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There was a fourth dimension, not so long ago—afterwards World War II merely before Willie moved to Austin—that most Texans would have shared a common, if working, definition of "honky-tonk." But present, many seem to take the wrong idea near what qualifies (and in that location are some, typically of the recently arrived variety, for whom the word might equally well be Swahili). Role of what makes the term so tricky to nail downward is the fact that there are certain ineffable qualities that a true honky-tonk must possess. Some historic venues lose it over time, and some brand-new joints have it from day one. So before we go any further, let's set some guidelines.
A honky-tonk is not a dance hall. Many of our most beloved trip the light fantastic halls were built by German language and Czech settlers in the 2nd one-half of the nineteenth century. They are often beautiful structures, originally constructed to host social clubs and other family-friendly affairs. Honky-tonks, by contrast, tend to have roots equally shallow as tumbleweeds'. Few can trace their history back more than than a few decades, and but a handful of stalwarts have been around for more than than fifty years. In fact, a honky-tonk is seldom erected at all. It tends to jump to life when an empty filling station or abased store is repurposed. As such, the honky-tonk does not boast the elegant architectural qualities of a trip the light fantastic hall. The ceilings are low, the walls cinder block and windowless, the lighting is neon, and the dance flooring, when not sticky tile or physical, is likely made of wood salvaged from an sometime high schoolhouse gym. Nor is a honky-tonk the focal point of civic life. It is well-nigh often found on the outskirts of town, where it serves the periphery of club. And a honky-tonk is certainly no place to take small children.
A honky-tonk is not a restaurant. The fare is typically limited to the kind you lot'd find at a Piffling League concession stand: Frito pie, nachos, nuts, and various fried or pickled items. A few places serve fine burgers from their grease-laden flattops. And you might come across passable steak (craven-fried or grilled) on certain nights. Merely if yous ever see blue cheese on the carte du jour, friend, you're not in a honky-tonk. (On the other hand, if you smell blue cheese near the men'south room, y'all might be.)
A honky-tonk is not a country-themed nightclub. Such country discos are widespread among the state'due south big cities and were founded on the honky-tonk's core principles—namely, booze, country music, dancing, and hooking upward—only the parallels pretty much stop there. For one matter, these cavernous warehouses operate nearly exclusively at night and on the weekends. This runs contrary to the operating hours of a honky-tonk, which should welcome customers at least v days a week and open earlier folks get off work. Whereas each honky-tonk offers some sense of the possessor'south personality (if only in the array of taxidermy displayed), the nightclub is a more impersonal feel.
While groups like Texas Trip the light fantastic toe Hall Preservation take taken laudable steps to salvage our state'south handsome trip the light fantastic halls, the dingy, rough-hewn honky-tonk hasn't inspired the aforementioned kind of conservation efforts. As a result, the honky-tonk is at present endangered. Just those that remain keep to serve an of import part in their communities: they are the place where a person can unspool a troubled listen, pursue or nurture romance, drown their sorrows, or milk shake their limbs to a country song.
This bound, I traveled some 3 yard miles in search of the state'due south best honky-tonks. As expected, most were pigsty-in-the-wall joints with piddling to adore aesthetically. Many had notwithstanding to run across smoking bans, and a couple featured the inevitable hothead fuming over some perceived slight at the pool tabular array. But the vast majority are mostly welcoming places—and then long as you don't go also out of line or come in proselytizing for veganism. I reckon that parts of this list might not sit down well with some readers and others volition be baffled past what's left off. I'm happy to have the argue, so long as it'southward over Solitary Stars—in a honky-tonk, of course.
Left: Arkey Blue's Silverish Dollar, in Bandera. Photo by LeAnn Mueller
Meridian: Arkey Blue'south Silverish Dollar, in Bandera. Photo by LeAnn Mueller
Bandera
Arkey Blueish's Silver Dollar
Established: 1968
Nuts: Cash only. Smoking permitted. $5 cover charge on Saturdays and holiday weekends.
Potable: Solitary Star (longneck). Sells setups. Wine: Barefoot.
Food: Numberless of chips, popcorn for $1—salty and a bit stale (in other words, good).
Sign: "Cowboys—No shirt, no service. Cowgirls—No shirt, free beer."
Pro Tip: Don't wear your rough-out suede boots. The sawdust will stick to them.
