“It’s no time for hotdogs, where’s the bar?” -Clutch

Electricity filled the air; summer of swag was before us. People bounced with a spring in their step riding the murky heels of a heated summer. The thick air beat down on us. A trip down the Amazon was more comfortable than this, and usually included Amazonian women intent on snoo-snoo. We hurried down the street searching for the source of the pulsing pounding beat. Thud-thud-thud-thud….“Sounds like we’re back at PEX,” said Clutch. The sounds were reminiscent of the whiskey soaked vagrant gathering. As we passed underneath the Ben Franklin Bridge the sound hit us. In the distance on a deck, white tents with colorful lights gleamed.

Great view of the bridge.

We crossed the road to get a better look. People sloshed and lounged about the sidewalk. Dozens of eager cabbies rubbed their hands together grinning waiting to steal a fare. Morgan’s Pier was the new cool kid in town and everyone wanted to meet him. The line was long but moved quick. “ID…NO GOOD, NEXT. ID, HAND, STAMP, GO,” barked the bouncer. They huddled everyone through the gateway. Clutch and I charged inside full of vigor. HELL YEAH! WE MADE IT. We stopped dead. Where the hell were we exactly going and where’s the damn bar? A hotdog vendor standing a little too close greeted us, “Howdy!”. Clutch scowled at him. It was no time for hotdogs. There was drinking to be done.

We navigated the arbitrarily designed bar; tent, bar, tent, DJ, tent, railing, tent, picnic tables. At least their was a good view of the bridge…and the short dresses. We made our way towards the dance floor, the center of the tent doubled as a bar. They had a few craft beers on tap; too complicated.  I stuck with my gut instinct, go with the usual. We grabbed a well deserved $2 dollar PBR and made our way to a safe place to stand. Amateur drunks flopped around shoving and bumping into one another along the way. Elbow space was trending. #bitchesouttamyway.
One, extend arms.
Two, bump into everyone.
Three, spill their drink.
Four, stare confusedly and continue to destination.
Tempers were on the rise, fans blew a fine mist on the room to cool them down. I saw the logic of Morgan’s Pier in action. The best way to calm a drunk was to spray them in the face with water.

This place served as the nexus for trendy douchey drinkers. The two beer, drunk plunging v-neck, now on beer seven kind. “Hey baby girl, you’re ssssssexy,” the guy slurred at a gorgeous girl in cut off jean shorts that were choking the life from her thighs. She snarled at him. Not out of anger but of incompetence in approach. I didn’t blame her. Men were savage lions ready to feed; women enticed them and rattled the cages. On second thought, I wasn’t sure who to blame. All that mattered was that this place was packed and was stealing the thunder from all the nearby bars. Yeah, I’m pointing at you Dave and Busters.


The bottom line:

Hours:  4 p.m. – 2 a.m.
Crowd:  Trendy | Casual
Music: DJs | Live
Price range:  $$
Accepts Credit Cards:  Yes
ATM: Yes
Dance floor:  Yes
Outdoor area: All outdoors
Coat check: No

In all seriousness this place is pretty cool. They’ve got some decent craft beers on tap. Prices weren’t bad either. There’s plenty of space to dance since it’s an outdoor beer hall. Every day of the week is a different party from electronica to reggae. The single most important thing to note, there’s no cover! (And if there is a cover, you can usually RSVP to get in free and feel like a sir.) Check their site for a full schedule.

Morgan’s Pier
221 N. Columbus Blvd, Philadelphia Pa 19123
(215) 279-7134


Instant Class.