A guy walks into a bar: Psycho Suzi's

The look: Psycho Suzi’s Motor Lounge was once an A&W Restaurant. The only obvious relic from its former life is a tall, rotating oval sign reminiscent of 1950’s diners like Al’s from Happy Days. Beyond that, you’d never know that the drink of choice at this Northeast hot spot was once a frosty mug of root beer. Now, it’s a cheap little slice of Polynesia slinging cocktails in tiki mugs and fake coconuts. If the castaways on Gilligan’s Island had flourished, Psycho Suzi’s would be the hottest spot on the island. The main lounge glows an intense orange like the fire at a Hawaiian luau with walls haunted by wooden carvings of Polynesian gods with hollow eyes and wide-mouthed grimaces. Impressively, there is almost no inch of the environment that doesn’t look like a life-sized version of an airport souvenir from Fiji. But the main attraction is the sprawling patio, cheekily named the “Poor Man’s Paradise,” that City Pages voted the best patio in the Twin Cities this year. Tables and benches are alternately shaded by woven-grass umbrellas or lit with tiki torches. A barrier of child-sized wooden statues separates the main level from a secondary lower-level patio. Through all the fake bamboo it’s hard to see where—if ever—the patio ends. “Poor Man’s Paradise” is nothing fancy, but it is a very thorough replica of a stereotypical South Pacific atmosphere—fun!

The crowd: Billed as a “motor lounge,” Psycho Suzi’s is, in image at least, a biker/hot-rod hang out. In reality, there are a fair amount of the rockabilly types that you would expect at a “motor lounge” but there are plenty of neighborhood folks, Northeast hipsters, and even families (during daytime hours only). On my Sunday night visit there seemed to be quite a few service industry employees taking a faux tropical vacation from a busy weekend.

The drinks: To have the authentic Psycho Suzi’s experience, one must have one of their tropical-themed cocktails. Picking which one, however, may be confusing because the descriptions on the menu are rather vague, sometimes not even mentioning what kind of liquor they contain. Frankly, it probably doesn’t matter all that much since most of them are one or two kinds of rum with this or that kind of juice. Given that they are all served in cheap porcelain tiki mugs or coconuts with tiki-headed swizzle sticks and all kinds of tawdry plastic accoutrements, more attention has gone into how the drinks look than how they taste.

For no other reason than that it inspired an image of a little tiki man with a coconut helmet exploring space in a bamboo rocket, I ordered the “Coconaut.” My server warned me that it gets more mixed reviews than the other drinks, but I ignored her advice and regretted it. The menu described the “Coconaut” as something of a cross between a White Russian and a spicy Pina Colada, “but not really.” I wasn’t sure how to take that so I didn’t know what to expect. What I got was a fake bamboo mug filled with a bland mixture of rum, cream, and a splash of Kahlua; nothing spicy about it. I admit I was warned but I was disappointed anyway. They claim that there drinks are not syrupy sweet, but the “Coconaut” stuck to my tongue tropical flavored Nestle Quick.

To cut into the aftertaste of the “Coconaut,” I wanted something brighter with much more fruit. This time I listened to my server and ordered the “Crummy Scoundrel.” Described as “an amusing blend of flavors” including blackberry, pomegranate, and banana and extra booze it seemed like the right choice. I didn’t taste any banana, but the other flavors came through. The subtle tartness helped dissolve the creamy film from the previous drink, but again I thought it was sweeter than advertised. This time it wasn’t so much a sugary sweet as it was a lingering aftertaste, as if there were too many artificial flavors.

What I did like was drinking out of a fake coconut. The funny thing is that the wacky mugs and tacky garnishes are more a part of the ambience than the cocktail. They don’t do much for the contents but they do complete the tiki bar image.

The food: The menu reads like the staff got drunk and stoned and wrote it in one sitting without revisions; it is sassy, irreverent, and dubiously informative. Luckily, the appetizers, pizzas and sandwiches are all straight forward enough that it doesn’t matter. And although the food is nothing to write the mainland about, the potluck pickle roll-ups (pickles coated in cream cheese and wrapped in ham cut into sushi-sized bites) are worth a try; if they don’t sound good, they are better than they sound and if they sound good, you’re right.

The verdict: The schtick at Psycho Suzi’s is that they are brazenly casual and celebrate poor taste to demonstrate their unpretentiousness. It’s kind of like the rebellious children of Jimmy Buffet’s ironic answer to Margaritaville.  And for the most part it works. I applaud them for the authenticity of the artifice they have created. Psycho Suzi’s is, without question, a fun place to go for drinks. In fact, as the balmy breezes of June yield to the heavy humidity of July and August, I recommend an afternoon in “Poor Man’s Paradise.” And they have cleverly protected themselves against criticism by touting the way they keep the bar low, but I’m not going to let them get away with it. If they don’t want to make the effort to be known for good bar food, fine. But what would be the harm in taking a little more care to make the drinks—which are a big part of the identity of Psycho Suzi’s—worth the trip. Would Psycho Suzi’s be any less cool, any less fun, any more pretentious if the cocktails were more than just kitsch? Call me uptight, but I don’t think so.

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