bars in Highlandtown,if not Baltimore. Born whenProhibition was repealed in1933, Venice Tavern was foundedby Italian immigrants Maryand Frank DeSantis, who soldspaghetti and 15-cent beers outof this subterranean lair beneaththeir own home. Now run by fourth-generationgreat-grandson,Dominic, the bar’s black-and-whitephotographs reveal that not much has changed.A portrait ofPresident Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the patron saint of RepealDay, still presides over the bar,which is open Monday through Saturday, starting as earlyas 8 a.m.,but now craft beers havebeen added to the taps, like Diamondback’sGreen Machine and Brewer’sArt’s Resurrection. Imbibersrange from Gen Z pool playersaiming for the corner pocket to blue-collarbarflies betting their luck onvideo slots.

Local Lore:Baltimore’sboxing history is on fulldisplay here, with vintage fliers anda hand-drawn mural celebratingthe lightweight achievements ofDominic’s grand-uncle.

On the beaming plastic sign atthe corner of O’Donnell Streetand East Avenue, the numberseven has been painted over, indicating that this once-nightlyneighborhood bar hasfelt the changes faced by manyof its kind in the wake of COVID-19. They’re now only openon weekends, but the Cantonthrongs still know to shuffledown to the tin awnings,Formstone siding, and portholewindows of Walt’s on Fridaysand Saturdays, when the seasonedsonghouse hosts arguablythe best karaoke in town.Be sure to join on the choruswhen some brave singer picksWilson Phillips, Tracy Chapman,or Jon Bon Jovi. But let theSolo cups foretell just howrowdy (and, oftentimes, bro-tastic)this bar can be.

Hot Tip:Muster the courage needed totrill your favorite tunes withthe help of infamous houseJell-O shots, which, on one recent visit, meant pumpkin pie flavor with a crown of whipped cream.

There was a momentwhen we foolishlywondered where elsewe’d go in Remington for a shot of PikesvilleRye and off-key karaokeonce the green-and-yellow light shutoff for good at LongJohn’s Pub. But in2018, Baltimore nativeAaron Reinhart easedour worries when hepurchased the bar.Sure, the white-labelbottles and mic-sungstandards might havegone the way of thebuffalo (and luckily, thecarpet floor, too), but Reinhartkept the old Formstone,and the new neon signhas quickly become aneighborhood beacon,drawing a diversecrowd for affordabledrinks—more than 50offerings in total, fromCoors Banquet bottlesto Charm City Meadworks’honey brews—and a sizeable menu ofdown-home pub fare.On a recent Fridayhappy hour, everyseat was taken at theJ-shaped bar.

Heading North:Reinhart alsotook over BelvedereSquare’s old Swallow atthe Hollow wateringhole back in 2011, andit’s busy as ever today.

There was a collectivesigh of dismay amongmany Hampdeniteswhen it was announcedthat the neighborhood’slast authentic dive bar,known by locals as “theIce House,” would besold. But since reopeningin April with a freshcoat of paint, new ownersAllison Crowley andHannah Spangler havemade minimal changesto the Hickory Avenuehangout, originally amen-only stag bar andalways a mainstay forthe neighborhood’sdwindling working-classcrowd, though thevibe has certainlyevolved. Natty Bohnow mingles with naturalwine, but, moreimportantly, the atmospherehas grown increasinglyinclusive for youngerpatrons and the LGBTQcommunity. On a recentThursday night, a babyand its beer-sippingparents were down thebar from a gray-hairedold-timer fiddling witha pack of Winstons.

Fun And Games:Past customers can rejoicein knowing that thePac-Man and Skee Bowlgames live on in thebar’s left corner.

A stone’s throw fromCarroll Park, this Pigtowncorner bar hasbecome a welcome additionto the SouthwestBaltimore communitysince arriving in 2018.The former CockeyedCow Saloon got an upgradeunder ownerCandice Bruno, who hastransformed the classiccop hangout on Carey Streetinto a Black-owned, open-armedmeeting place for amedley of neighbors—first, through its rum-basedtropical cocktailsand Caribbean-themedfood menu, then throughits recurring events,from yoga classes toboard game nights. Still,in true dive fashion,plenty of beers, bothubiquitous and rare, areon offer, plus a housepunch that packs a one-two.

Looking Back:Old Major is named for acentral character inGeorge Orwell’s seminalAnimal Farm, and, ofcourse, the neighborhood’sswine-strewnhistory, when pigs wereonce paraded from thenearby B&O rail linesthrough the streets tolocal slaughterhouses.

Randy Coffrenand Rich Pugh know howto open a Baltimore bar.From their flagshipJohnny Rad’s on theFells-Canton border to its sisterSnake Hill in Highlandtown,the duo strikes theright chord in creatinghip hangouts that aresuffused with the city’sscrappy soul. At theirnew digs on MarylandAvenue, the old GalleryOne bartop has beenupdated with punk concertbills from the lateCharm City Art Spacevenue, located next door, andthe genre’s heyday getsa hat tip throughout,from ’70s-inspired décorto a disco-balled dancefloor for late-night debauchery.Order a Narragansetttallboy and theslam-dunk smash burgerto sustain you throughthe night. Says Coffren, aself-proclaimed dive barexpert, “I’m going to endup buying one of thosetiny six-tops and tendingbar until I croak.” Wehope he means it.

Side Hustle:Slink off to theside lounge, where aneon sign beckons “TheParty” to its analogTV and retro sofas.

Cocktail aficionadosknow that bartenderDoug Atwell helpedchange the city’s drinkgame when he co-ranthe original Rye cocktailbar on a sliver of SouthBroadway in FellsPoint. That era ended in2016, but luckily forthe rapidly skyscrapingneighborhood, the veteranbarkeep has nowopened a new cornerbar at the crossroads ofBond and Fleet streets.Its nonchalant spacehawks fresh takes onclassic concoctions, plusbudget-friendly libationslike Coors Banquetbottles or HighLife ponies (which canbe easily convertedinto Atwell’s pride-and-joy Dr. Pepper shots).An old-school jukeboxwill be up and runningany day now. All weask is that he bringsback “Thunderstruck.”

What’s In A Name?Southpaw’s nom deplume is not becauseAtwell is left-handedbut rather combines theowner’s three favoritethings: baseball, dogs,and Southern food. What’s more Baltimorethan that?