jefe.jpg julesmaes.jpg

A weekly Voracious feature in which we walk into a bar unannounced and ask the bartender to make us his or her favorite drink

Establishment:

"/>

Pickle Juice Is the Chaser of Choice at Jules Maes Saloon

jefe.jpgjulesmaes.jpg

A weekly Voracious feature in which we walk into a bar unannounced and ask the bartender to make us his or her favorite drink

Establishment: Jules Maes, 5919 Airport Way. GEORGETOWN.

Barkeep: Hefe – pronounced like “jefe,” or “boss” in Spanish. And Hefe, by any measure, is boss.

After hearing the First Call rules, Hefe needs a clarification: "So, do you want whatever I want to pour?"

Not exactly, if you were sitting here, what would you order? "Ah." She leaves and comes back toting an armful of shot glasses.

Liquid Courage: "You guys are lucky," she tells our group, "I was gonna bring you Olys -- easy to pour and no dishes. But this is what you get -- Hornitos and pickle juice."

Jeez-US, Hefe. Pickle juice? Are you serious? I feel the same way about pickle juice the way most people feel about in-laws. "I used to drink it with pineapple, but I drank a lot of tequila when I was a kid" (She says this with zero irony) "and I got tired of it. So pickle juice it is."

Siiiiiiiiiggghhh

So, once again: Cheers! Down the hatch, stick out the tongue, and throw down the pickle juice. And just like that, it’s over. The pickle juice cuts the tequila like a junky cuts lines, and before I know it, the tequila is gone. Then, for good measure, Hefe serves up a round of Olys, so we sip and look.

Jules Maes is just across the street from the Georgetown Brewery and try as I might, I just can’t ever see Georgetown becoming the next “it” ‘hood. Its architecture’s too gritty, its collar too blue. Here, at the Jules Maes on a Tuesday, the clientele looks the part. Regulars hunched over personalized bar stools, all of whom are on a first-name basis with Hefe. This, however, isn’t saying much. Hefe’s first interaction with us -- after checking our IDs of course -- is to shake hands and ask us our names. She is by far one of the coolest bartenders I’ve encountered in the First Call line of work. Badass in that don’t-flip-me-any-shit-or-I’ll-curb-stomp-your-skull-in vein; she’s still super friendly. The rest of the bar feels the same way: a pair of mannequin legs over the bar, a skull on the tap, a buffalo on the wall, and no music, although a portrait of Johnny Cash flipping the bird hangs prominently behind the till.

I have to say, I'm impressed with the selection, although I still hate pickle juice. My Dad owned a pickle farm when I was a kid. My first tattoo was a pickle. Wanna see?

Absolutely. Can I take a picture of your pickle? Only if I can take a picture of your pickle.

 
comments powered by Disqus

Friends to Follow