You and Me, Cassidy’s
|Cassidy’s at Holiday Inn
2540 Meacham Blvd, FW.
2525 Rodeo Plaza, FW.
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
Let’s face it: Sooner or later, you’re gonna find yourself near Meacham Airport looking to party. (Don’t worry: It happens to the best of us.) But don’t sweat it. Last week, I found myself out in the middle of nowhere, which is technically where Meacham is. My significant other had just decamped for Las Colinas’ Four Seasons Hotel and Resort, and I was on a random drive, entertaining the notion of a pit stop for a celebratory-slash-conciliatory drink. The first place I saw was a gas station — now, I’m a painfully lousy drunk and all, but I think that even I am above loitering on a feeder road near a rural airport with a brown bag in my hand.
The next place was the Holiday Inn on Meacham Boulevard, and, as I approached in the Mach 0.10, the itch to wet my whistle suddenly became a powerful, unstoppable urge to get hammered. Nerves? Maybe. “Las Colinas,” “Four Seasons,” “Hotel,” “Resort,” and “significant other — alone for a week” is liable to tie anyone’s small intestine into knots, especially when, like me, you’re the submissive one in the relationship.
The good news is: I totally lucked out. Not only did I find a place that serves alcohol and doesn’t smell like toilet mints, but I unearthed a joint that I’m happy to report may even be worth visiting again.
In the bowels of the hotel (actually, near the lobby), Cassidy’s is just your average neighborhood hole-in-the-wall but one whose “wall” happens to be a cool-looking, modern-ish building that’s owned by one of the biggest hotel chains in the country.
Wednesday night here is the place to be. Apparently. As I chased a few complimentary carrot sticks left over from happy hour with ice-cold Miller Lite after ice-cold Miller Lite, I watched the size of the crowd expand from me and five or six other folks to about 25, all within, like, a couple of hours. A friendly guy sitting next to me from Atlanta said that he’s been staying at this hotel for 20 years when in town — and not for the “complimentary continental breakfast.” (What’s the deal with that, anyway? Why don’t they just call it, “butter, cold coffee, and half an English muffin ... and if you get here between 6:02 and 6:05 a.m., maybe a handful of generic brand Frosted Flakes ... but that’s it.”)
No, my fellow Cassidy’s denizen keeps coming back just to catch the Wednesday night crowd, a mix of non-pretentious and well-behaved Cubicleland worker bees of all ages. Without any Texas Hold ’Em tourneys, Jell-O wrestling, or karaoke, why do people keep coming back? My friend from Hot-lanta has an answer: fantabulous C&W tunes on the juke, cold beer, and good vibes.
You bet your ass that when I meet baby at baggage claim a week from now, I’m gonna have a good Cassidy’s-fueled buzz going. Nerves? Nah. Just heartache.
Fusion and the Fuzz
The best and worst thing about the Stockyards is that club owners there are pretty tight-knit. On the one hand, they look out for one another. On the other, they’re a little leery of newcomers.
Ever since Club Fusion opened in the Stockyards a couple of years ago, the hip-hop-ish joint has been an island to itself. Mostly to blame are the rowdy party-goers whom Fusion not only attracted but seemed to cater to. A fight a couple of weeks ago put owner E.J. Mutani on the hot seat with just about everyone — City Hall, some C&W-club regulars, and several fellow Stockyards club owners, all of whom graciously remain tight-lipped on the record about what they really think of Fusion. Mutani has responded by stripping the club building of all Fusion signage and changing the format to Tejano.
However, he’s not trying to make peace with the neighbors. He said he just wants to “make more money.”
“The other crowd didn’t spend any money at the bar,” he said. “We got a big crowd, but they treated [the club] like it was a teen club.”
Mutani’s new joint, still named Fusion as of this writing, is fighting to keep its liquor license — both the Fort Worth Police Department and the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission are protesting its renewal. A court hearing is set for April 2. Until then, party on at Fusion while you still can, ese.
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