A bitter review of Lucky Strike Lanes D.C.

Lucky Strike Lanes has managed to reached the zenith of identity confusion, allowing to coalesce an impotent attempt at classiness — replete with concomitant excessive drink (and bowling!) prices –, the garishness of a sports bar, obtrusive — and wholly inescapable — screens displaying above the bowling lanes what today passes, most regrettably, for art, and a menu, though not at all without its high points, lacking any sort of readily perceived internal coherence.

Additional to all of this, of course, is a very mediocre staff, the fabulousness of waitress Nina more than offset by the disinterest of the bowling counter clerk, who had no qualm with deserting me, shoeless, mid-transaction, and the mannerisms of the imperious blow-hard of a security official.

Moreover, an anticipated two-and-a-half-to-three-hour-long wait for a bowling lane, even at such a trendy spot in the city on Friday night, nigh leaves one in a stupor. When those three hours extend into almost four, the stupor evolves into irateness.

I recommend Lucky Strike Lanes with as much enthusiasm as I advocate shooting puppies with buckshot for the sake of amusement.

I should have known that Lucky Strike were to disappoint me: I loathe Gallery Place, site of the lanes, because it is a painfully sterile artifice, as so many new developments (e.g., downtown Silver Spring) tend to be. Planners — and many others — often are wont to toss about the word “authentic” with such frequency that it has lost much of its value; nevertheless, I confess, it is the lack of just this in these trendy new commercial/social areas that further blemish a field so often prone to destroying the urban fabric.


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