The breakfast club By shAuN huNteR
Bob & Lucy’s Tavern is among the local bars that cater to the morning crowd. PHOTO/SHAUN HUNTER
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espite Reno being known as a 24-hour city, any insomniac, graveyard shift worker or Las Vegas transplant can tell you that after 2 a.m., you might be hard-pressed to find food or drinks without having to venture into a casino. And after 4 o’clock, you’re most likely stuck having your nightcap in the 7-11 parking lot. But what if you close out at Reno’s latest of the late-night bars, and you’re still not ready to call it a night? A friend and I decided to do just this recently. A couple of questions came up immediately. Should our childhood suspicions of about the kinds of adult parties that took place after our bedtimes apply to this as well? And if a bar serves food around the clock, just when is the kitchen cleaned? My friend Nicolette and I decided to spend a weekend venturing out at hours when there’s no semblance of wholesomeness to be found—to flex our characteristically Nevadan right to order drinks and keep ’em coming until the new day’s sunlight burned outside and people far more respectable than us started their commutes to work. We were looking for Reno’s real 24-hour establishments.
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RN&R Bars & Clubs Guide
03.09.17
A drinking guide for morning people
Nicolette and I started after 4 a.m., when the bulk of the night crowd had long since made their questionable decisions, settled their tabs and Lyfted home. Who would be left sitting when the lightweights had fallen? It’s been a few years since I’ve been likely to catch myself searching for an OPEN sign at 5 a.m. And there seem to be fewer of them now. One bartender observed that the 2006 statewide smoking ban in bars that serve food had caused a decline 24-hour bars. Old standbys like the Wonder Bar have painted over their outer wall advertisements for 6 a.m. happy hours. And questionable hangouts like the Zephyr Bar (now Z Bar) on South Virginia street have changed ownership, been remodeled and begun shutting their doors at a “reasonable” hour.
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There are, of course, some wellknown all-night spots like the Alibi and Shea’s. But we wanted find a few places more off the beaten path. On Friday, I decided that, to keep things gritty, I’d stay up until Nicolette and I met at 4 a.m. Nicolette, on the other hand, had set her alarm to wake her up for our plans. Doc Holliday’s, 120 E. Second St., was our first stop. When we settled onto our seats at the bar around 4:30 a.m., it was still crowded. Most of the bar stools were taken, and a group was playing pool. The bartender took our order and explained that it was her first night. We made it easy on her, ordering a beer and a gin and tonic. It felt pretty much like any other night, except it was morning. Some women beside us slurred through their conversation, chain
smoking and hardly touching their half-empty beers. The bar went silent when a rag tag gang of younger guys wearing black uniform shirts and black latex gloves walked through the front door, along with an older woman and a squat, gray-haired man—both wearing nametags identifying them as Cal Neva casino security. “Did two white guys just run in here?” the woman demanded, eyeing everyone at the bar, before settling on two men who fit the description. “Nah, they’ve been here awhile,” one of the pool players said. The room took on the tense feeling, as if the patrons were banding together against these self-important intruders. But the security guards soon left. And we decided to head out for our second stop. “I’m just covering between bartenders and don’t know what’s in
