A space that could come across as intimate (it lacks the sky-high ceilings so common around town and includes an assortment of comfortable, slick furniture) looked instead dejected, with more stray bottles and glasses than people by at least an 8:1 ratio.
I admit, Thursday night, or early Friday, around 1:30 a.m., is NOT the time to be at Fuego. It's a dead scene.
The low leather chairs, fake fireplace and interesting mosaic bar backsplash, all keeping with a muted fire theme, weren't bad looking, but the shape of the place, with a long hallway separating the front area from the back, where a team of DJs did their thing, wasn't exactly dancer-friendly or socializing-friendly -- not enough floor space, but not enough chairs, either.
The back room, which was red with a couple tall chairs off to one corner, was about the size of a decent bedroom, which could make for some cramped situations if this place ever gets really popular.
It seems designed not to be.
I felt awkward dancing when there were only maybe 6 people in there and the lights were pretty bright. A few of the more intoxicated types were doing their clumsy thing, but the DJs didn't move me to join in.
Well drinks were $2 when I walked in, and my gin and tonics were pretty strong -- I downed two in the 25 minutes before official closing time, and I was pretty buzzed. My date's Fat Tires (bottle only) were $4 apiece. I got the impression that if they weren't having specials, you could rack up a hefty tab here.
Most of the patrons were dressed in a pretty slick going-out-clubbing fashion (lots of spike heels and short dresses on the ladies and men in nice collared shirts), though the doorman only blinked a little when it was revealed that I (dressed in 1999 Adidas running shoes, jeans, a white T and a baggy brown hoodie and hair that was rather unkempt -- hey, I had just gotten off work!) was entering the establishment.
I would go back to check this place out on a weekend if friends suggested it, but it's not on my short list or anything. read more