Finding a comfort zone
By Fritz Hahn
Friday, August 3, 2012
My last visit to the Brixton was one of the most satisfying yet.
After happy hour, I hung out on the pseudo-British pub’s enormous roof deck, which overlooks Ninth and U streets NW. My pint of malty Bombardier Bitter sat on a marble shelf as the sky turned orange and pink and I took in the view: the Washington Monument peeking over the trees and office buildings to the south, Howard University to the west and green hills beyond. The Clash played on the sound system, bartenders shook gin cocktails and poured British beers while a diverse crowd checked out the old pub signs and cast-iron detail work that give the Brixton its signature look. It looks like the Hilton brothers, who seem to own half of U Street, have done it again.
The second floor comes across as a Scottish lodge: leather sofas and tartan bar stools, pheasants and hunting horns hanging on brick walls, a couple of fireplaces, chandeliers made of old antlers. You just want to order a Scotch, sit and sip.
But the long bar is comfortable, too, especially when it’s not too busy and you can chat with a bartender about the gin cocktails (with house-made syrups) and sample some of the beer cocktails on draft, including the Snakebite (half lager, half cider) and Shandy (beer mixed with lemonade or ginger beer). It helps that all draft beers are poured in 20-ounce Imperial pints ($9) or 10-ounce half-pints ($4.50).
Of course, the rooftop is so busy by 10 p.m. on weekends that it can be hard to get a drink, let alone move around. The second floor is jammed with people trying to get to the roof; new arrivals are shunted into a line outside or in a holding pattern at the first-floor bar, allowed upstairs only as patrons leave. There's no dance floor, no DJ, no discounted pricing (in addition to the $9 drafts, bottled beers cost $8 to $10 and cocktails are $10 to $12).
On a recent Saturday evening, a friend and I sat at the rooftop bar, watching the crowd inch closer and closer to its 150-person capacity. The bartenders were rushed, and the $10 Pimm’s Cups were dreadful -- regular lemonade was used instead of promised sparking lemonade, and the lone sliver of cucumber floating in the glass did nothing. Tired of getting jostled by growing groups, we took off.
A crush of curious visitors and weekend warriors isn’t uncommon at new bars -- remember what American Ice Company or H Street Country Club were like just after opening? -- but the Brixton’s dual personalities are extreme. I’d pan just about every Saturday night trip I’ve made, but visits on Tuesdays through Thursdays have been glorious. Sunday afternoon seems like the perfect time to visit: plenty of couples and groups sipping drinks, laughing and enjoying the sun. It’s bustling but not out of control, which is the way I like my British-style pubs.
It’s funny, though, that while the British vibe is well thought-out, it’s less important than you might think. Have the flaky fish and chips, sip a Scottish stout or a creamy Boddington’s, admire the old London street signs. The draw at the Brixton is just that it’s comfortable -- most of the time.
