Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

The Filling Station & Garage Bar

If you’ve ever been roadblocked by hordes of bicycling assholes on a Friday night, it’s likely they ended up at the Filling Station to quench their overarching case of smugness. But even though road cyclists and I don’t see eye to eye on everything, and I actually have a full, healthy sperm count, at least we can agree on the Filling Station being fucking amazing shit food.

When I say “shit food”, I don’t mean it tastes like shit, I mean it’s… hang on, listen, this is meant to be a positive review, because I really dig this place, so let’s just say that the food isn’t optimal to help stave off death. It’s a dive bar. It’s a dive bar with really delicious, potentially afflictive, borderline narcotic food. They claim to have salads too, a claim which I could’ve confirmed by flipping the menu over, but I don’t give a shit about that, because I’m an American. If I go to a dive bar for a burger, I expect the best damn backyard-style burger possible.

It’s a dive bar with really delicious, potentially afflictive, borderline narcotic food.

That’s why I order the Steve’s “Respect” Mobile nearly every time I go. It’s a grilled piece of cow topped with pulled pork, cheddar cheese, and jerk BBQ sauce. Back in college, I took a class called “How To Not Die”, taught by a 97-year-old Japanese cyborg, and lesson one was “Don’t eat both beef and pork at the same time, you fucking retard.” It’s now my favorite burger, no joke. I prefer BBQ sauce over ketchup, and while Jamaicans may not know a thing about economic stability or gay rights, they know their shit better than anyone when it comes to jerk seasoning. My little sis and I once went on a journey to find awesome Jamaican jerk chicken and ended up in a hole-in-the-wall up in North Miami where, I mostly shit you not, I watched the guy in the back pick out the pieces of chicken we were going to eat with his bare hands, and he then proceeded to lick his fingers clean. He then came over, took my cash with the same bare hand, handed me my change with the same bare hand, and finally grabbed a glob of bull cum with the same bare hand and artificially inseminated a cow. Chicken was bawlin’ though. For the record, this was years ago, and after an unrelated bout of diarrhea so powerful it sounded like emptying out a mop bucket, I have learned to take restaurant hygiene a little more seriously.

Thanks for the poop image. What about the burger?

One of the reasons I don’t envy Jews. Photo credit: Lena C.

I’ve had both the tater tots and the sweet potato waffle fries. It’s tough to choose between the two, because their tater tots really are as good as they claim they are, but sweet potato fries are hard to fuck up and generally pretty good anywhere. Wait, that statement is untrue, sweet potato fries are pretty easy to fuck up. Anything is easy to fuck up. If they had put oregano on them, they’d be terrible, but luckily they didn’t do that. They refrained from assholishly fucking up their fries, so the sweet potato fries are good.

The full name of this place is “The Filling Station & Garage Bar”, which is ironic, because you have to park on the street. One time I saw a cab driver pull a gun on the guy who was working the parking lot across the street. The crazy part was how the guy reacted. He started going belligerent, taking his shirt off and yelling at the cabbie to get out of the car like a man. The list of things to say to a guy brandishing a gun at you is very short, and this guy managed to pull off the least-used option for my entertainment. I have [bad] video of the incident, but I’m apprehensive about uploading it since I’m genuinely afraid of the crazy guy finding out who I am and locker-room-whipping me with his rolled up shirt.

If you want a solid burger, a $4 beer, and a cool atmosphere (bar games and shit included, by the way), make your way down to the Filling Station.

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1 Comment to The Filling Station & Garage Bar

  1. Chris

    Yessssssssss. This place rocks.

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