In Search of the Smokiest Bar

"Bars like this are at risk," Thomasena said. "It should be up to the owner whether the establishment should be smoking or not."

Most everyone was a familiar midtown face that night, but 56-year-old Ron Brakevill was enjoying his first Bricksperience, which he diplomatically described as "different." He was accompanied by his girlfriend, 38-year-old Dana McGinnis, and his daughter, Shanna, who works nearby.

Dana, a Blue Springs resident, is a 20-year smoker, and she's anti-ban. She's a waitress at Neighbors Cocktail Lounge, off U.S. Highway 40, as well as a nursing assistant. I asked her if she has encountered patients who've been affected by secondhand smoke, and she responded that it's the smokers who come in with lung cancer. It's good to know that the line between smokers and nonsmokers is so clear-cut, diseasewise.

By that time, it was almost 1:30 on a school night, so I settled my tab, said my goodbyes and slipped out. Once I got home, I promptly sealed my wool scarf in its plastic tomb. The smoke wasn't cough-inducing, but I still had to use my balcony for airing purposes. As for the smoke detector, I should have thrown it off my balcony, for all its helpfulness so far.

friend nominated Harling's Upstairs for the Smoky Bar Hall of Fame, saying that even her smoker friends complained about the terribleness of the haze inside. Well, if the smokers said it was bad, I had to check it out.

I settled in with friends John and Lexie at the long bench table by the Ms. Pac-Man machine. Harling's, a KC institution, attracts a young-looking crowd. I noticed a couple nearby playing Golden Tee who looked like they were going to the prom. The guy wore a French-blue shirt and a tie, and his date was clad in a brownish, strapless, tea-length dress with a black sash. A clique of guys and chicks in argyle sweaters gathered by the dartboards. By the bar, the junior hipsters in vintage finds danced maniacally to Run DMC's "It's Tricky."

"I feel like I'm 22," John said.

"I feel like I'm 17," Lexie smirked.

The smokiness of the room was intense. Entering Harling's was like hitting a wall of smoke, which was a bit surprising, considering the not-too-low ceilings and the fact that the place wasn't packed.

Not long after our arrival, I noticed a group of about five women and one guy making a beeline for the women's bathroom. Intrigued, John and I went over to investigate. I tried to open the door, but someone was clearly holding it closed. John pushed harder, and it opened a few inches. An indignant woman with brown hair sat on the counter and glared at us. "Get the fuck out," she yelled. "If you have a vagina, you can come in."

I gave up and went back to my beer. The door guy, who sat less than 10 feet away, continued to read Harold Robbins' Sin City, indifferent to the bathroom conference.

About 10 minutes later, this happy group left the bathroom. I stopped one of the guys, who gave his name as Sconelius. He had a different take on the possible smoking ban. "It'll end inconspicuous marijuana smoking," he drawled. He explained that he's been "very successful" at sneaking a toke at bars, thanks to the cigarette smoke. "It masks the cloud," he explained.

At that point, his friends pulled him away. See you at the next smoking-task-force meeting, Sconelius.

Last call was announced around 1:30, and by that time, I'd had enough. The smoke had permeated everything, and my throat was a little sore, too. I felt disgusting — more so than I had from any other stop on the tour.

A week later, I met the affable Doug Frost at Trezo Mare, a new, entirely nonsmoking restaurant in Briarcliff. He helped design its wine list, which he described as "wacky." Doug was also wonderfully wacky, too, in that he had agreed to smell some chick's gross clothing.

"Is this the most random assignment you've had?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. But it's definitely fun," he replied.

I handed him the Tupperware pieces in no particular order. First up was the orange sweater from Buzzard.

He took off the lid and gingerly sniffed the top of the box. "It's not real bad, to be honest with you. It just kind of has that old, musty smell."

Then, he unfurled the sweater and got the full effect. He recoiled in disgust.

"Sorry. Excuse me. Now, I'm like, ewwwww. That took a lot of cigarettes to get that smell," he said. "It's just gross."

The second item — the sweater from the Clarette — elicited a different response. Doug thought he smelled a stronger cigar note, and he definitely picked up on my perfume, which he described as lilac and gardenia. "I'm not able to say there's a significant cigarette note on that. I tried to adjust, but the last one was so pungent that I wonder if it's overwhelming," he said.