Turning 21 liberates us from the oppression of bad booze. Before we come of age, we’re all complicit in a conspiracy to deny the reality of how awful cheap American beer really is. Whether you’re huddled around a keg or sharing a sixer of Coors Light, everyone realizes that the beer we’re drinking is bad, but saying as much out loud risks condemnation and exile. We loudly profess our love for Natty Ice, PBR, or Beast while holding our noses and swilling can after can of alcohol-flavored water.
Thank God for bars. Ironically enough, the best dive in DC is in Arlington, not the District. The Galaxy Hut’s website doesn’t do justice to its fundamental dinginess – that intangible hole-in-the-wall quality that makes a bar into a real dive – but believe me when I say that this place is a dump. Its ambiance can only be likened to that of a grunt’s hooch in Khe Sanh circa 1968. The decorations are homemade, candles are jammed into empty beer cans, and the menu runs the gamut from greasy to really greasy. But the beer selection is fantastic, the place is cozy, the music selection doesn’t suck, and they’ve got this great tin cup booth out back that is made for outdoor drinking. On a Friday night in Northern Virginia, there’s no better place to be. Here’s to you, Galaxy Hut – I wouldn’t trade you for any other dive in the world.