The inside of The Harp - nice and cozy.: Daniel Carlson

I’m new to town, and I like to drink. For reasons I’m not stupid enough to question, 29-95 has decided to pay me (I know!) to bring both of those considerable traits to bear as I explore the city I now call home.
• Read about my visit to The Velvet Melvin
• Read about my visit to Alice's Tall Texan.
• Read about my first visit to Alabama Ice House.

One of these days, I’ll remember that you can’t turn left onto Richmond from southbound Shepherd, at least not before 7 p.m., and on that day I’ll be able to plan my route accordingly and not wind up cutting people off and veering into some neighborhood in hopes of getting back to a major street. But, despite missed lights and construction, I did indeed finally make it to The Harp, tucked away on Richmond just east of Dunlavy, and I’m so glad I did. I found a great bar with amenable staff, a solid juke, and easygoing locals. It’s the perfect spot for a beer after work or a quick one before getting a bite at nearby Maria Selma or Lucky Burger.

When I entered, I was struck by how quiet it was. The juke’s most recent playlist had run out, and since no one had pumped another dollar in, the small group at the bar drank in relative silence, talking in low voices about one of the games on the three TVs nearby. Daniel Carlson

I had hoped to get some food at the bar; not because I was hungry, but because I can’t seem to help but sample bar food every time I go out. Sure, maybe that’s a habit some could rightfully classify as “unhealthy” or “destined to lead me to an early and highly caloric grave,” but whatevs. I know where to get a burger with a sausage link on it. However, Marlena the bartender kindly informed me that there’s no kitchen at The Harp, though they do have a stack of take-out menus from nearby joints that deliver. That’s a nice alternative.

Marlena told me she’d been there for nine and a half years, her expression when she said this being somewhere between amazement and sad curiosity. But she’s great at what she does. She greeted regulars and friends as they came in, checked in with me and other drinkers frequently, and always chatted back.
Daniel Carlson
For most of the evening, I sat at the bar, shared a newspaper with a forty-something dude to my right, and talked with a couple guys to my left about their computer recycling business, local rent prices, and the Rockets. Their names were Lee and Daniel, they were on their way to a game when we drank together, and they were exactly the kind of affable locals you hope to bump into when exploring a new town.

I was also impressed at how much room there was in the bar, yet the place didn't feel too big to be impersonal. A series of half-walls divided the main bar from a few other seating areas, including a dartboard at one end of the building and Galaga — GALAGA — at the other.

In the middle of the place is the juke, and you should know that if you’ve had a couple beers and want to play a song but get to the jukebox to discover a short woman perusing the Journey selections, well, you’d think it’d be okay to just stand there and shoot the shit about classic rock, but man this chick is gonna think you're bad news. She will glare at you and think you’re hitting on her, and by the time you figure this out, it’ll be too late. And you’re not bad news. At all! Just be careful, kids.

The jukebox also wins because it’s got Too Far to Care by Old 97’s, one of the all-time best bar albums ever. You can disagree, but you’d be wrong. What’s more, it’s almost impossible to find the 97’s on a jukebox — this is the first place I’ve found in town with it — and so I knew I’d be back at The Harp before long, sucking back a Shiner to the strains of “Salome.” It doesn’t get a lot better.