To enter this honky-tonk sky, you must become down. Down a wooden staircase backside a red metal door on the chief street of Bandera, down into the cool darkness beneath the boondocks'southward general shop. A local woman will greet y'all at the bottom of the stairs. Yous'll give her $five and she'll hand you a ticket to this neon kingdom. Your optics will need a moment to conform to the dim light, at which point you lot'll have in your surroundings: The ceiling is depression and made of red pressed tin. In that location's a small-scale phase to your right, and the bar beckons at the far end of the room. The air smells of popcorn, beer, and tobacco. The trip the light fantastic floor is blanketed with sawdust.
Arkey Juenke, the possessor, was a young songwriter and guitar picker when a record producer took to calling him Blue, because of his tendency to write and sing sad songs. The name stuck. Arkey opened the Silver Dollar in 1968, and ever since Arkey Bluish and the Bluish Cowboys have been playing tear-in-your-beer tunes every Saturday dark. In the afternoon, a regularly scheduled jam session draws a crowd of dancers. Afterward they cease and before Arkey'due south eight o'clock prepare begins, many of the dancers get domicile, eat dinner, accept a nap, throw on fresh duds, and return just as the Blue Cowboys accept the stage.
On the Sat evening I was at that place, a good chunk of the oversupply was made upwards of old-schoolhouse cowboy types in Wranglers and straw hats, but 1 brave soul ventured downstairs wearing a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. Many of the men's faces were cherry from the sun or from drink and lined past wrinkles as deep as cotton fiber furrows. The women dripped with turquoise and sterling silver, and wore blouses emblazoned with Sometime Celebrity to mark the Memorial Twenty-four hours weekend. Those who didn't already know one another made fast friends at the long tables covered in red-and-white-checkered cloths.
Promptly at eight, Arkey and his quintet launched into their set of honky-tonk classics. They burned through "Ramblin' Fever," and the steel guitar wailed on "There Stands the Glass." Every bit the nighttime waltzed on, i of the dancers took a interruption and slid into the booth beyond from me. She introduced herself: Denise Lartin, 62 years old, originally from Queens, and at present a proud Bandera resident. I asked how she had ended upward hither. "I got addicted to two-stepping," she told me in the thickest New York accent I've heard outside of the movies. She had googled "cowboys" and discovered Bandera, which touts itself every bit the Cowboy Uppercase of the World. "I had gone to Utah and Arizona before coming here," she said, "but at that place weren't no cowboy bars. Non similar here. You can go dancing every dark of the week."
Shortly earlier midnight, Arkey and his Blue Cowboys began to wrap their prepare. Denise and her fellow decided to caput down Main Street to a country bar. Before they ascended the stairs, I asked Denise if she planned to stick around Bandera. "Oh, I'm hither forever," she said. "Texas, there's zero like it."
San Antonio
Lonesome Rose
Established: 2018
Basics: Credit accepted. No smoking. $five cover accuse, additional for live music.
Beverage: Total bar.
Nutrient: Slab Sides, a food truck parked exterior, serves mesquite ribs, mac and cheese, wings, sausage on a stick.
Sign:"Tenemos Budweiser Fria Para Llevar."
Pro Tip: Order the Cowboy's Breakfast: a Miller High Life pony, a shot of whiskey, and a Slim Jim for $v.
Although it bills itself as "the oldest honky-tonk on the St. Mary's Strip," the Lonesome Rose has been open merely since November. Despite its relative infancy, the Rose feels like a archetype honky-tonk, albeit with a few modern touches. There's Texas craft beer, for example, simply there'due south also a jukebox impeccably stocked with vinyl 45s. Local musician Garrett T. Capps handles the booking, and nether his curation, the bar has hosted a range of acts, from honky-tonk traditionalist Weldon Henson to San Antonio conjunto fable Santiago Jiménez Jr.
It's the San Antonio vibe that really sets the Lonesome Rose apart. On a Saturday nighttime, a scattering of dancing couples glided in front of the stage while a mirror ball not much bigger than a grapefruit spun to a higher place them, and the lead singer of the 501'due south slipped references to the Spurs into a Tim McGraw cover as the ace accordion player added a layer of conjunto to the country sound. When the ring launched into the Texas Tornados' "Guacamole," whoops of "¡Órale!" went up from the tattooed crowd. Between songs, dudes in wallet chains and bolo ties shared pictures of their custom choppers similar parents showing off photos of their newborn.
