Mother May I is the downstairs counterpart to Monstera Mezcaleria. Separate business, same owners, overlapping staff, completely different vibe. You enter through a bookshelf, which the marketing calls a speakeasy, though it's not so much a secret as a fun door. Inside, it's your cool older sibling's finished basement from 1997: dry-locked walls, a couple of stand-up arcade cabinets, a full bar, blue string lights, a ceiling of Polaroids, and a neon sign reading "Be Kind, Drink Dirty."
It's less curated than upstairs, and that's the point. The staff warned us going in: downstairs reads dive bar, but the cocktails are still calibrated above vodka-and-soda. Monstera is deliberate and design-forward. Mother May I is dive-bar warmth with a wink, mixed by people who care what's in the glass. I didn't drink downstairs (I'd already worked through Monstera), so I can't speak to the cocktails first-hand, but for an hour of arcade glow they don't need to do much heavy lifting. The snack menu is actually deeper down here than upstairs: a regular old hot dog, taquitos off a heated roller, some solid egg rolls. It doesn't match the attention the cocktails get, and the contradiction is the point. The music is loud here too, which compounds if you've already been upstairs all night, and it leaned dance-club the night we went. A 1997-basement bar with arcade cabinets and Polaroids wants something scruffier music wise; anything with a guitar would have landed better. This place is best for a pair or a small group that doesn't mind raising their voice.
Monstera is where you go for the date. Mother May I is where you end up afterward, when you're not ready to go home. Worth naming the trend both bars share: bougie dive bar. Polished cocktails and a curated causal feel. It works if you're in for the bit, but if you just want a chill, no-stakes hangout, neither is quite that bar. Go for the room and the roller taquitos; if you want the cocktail program, stay upstairs.
3.8 stars out of 5.
What would move it up: pull the music down and let it meet the room (queue cranky old person complaining they can't hear), and bring the snacks up to the level of attention the cocktails get. The bones are there; the bar just has to commit to either side of the bougie-dive split a little harder. I can also hear a retort. Noted limitations...I'm not a dive bar kind of guy, so I could completely understand a lover of dive bars saying this one is heating the right "decibels." read more