At first I thought I saw a realtor in a bright red coat with dark sunglasses chatting on her cell phone in front of a quaint house on a back street in Avondale. Â Then I noticed the Old Style sign, and the sign "Ski's," which somehow called to mind a quaint Nordic lodge for cross-country sportsmen.
Then I stepped inside, to what still looked like someone's house- low ceilings, small doors, and a fake shingle roof over the bar. Â Hearing a familiar but still incomprehensible language, I realized: Â "Oh, THAT kind of Ski."
The red-coated "realtor" took her place behind the bar and gave me an Okocim; my neighbors at the bar drank a dark and mysterious liquor (currant?) followed by shots of vodka, and laughed heartily at whatever it was they were talking about. Â They looked over at me as they were laughing, and seemed disappointed that I didn't get their humor. Â The main issue is that I don't know Polish. Â But , I could guess from their tone that their discussion was intellectual and not bawdy in nature; in retrospect, I should've laughed with them.
There's a pool table here and a jukebox, which makes this just as functional if not warmer than most other bars in the area.