I met Samantha Caudillo and her boyfriend, Damon Espinoza, who'd come to the Rose on a double appointment with Samantha'southward parents. The twentysomethings are San Antonio born and bred, and they know all the local country acts considering they spend most weekends dancing. Though they're more inclined to clubs similar the Thirsty Equus caballus and Cooter Browns, they're glad to have a new spot that offers both two-stepping and Hans' Pils.
Shortly before 2 a.m., I stepped out onto the back porch for some fresh air. Cacti lined the fence, and a statue of Mary watched over the scene from her tiny stone grotto. The band announced its terminal song, sending several couples who'd been seated at the picnic tables inside to trip the light fantastic. Presently, the familiar refrains of "Neon Moon" spilled out of the Rose. I stayed out back, watching clouds move across the night sky, singing along.
La Feria
Texas Rose Bar
Established: 1982
Basics: Credit accepted ($10 minimum). Smoking permitted.
Beverage: Coors Light (draft) and Lone Star (longneck). Sells setups. Some kind of frozen wine concoction.
Food: Pickles, peanuts, chips, pretzels, Dum Dums, and a few microwavable items. Gratis popcorn.
Sign: Autographed John Wayne portraits.
Pro tip: If the tamale guy stops by, grab some: they're a steal at $7 a dozen. Merely be sure to become some of the bootleg salsa—the locals will show y'all what to do with the pouch.
Afternoon in a good honky-tonk can be every bit fine a time as a Sabbatum night, though for changed reasons. A certain stillness settles over the bar like a saddle coating. The jukebox plays softly, puddle shooters circumvolve their felt battlegrounds with quiet contemplation, and conversation, when it comes, flows in dull, easy currents. If you've ever stepped within the Texas Rose at midday, you lot know what I hateful.
Situated about a mile off the interstate on a placidity route between La Feria and Harlingen, the Rose and nearby American Legion Post 439 are the last two watering holes on what was one time a bustling strip of honky-tonks. Railroad tracks and a grazing pasture sit across the street, and there'due south a caliche-pad RV park to the rear. Pulling upwardly, you lot feel equally if you've but arrived at a country bar that's really in the state.
Within, tabs are kept past hand on slips of newspaper adjacent to the annals. Beer is fished out of a cooler. White wine is poured over ice into plastic cups. Regulars proceed their own koozies hanging on the wall below the chips. Iii TVs are perpetually tuned to a puzzling trifecta of channels: History, Golf game, and Grit ("tv set with backbone"). The barroom is filled with Newport fume, and at that place are so many pictures of John Wayne it feels like a shrine to the Duke.
While I was hanging out one contempo Sat afternoon, a local picker with a Walt Whitman beard sat onstage playing a tobacco-stained guitar. His sneakers were kicked off to the side, and he worked his guitar pedals in white-socked feet, singing "Make the Globe Go Away," which is exactly what you're aiming to do in a honky-tonk at iii p.chiliad.
Past and so, the Rose had already been open up for six hours. "Sometimes I have regulars calling at nine, request me to open the back gate," said Ann Marie Gurklis, who's been tending bar here for twelve years. She remembers when the concrete building was a taxidermy shop. (The meat locker is now a storage room, simply the metal hooks used to hang carcasses are notwithstanding in in that location.)
Ann's clearly had do filling the more than tranquil hours talking to strangers. She told me about the drag shows held at the bar to raise money for the local hospice, and she chuckled recounting the annual Testicle Festival, which features a feast of fried turkey testes (they initially used bull testicles just switched to turkey because the bovine variety was too expensive). "Yous know where turkey nuts are located?" Ann asked me. I did not. She pointed at her armpit. "Nether the wings."
Houston
Neon Boots Dancehall & Saloon
Established: 2013
Basics: Credit accustomed. No smoking. $5 encompass charge on Saturdays and Sundays, after 9 p.m.
Drink: Full bar.
Nutrient: Steak night on Wednesday. Burgers grilled on the patio every Saturday.
Sign: "Get Hot or Leave."
Pro tip: Gratis dance lessons are offered every Thursday and Saturday.
Once a honky-tonk oasis, Houston has recently become something of a desert. Gilley's and its kin accept been replaced with the likes of Goodnight Charlie's, a recently opened articulation in the Montrose District peddling $x taco plates to a mostly white-collar oversupply in a space that looks like Silicon Valley'southward endeavour to hack the honky-tonk. If you lot really want to go honky-tonking in the Bayou Urban center, you'll take to venture beyond the Loop.
