The Lisle Inn - Lisle, NY

So, one day Tommy and I were doing something redneck and moronic one day to aid in the regression our loving, upper middle class upbringings and make our parents proud.....as usual.   On this day, it was drive my old beater pick-up to Whitney Point, NY and pick up a motorcycle.  A motorcycle that didn't even run, but I got a great deal on it!  Besides, not much more can be more redneck-y

For years on my journeys between Ithaca, NY and Cheshire, CT I have passed the Lisle Inn and yearned to go in and see what it is all about.  I was sure it had to be amazing inside.  Not amazing like Caesar's Palace or The Louvre, but amazing as in "Holy Shit! This place actually exists."

As you can see, Tommy was dressed perfect for the occassion.  You never really want to stroll into a "local" bar dressed in your Sunday best or whatever the rest of us wear Monday through Friday.  That would only get you beat up and/or stared at.....or even worse.....DENIED SERVICE.  I didn't opt for homemade tank top, but I did have my own trucker hat on and was the one driving the beat up green 1993 Ford F-150 with the 40yr old non-running motorcycle in the back.  We were pretty sure we had safe passage.

The interior was just as I had imagined.  Many apologies for the dark pictures, but I was only armed with my shitty camera-phone.  I don't have an iPhone or a fancy Droid.  Its a crappy Samsung.  You can't really walk into a place like this looking like you are a Ansel Adams or something anyway.  That's an easy way to get beat up.  You have to make due with what you have.  However, I can't really blame the phone for the lighting here.  This is pretty much spot on.

There were about 4 guys sitting at the bar, a rather obese female bartender in her 30's behind the bar, and about enough teeth to put together about 3 full sets all together.  The walls were decorated with bit of crap nostalgia from generations back.  I was pretty sure most of the people in here started coming because their fathers used to come here and I was also pretty sure they clocked in more hours on those stools than they did for a paycheck the rest of the week.

The bartender didn't so much as crack a smile or offer a hello when we walked in.  I couldn't tell if she looked at us as intruders of some sort or was just a mean ol' bitch who hated everything.  Both seemed pretty likely.  At the end of the day, she pulled us a couple of bottles of nice, cold Miller Lite and we were happy to sit there drinking them.

FINALLY, I can say I went to the Lisle Inn.