Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.
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88 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 5.16 FOOD FIX DIARY DIVE BAR A wobbling fgure struts across patches of gravel toward the tiny stone build- ing in the shadow of a parked 18-wheeler. "Girl," Art sighs from inside the car, "this seems to be the place." Inside D&M; Corner Tavern, off Preston Highway south of the Gene Snyder, patrons play musical chairs at the bar, hop- ping from one conversation to the next while Meat Loaf sings from the jukebox about doing anything for love (except that). They occasionally abandon their tattered barstools for cigarette breaks, leaving purses, wallets and cell phones scattered across the bar, under the care of the busy bartender, Dede. "What are ya'll doing in the ladies' room?" Dede shouts to the men behind me. "Sorry, sweetie, what can I get ya?" She unfolds her perfect smile, framed by glowing skin and a chestnut updo. A half-wall wrapped in a mural of Louisville's skyline divides the room. One side is dedicat- ed to two worn pool tables, mismatched retro furniture and a pile of seasonal decorations pushed into a corner. Somebody drew a urinating stick fgure on a chalkboard with the caption, "Is this mine or urine?" The ceiling above the pool tables is full of holes from celebrating winners or losers dealing with defeat. Dede measures a shot of Old Forester for me and pours it on ice. She directs her distracted gaze to the heavy footsteps I hear behind me. "You got a bomb under that shirt?" she shouts in an assertive tone. Puzzled, I spin around to a seven-foot-tall man wrapped tightly in leather. His angry eyes are the only visible part of him amid the chaos of decorative fames and fringe. He raises his gloved hands to his face and fexes his fngers like claws. "Oh, stop it," Dede sneers, ficking her wrist like she's shooing a fy. "I know who you are, and you're scaring the new people." She slams my drink in front of me. Suddenly, one of the rowdy pool players dives behind the bar, grabbing two dishrags before running into the other room. "You got a spill?" she shouts. "No," he calls back. "Just need to clean!" Art and I sip silently, tun- ing in to the orbiting chatter, stories of growing up in Mount Washington. Dede mediates the storytelling, occasionally pour- ing another drink or providing antacids for an upset stomach. The door fies open, and the entire bar shouts, "Shorty!" as a tiny, middle-aged woman takes her seat at the bar. "Have you all been here before?" Dede asks me, knowing the answer. "First time," I say. "Have you all been here long?" Dede laughs and explains how most people still call this street Mud Lane, because it used to be dirt, making it diffcult to travel on days of heavy rain. "We've been here forever. Sixty years," she says. "People come in here all the time just to talk about their parents bringing them here when they were kids." D&M; Corner Tavern 5207 Mount Washington Road / By Wesley Bacon