“There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn.” “As soon as I enter the door of a tavern, I experience oblivion of care, and a freedom from solicitude,” said the British dictionary-maker Samuel Johnson, who would have been right at home on an Arizona barstool. It must also provide a chamber of companionship, a whiff of romance, a sense of temporary community, a free-fire zone of witticisms, and a spontaneous and slightly boisterous version of town hall democracy where every paying customer is treated like a potential friend and a fellow passenger on the journey of life. A really successful gin-joint must do more than sling booze.
Some Arizona bars are consistently more inviting than others, and some do far more than others to channel the essence of the towns where they sit. Our imbibing is often done in relative darkness - not merely in the gloom of night, but in the enveloping dimness of one of the 1,270 licensed establishments in the state dedicated to the ancient sport of tippling. Arizona has thirst written into its history, not just the arid landscape yearning for rain, but from the desire of its citizens: the hard-working and the lazy and the majority in between who want a stiff drink when the sun goes down.
