St. Paul’s Outdoor Palapa has always been a mystery to me. I’ve never understood why that little tiki bar on the east end of the Milwaukee Public Market is always packed. (Even in winter, when it’s shrouded in plastic.) A palapa is an open-sided bar with a thatched roof usually found on beaches, not at urban intersections. What exactly is the allure of squeezing shoulder-to-shoulder and sipping margaritas a few feet away from traffic? Admittedly, I’m not really a tiki bar kind of dude, but judging by those crowds, I’ve been missing out on something here – so I decided to finally find out what makes the place so popular.
Arriving on a weeknight just after work, I’m immediately struck by how well the bartender (wearing a Hawaiian shirt, as is only proper) seems to know the crowd, cracking familiar jokes. I don’t expect that kind of neighborhood feel in a place that, from the outside, seems like a tourist trap filled with tropical bric-a-brac like Corona signs, palm tree decor, etc.
But unexpectedly, “Where Everybody Knows Your Name,” begins to quietly play in my head. If this bar were Cheers, I wonder, could I be its Frasier Crane?
It’s time to pick your Milwaukee favorites for the year!
I order the St. Paul Authentic Margarita. The drink’s presentation is far from fancy – a plastic cup, some ice, a lime wedge and a straw – but I don’t care. What I do care about is the double shot of tequila, and baby, it delivers. That sucker is sharp, a boozy sting in the throat. On top of tiki drinks, the palapa also offers a basic selection of beer and wine, as well as food from St. Paul Fish Co. – although I don’t see anyone eating.
The crowded space fills to standing room only as the minutes pass. By now, it’s about 6:30, and my mind is beginning its usual assault on my nerves, reminding me of my cavalcade of work responsibilities. But immersed in the atmosphere, with the sun still shining bright, I feel strangely empowered to kick back for just one evening and relax. So I enjoy my drink and watch the folks around me enjoying theirs, and for a few minutes I feel like I’m on an impromptu vacation.
And there, I think, is the secret to why so many people love this place – the joyous power of collective delusion. Dozens of folks gather around this tiny bar next to a busy intersection underneath an interstate spur, and they sip tropical drinks and act like they’re on a Caribbean island despite being a five-minute walk from the U.S. Bank Center … and somehow it works. There’s a real freedom to the place, a pleasant and friendly feeling of escape, and for the first time in months, while I sit on my barstool, I’m entirely carefree.
Although, it could just be that crazy strong margarita.
