Men who've got crabs generally avoid women, lest they discover the embarrassing truth: shaving down there doesn't make your junk look bigger. Plus, you've got crabs. Throwing caution to the wind, the guys behind Brick House Tavern + Tap.
Following the excellent trend of opening in an ex-Bennigan's, Brick's a sports resto-bar from the Houston-based founders of Joe's Crab Shack, whose goal here is to "dispense happiness to the common man" via uber-bachelor digs (a "Rec Room" with plasmas dedicated to individual leather loungers, a sweet brick-walled bar with signage like "Tap That Glass", an awe-inspiring fireplace open on three sides...) and, because tavern food's only as good as the heaving breasts that serve it, an all-babe waitstaff clad in black zip-front stretch tops and denim miniskirts. Meanwhile, the unabashedly meaty menu's anchored by six signature 1/3-to-full-pound Brick Burgers (the bleu cheese/Cajun-seasoned "Black & Bleu"; the Dijon mayo/fried egg "Gun Show"), sammies (the "Hog Wild" sausage & provolone hoagie), and mix-&-match meat and potatoes entrees: pair c-f steak/BBQ ribs/chicken/mahi mahi, etc, with fries, tots, or cheesy forked potatoes, which will never know the erotic comfort of being spooned potatoes. The rest runs from "Roughage" salads ("Brick Wedge": tomatoes, bacon, onion strings, chunky bleu cheese), to desserts ("Double D" cup cakes), to b-fasts (French toast & bacon, steak & eggs...) collectively known as "The Cure" -- served all day, just like Heaven.
As for the prime initiative (beer), the bar slings 16 drafts (Long Hammer IPA/Yuengling/Widmer Hefeweizen), around 50 bottles (Prima Pils/Golden Monkey/Pete's Wicked to Fuller's ESB/Estrella Damm/Moosehead), and canned PBR, as well as 10 brew-'tails, hand-pulled cask pours, and Heineken/Grolsch/Warsteiner/EKU Pils microkegs brought to your table -- polish one off, and your sudsy mind will create the illusion that shaving could not.