I’m in mourning over Bar Johnny. And I’m not just ready for a rebound. Over night, Bullitt shot into 2209 Polk’s black brick façade, painted some stripes, and changed the light fixtures. Poof! The moist and crunch croutons have vanished. So long truffle oil fries. Sayonara pork sliders.

I know Rome wasn’t built in a day. But I don’t like where things are going. The six-pack containers carrying ketchup and mustard scream Applebee’s, and are practically sinful with rich wood paneling and marble countertops as a backdrop. The menu rarely ventures beyond typical American bar food. And don’t get me started on the Olde English in brown paper bags for nine dollars!?
But! I will concede that the $15 bottomless mimosa special lives on, which is all it takes for me to park anywhere for five hours. So, Bullitt, I’ll be back, but I may not be eating. Okay, well, I can’t resist the curly fries.




