Feeling Like A Million Bucks On Seven Grand

Hunters follow their hounds in an open field. The fallen game is not completely visible, but the hounds are eager. Enter jazz flute and electric guitar. Normally I would not lend myself to the whims of a Tuesday evening. However, feeling particularly peppy, I decided to venture to Seven Grand, a venue cleverly named after its 7th and Grand location. The light brown wallpaper has a retro feel but rounds out the lounge, which emulates an old upscale hunter’s lodge.

Coming into the venue, I had no true expectations. I did know the venue boasted over 200 something whiskeys, bourbons and scotches. I did know that a jazz band would be on hand, as is the case every Monday through Wednesday. But, I did not know that I would feel so at home.

My company and I ascend a few dark flights of stairs. The aroma of whiskey hits my nostrils as hard as a shot with no chaser. Amazing. George, the welcoming barkeep hands me a drink menu that seems endless. He’s polite, but lets you know you’re family through a subtle joke.

Completely overwhelmed by mixes and the myriad of aged liqueurs, I go with a nice Belgian blonde. That’s the blonde on tap, not the blonde at the end of the bar waiting for someone to hit her with a clever pickup line.

The patronage is composed of veterans and novices. But that is no matter. Everyone seems satisfied.

A middle-aged gentleman craving a “decent” cigar is escorted to the cigar room. Shortly thereafter, he steps out onto the balcony. He reenters with a beaming smile on his face. That good, huh?

A younger woman dressed in tight jeans, a baggy black V-neck and a bold beret dances and sways as she seeks assistance in finding the washroom. She grunts and dashes through a door with a large window and stenciled lettering. It reminds me of the set of an old black and white detective feature. She returns to the bar and immediately orders two whiskey sours. I guess the emergency has passed. She laughs and plunges back into the crowd surrounding the bar, already enjoying each other’s company.

A young blogger sits at the bar and finishes off his second draft. He chuckles at the lounge’s decor and lets out a long sigh. He imagines enjoying himself after a hard day at work, before a late game at the Staples Center, celebrating a birthday with friends or just to taking down a few rounds of Tullamore Dew. Actually, he imagines taking down a few rounds of Tullamore Dew several times over.

The Makers, a young band composed of about five, twenty-somethings sports a new-age jazz. The combination of trumpet, trombone, drums, electric guitar and bass is soothing and somehow nestles its way into the ambiance. The instrumental compliments the already easy-going atmosphere.

I hear a few cheers come from the pool tables and a few gasps come from the corner of the bar where the band is set. A young man feverishly sketches the guitarist’s face. The sketch is damn good, detailed and accurate. I share his sentiments of creative expression. The evening is too perfect to let pass. 

Seven Grand, you have gained a new admirer. And aside from the gentleman who attempts to pick up my girlfriend – after I excuse myself to the men’s room, and despite the fact that “NO CREEPS ALLOWED” is clearly written below the daily drink specials – Seven Grand does not disappoint.

 

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