Just off Rt 29, just before it crossed over 66.  Not too far from the Rt 7/29 intersection. 

Matt has been telling me about Frank’s Place for some time, and it always seemed like a real queer duck to me.  It sounded like a bar, a classic dive bar in the purest sense, but he said that it closed at 10:00.  Now that I’ve been there, the enigma unravels… Frank’s Place is a conventional bar, it’s open until the normal 2:00 last call… but only in theory.  Franks is small, its clientele is limited, insular… they stand a good chance of being without sufficient customers to stay open very late, even on Fridays and Saturdays.  I mean, we didn’t get the 10:00 closing time from an official posting, we drove by at 11:00 once and the lights were out.  It happened once at Mark’s Pub too, hell, it can happen to the best of places.  That’s the problem with misanthropy… you get attracted to refuges away from the crowds, but it’s the crowds that make places profitable.  So, yeah, I love the look of Frank’s Place, I love the elbow room and the fact that I can hear myself think, but its because of these benefits that I know I can’t spend the whole night there.  I can think of three documented incidents in which they had to close early, including the night of this review.  Our bartender said it was a rare occurrence, but this doesn’t jive with my statistics.

Still, for the early evening, I can’t think of anyplace in Falls Church I’d rather spend my time.  Frank’s is a little one room shitkicker affair on Rt. 29, either right before or right after the start of Arlington.  I hesitate to call it “open” because the square footage is so small, but they’re not packing it with tables… there’s what the bar seats, and there’s three or four tables along the opposite wall, and that’s it.  I’m guessing 20 customers would create a crowded atmosphere.  The décor is centered around two themes: Elvis and hunting.  You’ve got that great shot of Elvis and Nixon together, when he became a DEA agent, along side a rabbit pelt, up against this cheap wood paneling… I thought we had commerce boards keeping this kind of place out of Fairfax, and I thank god we don’t.  I don’t think this bar has a Golden Tee (impossible!), instead they’ve got a skee-bowling machine, it’s the coolest.

I hate to rave about the clientele, because they probably wouldn’t take an instant liking to me, sitting with my, uh, lack of facial hair and my store-bought shoes… no, wait, Matt had the fancy shoes that night, I bought my shoes from a hobo!  But I was listening intently to Matt and Zach talk about the old G.I. Joe show, I’m guessing we defined ourselves as annoying youths that night… don’t blame me, G.I. Joe is the one bit of 80s nostalgia I can’t wax on about.  I missed the whole show due to a poorly-timed European tour of duty, and Armed Forces television didn’t show it… I’m damn lucky they ran Real Ghostbusters, come to think of it, or I’d be permanently scarred.  Anyway, this is brawl-starting tooth-missing old-growth Fairfax, I nearly hate to pollute its waters.  But seeing as how I hate the living-for-a-minivan alternative, I’ll chance the beating… and that’s comic exaggeration; in all honesty, I really doubt the crowds of places like the Inn Zone or Frank’s Place could give a damn about us being there.  I hear about fights at these places, but the more I go, the more openness I witness.

I probably can let these pictures speak for themselves here, we’ve got a lot of them because we handed the camera off to Zach, and he’s quite the shutterbug.  They can’t help but make clear the overwhelming attribute I want to convey: the small size.  You can feel a sense of reflection in Franks, the walls are close enough for things to bounce back.  I don’t think they do enough business for this to be anything but a positive.  I say it a million times, but I love these little holes… their discovery was a big reason we started this project in the first place.  The service is great; we never had to wait for refills; hell, I got unsolicited water once it was clear to the world that I was driver for our threesome.  I sat facing the window, so I missed a good deal of the bar itself… I saw it, of course, but I didn’t get the chance to absorb it, right?  What I did see was the parking lot, Rt. 29, wires and neon; it was pretty quiet out there, peaceful somehow.  Like we were radiating out into the street.

Frank’s Place has a stillness to it.  I’m sure it has a reputation for ruckus, for violent starts and fits, but generally it seems to be too old for that kind of crap.  This page has me flitting all over the area, planning events and breaking grounds, but at heart I’m the type to pour a beer and watch the world go by.  And that’s why the thumb above is pointing up.  I’ve got to go back here and get plastered, I owe it to myself.

Frank's Place is one of those places you park your keister in and just sit and stew for awhile.  Dark, grimy, dirty, honest, open and tasty.  Just simply have a beer and watch the world go by.  Together with Mark's Pub and the Inn Zone, it forms the third point of our Great Dive Triangle - an area of great power to those who can detect it. 

This night we supped on Black and Tans by the pitcher.  I forget the price, but it was decent - especially considering its precarious position balanced between Arlington and Falls Church.  Frank's has good food too - greasy spoon and diner-esqe stuff, but good as long as you know what you are getting in to.  Plus, they have scrapple.  Most places are prohibited by health code from serving that. 

For entertainment they have air-hockey bowling (not skee-bowling which is available at the Inn Zone) stuck off in a corner.  No video games, trivia machines, Golden Tee or darts.  Air bowling.  This is a game I used to see in Chucky Cheese's in my youth, but have not seem in nearly a decade before this.  And, although they only have one game, what a game it is. If you ask right, the staff will happily play with you.

Speaking of the staff, I've seen the lady who works here (and probably owns the place) break up fights before - she wasn't bigger then the fighters but I think they had more sense then to hit the only bartender who would be willing to serve them. All in all she's a very cool person.  Like Brian says, very nice, friendly and very quick with a new pitcher or glass of water.  Fits in with the Rusty Wallace hat, stock car jacket clientele that normally lives here. 

Which explains the decor.  Between the POW/MIA flags, Elvis pictures, folding chairs and various knick-knack Americana you have pictures of hunting trophies, Hooter girls, petting zoos, all that bit.  Standard dive fare really, kind of like Chez Redneck.  And no, I'm not complaining, this is my type of place.

Interestingly enough, especially since we just came from the Cowboy, they have a Jackelope here.  There must be some sort of secret order of the Jackelope as they have been turning up in the oddest places of late.  Perhaps a country cousin of the Masons?  I smell a conspiracy. 

Well, it looks like Brian has stolen all my remaining good points again.  Goes to one bar and stays sober and suddenly he thinks he is a genius.  I'll have to start lying to him from now on so he has nothing to report.  Well, anyway, Matt out. 

Matt says, "Frank's place is da bomb."