A few years ago in Dallas’ hospital district, a place emerged that was searching for a soul while searching for souls. And despite facing many challenges, the place has found a heart despite not being in the heart of Dallas.

The Windmill Lounge has battled a lot of obstacles. Opening in a downtrodden neighborhood in the industrial/newly developed residential area of Maple Avenue, it opened upon a multi-year extension of DART (Dallas Area Rapid Transit) which tore up the intersection of Maple and Webb Chappel Extension where the bar and many hospitals are located.

Although a small number of predominantly Hispanics businesses south of the place get along, the construction drove a dagger through the heart of other establishments and only the strong survived. But through the driven and intuitive ownership, a Great Joint has emerged from the potential location coma.

Located in the shadow of many of Dallas’ fine hospitals, an old diner called the Dutch Kitchen, known for inexpensive and not particularly satisfying food and cheesy touts on the windows for its cheap breakfasts, closed after decades. What remained was crumbling infrastructure, a modest kitchen, parking for about 20 cars and windmill neon of top of the rectangular structure.

When Charlie Papaceno and Louise Owens arrived from New York, they saw the need to bring quality cocktails to Dallas long before it has become irritatingly fashionable. To support the strong libations, the kitchen was reopened to provide a limited but quality bill of fare, where the Panini’s are the most popular items.

To match the many old school cocktails is an old school jukebox, yet to succumb to the personality-free internet music box. You can match Edith Piaf with Grandmaster Flash, Peggy Lee with the Temptations, and Louis Prima with Louis Armstrong with Lou Reed on any given set. The jukebox goes dark on Thursday night when Karaoke is a very popular event.

Opening at 4pm daily, the clientele is varied, with blue collar locals, hipsters, and the alternative crowd seeking out the Windmill for its creative mix of cocktails. One night after Charlie methodically and perfectly crafted three Manhattans, finished off with a cherry scooped out of a jar with the smallest ladle I have ever seen, a dapper fellow turned to me and said “this will put hair on my chest, but I’ll just shave it off when I get home!” He later confided that he actually uses depilatories.

Recently, a local publication named Windmill Lounge “The Best Dive in Dallas.” I hate how that term is thrown around. Just because the Windmill Lounge is small, off-beat, and off the beaten path, it is hardly a dive. It is super clean, very comfortable and prides itself offering something uniquely different to Dallas. It has a heart.” D.M.

There is this really cool bar that sets alone in the usually unbearably heat of East Dallas, just down from Baylor Medical Center. That must account for all of the “scrubs” that hang out there.

Made entirely of brick and kept comfortably dark, the Elbow Room is a welcome respite from hot summer days, and the nearby crowds that flock to Deep Ellum and Lower Greenville Avenue. Almost always filled with doctors, nurses and medical technicians ending a shift at Baylor, I can think of no bar where one will find so many people wearing surgical garb. (Let’s assume that everyone has just gotten off work).

In a town known for chains and strip malls, the Elbow Room is unique. A mix of authenticity and charm, locals and the nice looking crowd meld together in perfect harmony. Folks behind the bar tend to skew toward the tattoo and the piercing, but the service is friendly and attentive.

Happy Hour is always observed, usually with specials on the liberal selection of draft beer. An excellent mix of cold bottled beer is also available. Choices run the gamut, from Dos Equis Special Lager to Red Stripe to Shiner Bock to the domestic staples. Liquor is also available, with well drinks discounted at Happy Hour as well.

Shuffleboard, pool and dartboards make up the back half of the room, with a classic, simple wooden bar in the front of the room. A bare-chested Mona Lisa is the centerpiece of the main wall, properly adorned with a museum light above the frame. The jukebox may be Dallas’ finest, with a great collection of blues, jazz and big band favorites.

Pizza and other items are available next door at Goodfellows restaurant and can be eaten at the bar. Despite the great jukebox, the Elbow Room features live music on Wednesday and Saturday night that creates the prime time for traffic, although at virtually any time you will have no problem finding a doctor in the house. – D.M.

Exclusive clubs are usually reserved for the elite. Places like the country club, polo club or university club, where the white-gloved servers address you formally and discussion ranges from portfolios to ports of entry. Let me then introduce you to my club – the world’s first exclusive dive bar – in an industrial area on the Grand Prairie/Arlington, Texas border.

So exclusive is the place that they can’t seem to agree on the name. The matchbook says Little Indians Athletic Club and the sign outside says Little Indian Athletic Club. Either way, the only workouts going on in this AC are 12-ounce curls.

From the outside, the Little Indian(s) looks as scary as a bar in Twin Peaks. No way one would ever find it, had one not stumbled upon a shortcut through industrial Grand Prairie on the way to the Ballpark in Arlington, home of the Texas Rangers.

After driving by the place dozens of times, the Texas heat and the hour to kill before game time gave me the courage to venture in. I doubled the number of cars in the parking lot this noon.

