On nongame nights, the crowd is decidedly grayer, wiser, and more old-fashioned. It's a sports bar, sure, in a varnished, waxy way-you walk in and (aside from the big screens) it could be 1958, with 'Branch' McCracken's Hurryin' Hoosiers still playing ball. Dating from 1927, it had an allure that hinted at something more seasoned than the frat bars, live-music venues, and degenerate pool halls I frequented. Nick's was the first bar I considered aspirational. As the neon sign in the window will tell you, 'You earned it.' 75½ Rainey Street Where to crawl next: Craft Pride down the block for beers and Detroit pizza.
Or call for the Medicina Latina, which mixes tequila, mezcal, ginger, and lime to cure what ails you. Prop an elbow on the padded bar and watch your cocktail materialize from the fresh ingredients cooling on ice. Your best bet is this little blue bungalow, whose name pays homage to the Grateful Dead song. Today the colorful houses on this half-mile stretch play host to the city's hippest drinkers and favorite local bands. Ten years ago, Rainey was just another sleepy residential Austin street.
