A real neighborhood bar is not a brand. It is a room that someone has been keeping the lights on in for a long time. The good ones in this city happen to be a little dim, a little loud on the right night, and a lot more interesting than the cocktail menus would have you believe.
Open since 1906. The patio is one of the most public-feeling spaces in the city. The stage hosts blues and country acts that would charge fifty bucks a head anywhere else. If you are only going to one neighborhood bar in your life, this is the one.
Paul Westerberg drank here. The Replacements wrote about it. The vinyl jukebox is real and the cheeseburgers are better than they should be. Come early on weekends or come on a Tuesday.
A bar that has resisted every wave of gentrification by stubbornly being itself. Cheap pitchers, a kitchen that takes the basket food seriously, and the kind of regulars who treat their barstool like an assigned seat.
Half neighborhood bar, half pilgrimage site for the Juicy Lucy. The four-lane basement bowling alley is the best kind of relic. Order the Nookie Burger, get a beer, do not think too hard about it.
A small Western shrine sitting just off downtown. Live country and rockabilly most nights, line dancing on the right night, and a bar staff with no interest in your drink theory.
The downstairs Clown Lounge alone earns the Turf a place on this list. Upstairs, one of the better small live-music rooms in the metro. Tall boys, no pretense, a stage that has hosted everyone from Lucinda Williams to your friend’s nephew’s band.
A neighborhood bar that happens to make excellent bar pizza. Cracker-thin crust, charred edges, served in a room that looks like nothing has changed since 1972. That is part of the appeal.
A Lynchian bar tucked just over the Northeast border. Velvet curtains, dim red light, and a karaoke setup that has launched a thousand questionable life decisions. You either sing or you watch.
Two dozen working pinball machines, a fryer running all night, and zero pretense. The kind of place where you arrive at nine and leave at one wondering where the time went and whether you are actually any good at Medieval Madness.
A Como Avenue Irish bar with regulation bocce courts in the basement. Cheap pints, a long-standing staff, live trad music sessions on the right night. As neighborhood as a neighborhood bar gets.
The neon sign alone earns it a spot. Reopened after a long hiatus, the booths still creak, the cocktails are stronger than the food prices suggest, and the late-night kitchen hits exactly when you need it to.
Not technically a bar, but no list of St. Paul institutions is honest without Mickey’s. The 24-hour railcar diner is on the National Register of Historic Places, the malts are real, and the booths have absorbed every type of human drama since 1939.