Upon entering, I saw an air conditioning guy on break drinking a cup of coffee at the bar. 120 degrees and the air conditioning guy is drinking coffee? The woman behind the bar, also drinking coffee, barks “Are you a member?” I immediately responded “No, but I would like to be” not knowing why I said that except that I felt I was in the middle of a David Lynch movie and I didn’t want it to end.

Upon filling out an index card and paying my $10 lifetime membership, Marilyn began to warm up to me. Maybe it was the coffee or the weather outside.

This is her place, started in 1962 after her husband left her. She owns the place lock, stock and barrel which gives her the right to decide whom she wants to let in. Never a drinker, Marilyn serves cold beer and shots of whisky at low prices. And she offers opinions whether you like them or not.

When she was getting a license for a bar, the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Council called to tell her the name she had picked for her bar was taken and that she would have to immediately come up with one. Someone had brought her an Indian statue that was on the back bar and she simply said “Little Indian.” It may not be politically correct, but very little about this place is.

No food is served though the members will gather for potluck on weekends or special events. The jukebox is cheap and serviceable and there will occasionally be a Karaoke singer at night. The back yard is spacious and though underdeveloped, it looks like it would be a great place to have a raucous party.

But in keeping with its surreal atmosphere, the Super Bowl could be on and the one TV behind the bar will be tuned to Xena: Warrior Princess. The place is frequented by the horsy set. Not the equestrian types at other exclusive clubs, but track workers and horseplayers from the nearby Lone Star Park.

There is something very strangely appealing to this place. Maybe it is Marilyn. Maybe it is the odd set of characters. Maybe it is the location. After all, membership has its privileges. – D.M.

Often when interviewing for a new job, one is administered the “three beer test.” That is when a perspective candidate, after a day of interviewing, is taken out by a select group from the office and given at least three beers to see if their personality changes dramatically. Flunk the “three beer test” and kiss your job opportunity good-bye.

Upon arriving in Dallas in 1984, I was given the “three beer test” (it was more like a nine beer test) at Adair’s Saloon – a honky-tonk bar with ice cold cans of beer, great burgers topped with a red hot jalapeño peppers, and a juke box full of songs about lost pick-ups, lost dogs and lost souls.

My first encounter at the bar was with the now departed (may he rest in peace) R. L. Adair, the bar’s founder. Never having been east of Phoenix, I had to prove to the Texans surrounding me that I could be Texas-tough although only capable of wearing a six-gallon hat.

While passing the beer test with flying colors, one test I barely passed. On top of the gigantic hamburger that Adair’s is famous for was that large jalapeño pepper. Wanting to show that I fit in and was worthy of Texas citizenship, I wolfed down the pepper like it was a dill pickle. No one knew that my internal organs were burning but R. L. Adair.

He said “Son” in the best Texas drawl I still have ever heard, “this ‘ill put out the fire.” He gave me a carrot slice on a toothpick. Little did I know that it had been soaking in pepper juice. His belly laugh almost knocked the pistol out of his back belt.

R.L. may be gone  “his widow Lois still runs the joint – but Adair’s remains the same. Located in the most unlikely of places, Adair’s is in Deep Ellum which is home to the tattoo covered, body pierced crowd. By day it is more true to its cowboy roots. By night, when often live music is heard, it becomes more of a haven for the tragically hip youth of today.

Adair’s still has arguably the best burger in Dallas, and that does stir quite a debate in this town. But the memories of R.L. and the many characters that have been a part of Adair’s all these years lives on. Like the sting of your first jalapeño. D. M.

Before air conditioning, superhighways and convenience stores on every corner, there were roadhouses. A must stop along the road. A place for an ice cold Falstaff and a basket of food. Once miles away from home, Club Schmitz retains the roadhouse feel despite the fact that Dallas has now grown up around it.

Home of big hair and big burgers, Club Schmitz is – as the say in Texas – a “hoot.” When you step inside this diner-sized place, one can’t help but grin from ear to ear. The door swings open like you are visiting a neighbor’s house. You will find people that look like they have been glued to their barstool for 50 years. But alas, you know that they must leave at some time; six packs of Pabst and Keystone among others are available to go.

The food menu of amply-portioned sandwiches and fried items is located on a pegboard on the wall. The food is very reasonably priced. It is easy to get filled up for less that five dollars. The onion rings are a must, and tell me somewhere else you can get a fried egg sandwich for sale in this century.

Located near Love Field Airport in an area of industrial and residential properties and closed on Sunday, only beer is served at this great joint primarily by the can or longneck. The crowd is a mix of old timers and young professionals all enjoying the feel of the place. A juke box, pool table, and big screen television mainly get in the way from a Club Schmitz patron’s purpose: drinking beer.

Established in 1946, Club Schmitz is a great diversion from the ultra modern restaurant and club scene that is Dallas and a great place to eat and drink if you have just a couple of bucks in your jeans. Ask the gal behind the bar with the bee hive hairdo if they have any “Get Schmitz-faced” T-shirts left. This T-shirt is a must as you take it back down the road. – D.M.