I never would’ve known that anything cool existed south of 512 on Canyon Road if Matt Driscoll had bathed that day. While the Weekly Volcano offices reeked a foul combination of baby poop and sweaty socks, I headed out for cold beers and meaty sandwiches at Summit Pub.

One of the many things that send my dive bar lovin’ heart racing is slingin’ back a few cold ones as the doors and windows are open, letting in a gorgeous day for all patrons to bask in. This is how it was in Texas. This how it was at the Summit Pub. Open the walls, slide up the windows, perch yourself in the breeze, and enjoy what Mother Barley and Father Hops have to offer.

Aside from the full and fantastically flavorful food menu, the beer selection also includes a pretty surprising selection of quality brews. Josh was working behind the bar and was open to suggesting new beers, including free samples. Oh hell yeah.

Bad carpeting, a kick-ass punching bag video game, massive beer signage, obnoxious wall of pull-tab bins, and Taco Tuesday food deals make Summit Pub a prime definition of “dive bar.”

Now comes the best part of our Summit Pub visit: The meat salesman. Mr. DeRosa has warned me about this occupation. He calls it “The Franger.” That means “frozen meat in a Ranger truck.” I know you know what I’m talking about. This is the guy that comes up to you telling you something happened (tragically) in his life last week and how he was unable to make his meat deliveries, thus having the ability to pass on some unheard of cheap deals on meat to you. Voila!

Yes, folks, The Franger was at Summit Pub. Bandito Betty was the one to pose the question, “Shouldn’t he be making those deliveries he missed last week instead of hanging out in a dive bar?”