Two minutes in Quark's Bar, and I'm unimpressed. There's some futuristic architecture and a bizarre lighting scheme, but I've had more than enough time to tire of it while waiting for the bartender to notice me. There are laser lights flashing in a circle on the counter, and all I can think is that that's where my drink ought to be.
Across the bar, the patrons erupt into cheers. I glance at the TV above and see Star Trek: The Next Generation reruns. An authentically costumed Ferengi greets the two older women to my right, and they giggle excitedly.
"Look at those ears!" one of them says, reaching out to touch the massive lobes.
"Our ears are our most sensitive erogenous zone," he replies.
I'm torn between a desire to join the silliness and an urge to mock it. I'm leaning towards the latter. When a guy speaks openly about his erogenous ears, he's begging for it.
"What can I get ya?" the bartender asks.
I look to the taps to scan my options: Romulan Ale, Cardassian Ale, Vulcan Ale and Klingon Warrior Ale.
"What's Vulcan Ale?" I ask.
He tells me it's Sierra Nevada Pale Ale; after considering that Spock seldom appeared to have a decent buzz going, I ask if the bar has any specialty drinks.
"You have to see the other side!" he says. "Otherwise, you're not getting the whole Star Trek experience."
Around the bar, the transition is dramatic. Amid oddly shaped bottles of booze, a small extraterrestrial fish—the bar's mascot—flitters around a jar. A neat device appears to miraculously fill drinks while droplets float up out of the glass. I'm pretty sure it's just a cool strobe-light effect, but Darren, the bartender, describes it as a "graviton beverage replicator, powered by an antimatter inducer," or some such nonsense that Scotty might say before adding, "but we gotta shut 'er down, Captain. She canna take much more o' this or she'll blow!" They really need to have the same setup on the other side of the bar. I'm sure many a Trek fan has left without knowing what he was missing.
Darren places before me the James T. Kirk: a smoking blue beverage in a fishbowl of a glass. It costs a whopping $12—quite a markup for a fancy glass and some dry ice. If I remember correctly, they're not using money in the 24th century, but this drink seems to account for 300 years of inflation.
At least it's tasty—sort of a souped-up Long Island Ice Tea—and it quickly takes effect. A couple of tourists from Philadelphia ask me to settle a dispute about whether Ricardo Montalpban, who played Khan in Star Trek II, is dead.
In truth, I'm something of a Trekkie myself, but I don't reveal it often, and certainly not to strangers. Maybe the James T. Kirk is weakening my inhibitions, or maybe it's because there are actual Klingons walking around without shame, but I decide to let my inner geek out.
"Nope. He was just in Spy Kids 3D," I say. "He's 86 and alive."
Darren challenges me to name all five captains of the original Enterprise. I can only think of four.
"There was one more on the animated series," he says.
Halfway through objecting to the inclusion of the animated series in the official Trek canon, I blurt out, "Wait—Robert April!"
My Philly companions are astounded and perhaps a little frightened, but it doesn't last long. There is no shame in Quark's Bar. I even play along with the Ferengi when he makes his rounds again.
Yeah, Quark's Bar is silly, but there's nothing wrong with silly every now and then. It can even be quite a blast if you choose to make it so. Get it? Make it so? Because Captain Picard used to say—oh, shut up. Your inner geek thought it was funny.
Quark's Bar & Restaurant
3000 Paradise Road, 697-8725