Drink and Be (Relatively) Merry

Atchafalaya Nightclub (210 W. Center Street, Provo)

Pros: If you prefer a more perennial celebration of Mardi Gras and your hobby is receiving handjobs from fat girls in Kangol hats, Atchafalaya is the place for you. They also have a weekly karaoke night, which may or may not be entertaining, depending on your tolerance for ironic despair. Their signature cocktail is the “Lousiana Fuck-Up,” which actually gets the job done. After two of these, you might just gather the courage to go bump and grind on the horse-faced girl with the deluded Sarah Jessica Parker complex. 

Cons: If you have two brain cells to rub together and make a fire, you will despise this place. It is the loud, obnoxious hell you always expected was your post-mortem destiny, except without Rasputin and Ed Gein there to keep it interesting. Dirty South megahits blare from a host of dirty speakers, making conversation impossible. Not that you’d want to converse with any of the bar’s patrons. In fact, Atchafalaya’s only real purpose is perhaps to confirm your deep-rooted suspicion that humanity is, in fact, too sick and stupid to survive very much longer. Stumble home and prepare for the imminent apocalypse.

City Limits (440 W. Center Street, Provo)

Pros: You may be noticing a trend here: the further west you go in Provo, the more off-putting it gets. In this case, City Limits might actually be the best entertainment for miles—if your idea of a feel good movie is House of 1,000 Corpses. Throw out all of your alt-country illusions before arriving here: the patrons at City Limits are cowboys closer in spirit to Blood Meridian than Band of Annuals. 

Cons: This is a beer bar. Don’t ask for a White Russian or an Appletini, because depending on the staff you’ll either receive a blank stare, or get a board with a rusty nail waved at your crotch. City Limits is also, according to the most recent Rand McNally World Atlas, “The Saddest Goddamn Place on the Entire Planet.” With its typical milieu, it’s easy to see why: truck-stop hookers, broken down shitkickers with complexions like corrugated cardboard and “Rockin’ Mike” (who set new lows for karaoke with a rendition of “Girls, Girls, Girls” and then followed me to the bathroom, where he stared unflinchingly at me while I pissed)  call this place home.

The Deerhunter Pub (2000 N. 300 W., Spanish Fork)

Pros: Although technically not in Provo, your reporter feels the need to highlight this bar. Like ABG’s, it is a comfortable, liminal space for all kinds. It is spacious, clean, has a fantastic hunting lodge atmophere, and offers one dollar PBRs  Monday through Thursday. Moreover, The Deerhunter, unlike any other bar I’ve been to, features a bookshelf! Not everything on it is stellar, but if you’re feeling pensive, you might sit down on one of the comfortable couches with some Mark Twain, or a volume of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Basically what your reporter is trying to say is that The Deerhunter might be more aptly named Shangri-Fucking-La. The last time I was there, they were showing Let The Right One In on the plasma screen TV. The Deerhunter is not a bar you want to frequent—it is a bar you want to live in.

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Comments on this article

Posted on June 24, 2009 by dan

i giggled my ass off. i live in cali, but traverse the wasatch front on a weekly basis. i know what its like to try to find a cold one at midnight on a sunday night in provo.

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