That'southward where you'll observe the rock facade of Neon Boots Dancehall & Saloon, a welcome sight among the industrial sprawl on the city'southward northwest side. The building has been a mainstay of this part of boondocks since 1955, when it opened every bit the Esquire Ballroom. Equally such, it was the musical dwelling to jukebox queen Patsy Cline in addition to being Willie Nelson'south place of employment in his early on songwriting days (he composed "Night Life" about working at the bar while commuting from Pasadena). Dozens of legendary honky-tonk acts played its phase over the years, but the Esquire closed for expert in 1995. The edifice hosted a cord of short-lived ventures (battle venue, quinceañera hall, space-themed nightclub) before six Houstonians stepped in to give it a new life equally the state's largest LGBTQ country bar, in 2013.
Today, rainbow rosette fans hang higher up the white pine dance flooring, where every Thursday and Saturday y'all'll find a crowd trying to turn two left feet into two-stepping machines at the society'southward gratuitous dance lessons. White lights outline the shape of Texas above the entrance, and a Texas flag serves as the backdrop for the phase. While helping yourself to popcorn as yous flip through the digital jukebox, you might spy the Houston chapter of the Texas Gay Rodeo Association gathered effectually a tabular array in their Stetsons. At 11,000 square feet, Neon Boots is a scrap big for a honky-tonk, but most nights information technology retains the intimacy of a small society.
You can read near the bar's history in the Esquire Room, a split space adjacent to the principal dancing area, where regularly held karaoke sessions are likewise mercifully quarantined. But Neon Boots doesn't just dwell on the past. The bar represents the future of Southern music: H-Boondocks rapper Megan Thee Stallion recently held her album release party at Neon Boots, where she rode in on a literal white horse. Such soirees may push button the boundaries of what is accepted past purists, but this articulation is no stranger to transgressive acts. Decades ago, the Esquire was amongst the start country bars to host African American country crooner Charley Pride.
Left: The End Line Club, in Aledo. Photograph by Jeff Wilson
Top: The End Line Order, in Aledo. Photograph by Jeff Wilson
Aledo
The Finish Line Order
Established: 1965
Basics: Credit accepted. Smoking permitted. $5 cover accuse on Saturdays for live music.
Drink: Full bar.
Food: Diverse fried fare, burgers, nachos, Frito pie.
Sign: Bathrooms are delineated by "Standers" and "Squatters." Standers are encouraged to salve themselves past aiming at the "Hanoi Jane" urinal target. (Your correspondent cannot speak to the experiences of squatters.)
Pro Tip: If you aren't starving, the Frito pie is enough for two.
No Texas city harshes the honky-tonk vibe quite like Dallas, where you're more likely to go run over by a Mercedes than come up across a genuine shit-kicker bar. A place called Mama Tried opened terminal year, complete with a scene of Bud and Sissy painted on the wall, but alas, the former CrossFit gym feels more like a Nashville brunch spot than Gilley'south. As ane local put it, "Mama Tried only Mama Failed." The one exception in the metropolis is Adair'south Saloon.
And then there's Fort Worth. On weekend nights, the famous Stockyards transform into a Western-themed Bourbon Street. The smell of steer manure wafts gently on the wind, and clubs with names similar Filthy McNasty'southward are packed with line-dancing tourists in hats purchased at Leddy'due south only hours before. Lil' Red'due south Longhorn Saloon, though, is worth contesting the crowds. If yous e'er have the take chances to take hold of Johnny Bush or Jason James play this room, you'll have achieved honky-tonk nirvana—at least until you have to step back exterior.
A xx-minute drive from the Stockyards, the Finish Line Social club, in Aledo, is the real bargain. Nestled side by side to an HVAC shop and a gas-station-turned-fireworks-store on the I-30 frontage road, this is the kind of no-frills, small-scale-town honky-tonk that attracts all types—bikers swaddled in black leather, regular joes in cowboy hats and camo visors, tatted dudes with farmer'south tans, loftier-haired women with honey-colored curls, and, patently, a whole mess of people who like to sing.
A snowfall-haired couple was onstage giving their all to "You're the Reason God Made Oklahoma" when I arrived on a Friday night. Misty Daily, the bartender, explained that the bar typically hosts bands on Wednesday and Saturdays, but Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays are dedicated to karaoke. A dozen or so attentive listeners sat at tables surrounding the dance floor, focused on the rotating bandage of singers. The rest of the clientele carried on as if information technology were just the jukebox playing in the background.
