I was a little unsure about the West End Pub & Grill being "divey" enough for me, but we were wicked-thirsty for a beer; so off to West End Pub we went. There were enough pull-tabs, career waitresses, poor beer selections, and bad carpeting to make this place "divey," but it also had a family feel to it. We bellied up to the very end of the bar, right next to the kitchen. This spot is prime, and provides for endless entertainment and chef mockery. Better beer-drinking entertainment than the typical ESPN, that's for sure. A select West End steak was cut, measured, weighed, finger-prodded, grilled, plated, sent out with the server, and then almost immediately sent back to the kitchen. That was fun to watch, but the real amusement began when the server demonstrated her bitchfest elegy involving the nasty customer who sent back the steak. We anxiously observed, hoping for some spit or floor dirt to accompany the piece of returning meat. No such luck. We finished our IPAs that tasted like Bud Lights and opted out of the steak for dinner. It was on my way to the restroom that I finally saw a true dive bar staple: I saw the "drunk old man that had been there all day" resting his weary bum by a table in the back.

Open: 10 a.m. to 2 a.m. daily

LINK: West End's happy hour

LINK: Natasha says she's a West End girl