Tommy’s Bar and Grill

Tommy’s was #4 of 6 on a recent pub crawl I led. Everyone warned us that it was the worst of the worst and not to go there but it was harmless.
I can’t write anything here that you can’t guess at: bad beer selection, misspelled names on the menu, Asian owner who was more than happy to see us but not happy enough to give me anything for free unlike the guy at Eastenders. Pool table in the front, huge space in the back kind of makes me want to try and have some dance party there. There was a jukebox as I recall.
I’ve passed this joint many times during the day and the patio is often full. By the time we showed up, the place was as dead as could be.
If you are on a «Danforth Dive» crawl, this place is an absolute must.

I would say it’s tied as one of the seediest dive bars on our pubcrawl in the east end but that kinda makes it charming. definitely worst bathroom on the route! but hey. cheap drinks. good friends equals good times!

Stop #5 on the Dirty Danforth pub crawl and it finally started living up to its name with a visit to Tommy’s Bar and Grill.
Again, and I hate to sound like a broken record (a broken record, a broken record …), but we we’re heartily greeted by the bartender as we strolled in and towards the back.
If you’ve never seen Tommy’s or the usual clientele, I don’t think I have the vocabulary nor the writing skills to really do it justice. I think maybe Tommy’s is the purgatory for all the lost souls that couldn’t make it into the nicer purgatory that is Big Ronnie’s (read my review) and these poor lost souls also smell like cat pee. Seriously. Cat. Pee. And not the glamorized Hollywood stuff.
Not only did the bathroom door appear to have been recently kicked-​in but it, and not the one of Trainspotting fame, is definitely the dirtiest bathroom in Scotland. Seriously.
Fortunately, we hadn’t ordered our drinks before actually seeing the toilet, so we had no reason to leave. The bartender came over and told us what they had on tap:
«Amber», she said.
«Amber what? I mean, which brewery?», I asked.
«No brewery. It’s Amber», she said.
«Uh. Okay. I think we’ll have 6 Exports”*
*Normally, I wouldn’t order Export, but they didn’t have 50 (nor Purple, Taupe or any other beer of colour alone) and it was a dirty pub crawl after all.
We were really enjoying taking this all in when one of the regulars began talking at us in a language that I think derived from English, but it became bastardized somewhere south of Foetal Alcohol Syndrome and a little west of Dropped On Her Head At An Early Age. Wow. If only she had more cowbell.
So, between the smell of death and our poor grasp of the local dialect, we decided it was in our best interest to call the WHO and get out of there.
I’d like to say that this was the worst place I’ve ever been in my life, but I can’t because I visited Jane’s Happy Bar immediately after this, so stay tuned for stop #6 on the crawl.
And just so you’re clear, this is a do not recommend.