Misty was notwithstanding busy at midnight. She poured shots of Fireball by the score, tracked down missing puddle balls, ribbed the regulars, and called newbies like me by name. The cook finished her shift and saturday at the bar nursing a pint and a Pall Mall. Highlights of the Rangers game played on TV. A black cowboy in a white lid sang "He Stopped Loving Her Today" in front of a rebel flag tacked up behind the stage. Misty stopped for a moment and listened.
El Paso
Texas Stagecoach Saloon
Established: 2012
Basics: Credit accustomed ($ten minimum). No smoking.
Drinkable: Full bar.
Food: Brisket hoagies, fries, pizza, wings.
Sign: "To Those Who Serve America: Cheers."
Pro Tip: Apply the coin-operated breathalyzer (the money goes to the local firefighters) earlier deciding how to become habitation.
When this small stone bar was built on El Paso's northeast side some forty years ago, it was called the Connexion. Later it was known every bit the Outpost; after that, the White Stallion; and since 2012, the Texas Stagecoach Saloon. No thing, it has e'er been a honky-tonk.
Lorena Silva, 49, remembers sneaking in here decades ago when she was notwithstanding underage. Now she tends the bar a couple of nights every calendar week, not because she has to—she's got a total-time job—only considering she loves the Stagecoach and its patrons. Cheers to its proximity to Fort Elation, many of its habitués are GIs, a fact that is reflected in the decor. Flags from the 1st Cavalry and 82nd Airborne divisions hang on the wall. Dollars dangle from the ceiling like suspended confetti, and some of the names scrawled on the bills belong to servicemen and -women who didn't make it home. The glowing Christmas tree slowly turning in one corner is set for the regulars who were deployed overseas final December and hadn't gotten to celebrate the holiday. Lorena asked possessor Mike Kepner if she could keep the tree up till they returned home. As the soldiers trickle back to El Paso, they stop in to the Stagecoach to pose for pictures with the tree.
Pouring shots of whiskey and cracking open longnecks, Lorena holds her ain in the jargon-heavy globe of military barrack. She chats easily about bullet calibers and the size of motorcycle engines. When "ane of her boys" starts dating someone new, they oftentimes stop by and innovate the new flame to her. Even after the soldiers are transferred to other bases, Lorena will receive baby pictures and Christmas cards.
It'south non all military all the time at the Stagecoach, though. On the weekends, local country acts take the stage to play for dancers. "We have this couple that comes in every Saturday to trip the light fantastic," Lorena told me. "Mr. Decker is eighty-eight, but he stills get effectually pretty good. Mrs. Decker is but four foot eleven, and so we keep a footstool next to their table to assistance her become into the seat."
Left: Devil'south Courage Tavern, near Fischer. Photograph past LeAnn Mueller
Top: Devil'south Backbone Tavern, near Fischer. Photograph past LeAnn Mueller
Fischer
Devil'due south Courage Tavern
Established: 1937
Basics: Greenbacks only. No smoking. Cover accuse varies, depending on who's playing.
Drinkable: Full bar.
Food: Cold-cutting sandwiches, Zapp's murphy chips, nuts.
Sign: "Get Some Backbone."
Pro Tip: Be sure to grab cash earlier you brand the trip—the ATM is choosy.
The Devil's Backbone Tavern sits atop one of the nigh beautiful vistas in all of Texas. At almost 1,300 feet, the hill it's perched on offers a clear view of the zigzagging limestone ridge that gave the bar its name. Native Americans one time camped on the hilltop, no dubiousness admiring the rugged terrain beneath. The handsome stone building that at present houses the tavern was built in the thirties to serve parched souls traveling betwixt then-dry Hays County and its moisture neighbor Comal. Eight decades after, it continues to offer bibulous locals and wayward pilgrims a take a chance to relax, wet the whistle, and heed to music—or some ghost stories.
You run across, the tavern and the entire rocky outcrop it sits upon are rumored to be haunted. Ghost sightings and tales of paranormal tomfoolery date back to well before the bar opened. Even those who scoff at the supernatural are probable to be a picayune goosed when they spy a certain stone mortared into the back wall higher up the hearth. A closer await confirms that the rock is indeed the spittin' paradigm of Satan.
