The other day All the Yums got all types of homesick. You see, we met while at school in Nashville. So there are times when we get depressed due to the disturbing lack of meat and three’s, honeysuckle lined dirt lanes and of course, real country music. None of that bro country shit. We don’t play that game. We’re talking Cash, Ricky Skaggs (ok thats Bluegrass) and, of course, Flo Rida.

So where do we go when we need a little taste of home?

Harry’s Country Club.

Because nothing says that South like exclusive clubs filled with wealthy white people.

Welcome.

This place is my shit.

It’s the kind of place where you sit, order a gin and reflect on how it’s good to own land. Perhaps a gentleman will order a mint julep next to you and you’ll cycle through all the pleasantries of being part of the gentry while trying your best not to spill on your seersucker suit. Smoke from corn-cobe pipes lofts through the air as you dab sweat from your forehead with a handkerchief because, oh Lord it’s hot as Miss Mayberry’s famous cobbler out there.

Nah, not really. Not sure why I wrote that. I think I just wanted to use the word “gentry”. This is a cool looking bar with good food and a great atmosphere. It’s like the southern version of all those kitschy food places that were all the rage in the early 2000s, except, you know, cool. And with way less 43-year-old divorced men trying to buy your wife a corona-rita or blooming onion.

Not that I’d turn a blooming onion down. I’m not a monster.

Let’s take a look at why we think this place is cool. Below you’ll see our view. We went on a Monday night because, A. Katie got a raise so we were celebrating, and B. I hate large groups of people.

So that’s why there’s a lack of people. Go on a Friday or Saturday and it will be packed.

Let’s take a better look at the booze.

ENHANCE.

Ah yes. Kidney disease has never looked sexier. They even have a locked cabinet of all the scotch that I’ll never be able to afford, mainly because I chose a poor-paying profession and was not born into old money and apathy.

But what I was born into was an unsustainable craving for french onion dip. And want to know where you can get the best French Onion dip? Harry’s. Weird how that worked out, right?

They even make their own damn chips. We’re talking real potatoes, people. These are fresh off the spud.

But this is a bar after all. So Katie and I both ordered Boulevards Deep Dive IPA. Which was pretty hoppy and very tasty. I downgraded after that to a wheat and Katie, since she’s classy as fuck, went Coors Light. Don’t judge her.

Then came the food.

The food was good. Nothing crazy, nothing wrong. Just solid bar food. I went Patty Melt because, to this day, I have a secret crush on Patti Mayonnaise from Doug.

Katie went Ham & Pear because she is insane.

I know what you’re thinking.

How are the bathrooms?

So glad you asked, person on Reddit.

They are awesome. Because they are filled with classy smut. What’s classy smut? It’s naked people but with a bit of class. Here’s the men’s room.

And here’s a bunch of dude butts from the ladies room (which Katie took FYI).

Enjoy.

How would we rate it?

Ryan:

Taste: 7/10

Value: 7/10

Environment: 10/10

Bathrooms: 10/10 because, boobs.

Katie:

Taste: 7/10

Value: 7/10

Environment: 9/10

Bathrooms: 10/10 because, butts.

Go there.

112 E Missouri Ave, Kansas City, MO 64106

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