Audio By Carbonatix
Surviving for more than 95 years, Tobacco Road (626 S. Miami Ave., Miami; 305-374-1198) is the oldest bar in town. While other nightclubs pop up and crumble within a year’s time, the ol’ Road’s faithful imbibers shack up within its abiding walls. Inside, a long bar spans the length of the downstairs room. Next to it is a small dining area pinned off by short walls — the old nonsmoking section before the whole bar became cigarette-free.
Tobacco Road hasn’t changed much, but the laws have. On a recent Friday night, friends, couples, and co-workers sat at the elongated counter, the only barrier between them and the slayer of their inhibitions: alcohol. Blue-collar Joes drank beer while white-collar Johns sipped clear cocktails. Upstairs, alternative rock and blues bands played in the cabaret.
The air outside was 60 degrees — cold by Miami standards — but sweat still glistened off brows. The revelers on the bar’s wooden patio flirtatiously stepped and slithered with dancing partners under the expansive branches of a two-story-tall tree. DJ Oski spun Latin music and other random dance hits.
Maggie, a 6-1 Cubana, towered over most of the men. One fellow she salsa-danced with was three inches shorter, but a good sport nonetheless. “That guy just went through physical therapy for his knee. He sacrificed himself to dance,” Maggie said. But not everyone was so willing to shake a leg. A wallflower with his hoodie up quietly observed the scene. His stoic stare turned into laughter when a woman with crow’s-feet and marionette lines exposed her cleavage as she booty-danced with a George Costanza look-alike. As patrons sang along to “I Will Survive,” a man slipped his hands up the shirt of the woman he was making out with. Tobacco Road — drunk dancing and public displays of horniness. It’s good to know some things withstand the passage of time.