Merely hell felt far away on a mild Thursday afternoon this spring. A group of self-identified "old-timers" held court at the locals' table near the archway. Ane of the men, whose long hair spilled in white waves from his cowboy hat, popped open a can of tuna. Soon, the whole place smelled of fish. The black cat that had been dozing on the beer cooler sprinted across the wooden bar. The cowboy set the can on the footing. "Cheaper than Friskies," he said.
1 of the owners, singer-songwriter Robyn Ludwick, popped in. She and her husband, John (a.thou.a. Lunchmeat), took buying of Devil'due south Courage concluding August. Along with partner Abbey Route, they revived the trip the light fantastic toe hall portion, which had been fallow for decades. "I grew upward in Bandera," Robyn told me. "I was raised going to Arkey Blue'southward. I saw Johnny Bush play there in the nineties, and information technology was just one of those life-changing moments."
Music is now at the core of the operation. You lot might hear a talented unknown tickling the bar'due south piano keys, even so wearing his paint-specked coveralls. Shinyribs' Kevin Russell might show up for a jam session. And you can e'er drop a quarter in the jukebox and mash 0-iv-0-9 to play Todd Snider'due south "The Ballad of the Devil's Backbone Tavern," which he composed after getting lost on the mode to a gig in Luckenbach and ending up at the tavern instead.
I was humming the song to myself when the landline telephone rang. The bartender picked it upwards. "Hello." No respond. "Hello," she repeated. She put the telephone back in its cradle. "Guess they couldn't hear me," she said.
"Nah," said one of the old-timers. "Just the ghost."
Austin
Broken Spoke
Established: 1964
Nuts: Credit accepted (5 percent fee added). No smoking. Cover charge varies depending on who's playing.
Drink: Full bar. The lone tap: Lone Star.
Food: Steaks, burgers, Tex-Mex, and the famous chicken-fried steak.
Sign: "Through this door laissez passer the all-time country music dancers in the world."
Pro Tip: Bide by proper dance etiquette—no drinking or standing on the dance floor—or else you'll describe the ire of Austin'due south difficult-core honky-tonkers.
When it comes to great honky-tonks, Austin'south mug runneth over. On the due north side, Ginny'southward Little Longhorn Saloon is world-famous for its games of Chicken-Shit Bingo, but the chirapsia middle of the bar is honky-tonk music. Almost any dark of the week yous can stumble in to find bands led by the likes of Dale Watson or James Hand squeezing onto the tiny stage.
Since opening its doors, in 2011, the White Horse has increasingly felt out of place amid the condos, yoga studios, and boutiques that have gentrified East Austin. But the White Horse remains stubbornly authentic. If you're lucky, i of the many faithful regulars, such every bit the Czech grandma who conscripted me for a few dances i evening, will teach you a new step.
Far (for now) from the maddening development, Sam's Town Point, in Due south Austin, is the kind of backwoods honky-tonk yous'd stumble upon but if you made a wrong plow. With woods-paneled walls, Spuds Mac-Kenzie decor, and nary a whiff of hipster irony, Sam's is a genuine eighties fourth dimension capsule.
Just the grandad of them all is the Broken Spoke, considered past many to be the greatest in Texas. Perhaps no honky-tonk has had more ink spilled in its name. Even with all the press, it'due south a miracle the place has survived. Austin has radically changed since James and Annetta White opened the doors, in 1964. No longer does the joint sit alone on the far border of town. The wide-open field that in one case surrounded information technology is now covered in glass-paned high-rises. Yet the squat, crimson building stands proudly and preposterously out of time.
Inside the Spoke, hardly a thing has changed in 55 years. The speckled ceiling tiles still hang then depression that a alpine cowboy has to doff his chapeau. Chicken-fried steak is still served with steaming white gravy. Twirling couples even so waltz, shuffle, and polka on the polished-concrete dance floor. And there to greet you on virtually nights are James and Annetta. But you probably already know all this, considering of grade y'all've spent an evening there. On the off chance you take even so to brand this honky-tonk pilgrimage (and sacred Texan rite of passage), I recommend you tell no ane. Merely go ahead and book your trip now. You'll exist glad you did.
This article originally appeared in the September 2019 issue ofTexas Monthlywith the headline "Long Alive Honky-Tonks!" Subscribe today .
Source: https://www.texasmonthly.com/being-texan/the-best-honky-tonks-in-texas/
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