|I love this place.|
The High Life is a place where you can order Schlitz without shame, and take down a deviled egg or two while you enjoy your cheap, crappy bear. I don’t disparage the good times available at the west side’s upscale hotspots, complete with their fancy martini menus and well-dressed patrons, but if you’re going to pay for a hoity-toity beer, the last thing you want to do is have it served to you with a napkin around it. Why pay for a status beer, and then pretend you want to hide the label? You get none of that at the High Life, a place that feels like you grandparents’ basement, where you can buy the same brands of beer your grandpa would have stocked in his basement fridge, and eat the same comfort foods your grandma would have served you at the Formica table, with the green flowered vinyl chairs.
My grandparents were all strict Baptists. They didn’t have a beer fridge, or a basement hang out. Even my high school home was a historic farm house with a cellar, not a paneled basement. Maybe that’s why the High Life is such a comfort to me – it’s the teenage beer party I never got invited to. And best of all – there are enough other 30-somethings hanging out there to keep me from feeling how old I am that the décor of my childhood is now back in style. I hope you all have a similar place in your town – otherwise, maybe you have some neighbors that will share their basement with you?
Be happy and enjoy eating and drinking! God decided long ago that this is what you should do. Ecclesiastes 9:7