Review: Hit the Door

Get back to basics at this joint

Joseph Lord

Velocity
December 2, 2008

 

Review: Hit the Door
(Credit: Joseph Lord)
Hit the Door
Address:
4101 Preston Highway, Louisville, KY, 40213
Phone:
361-5567
Overall User Rating:
1 (1 rating)
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Hit the Door would make a hell of a meet-up place, if only we'd ever think to go there. Right off Interstate 264 on Preston Highway, the dusty bar is perfectly situated for collecting people from all corners of Metro Louisville. Need a meetup spot before a University of Louisville basketball game? Stop by Hit the Door for a cheap beer before heading over to nearby Freedom Hall.

The reason most people don't, this Hopper presumes, is because Hit the Door isn't particularly well-known and does little to stand out. It's just a neighborhood bar, and like most neighborhood bars, non-regulars can feel like they're crashing a party.

But that's also what makes a neighborhood bar great — no one is trying to impress the cute gal or fella at the next table. This is all about cheap beer, a few chairs and a TV. Do you need much else?

It makes for a decent after-work stop, too. The atmosphere is absolutely laid-back, and every seat at the bar is taken by 7 p.m. The facility is older; I note this because the décor and every piece of furniture look like they've been in place since Peck Hickman coached the Cards.

Hit the Door boasts a pool table in the rear, a couple of arcade games and a stage overlooking Preston, which is used for karaoke and Texas Hold 'Em tourneys. There are also several outdoor tables, which offer a glorious view of the I-264 interchange. Okay, so it's not exactly inspiring, but it's still a good spot to drink and chat when the weather avails.

The nice thing about Hit the Door is the dozens of bottled beers, the selection lined up right atop the bar. It's not quite hard-to-find imports, mind you, but you'e guaranteed about every variety of Budweiser imaginable. Even Bud Ice.

I ordered a Sam Adams, which made me the only person in the bar not drinking a Bud. Classically, the bartender was out sick and his replacement had to rummage through the bins to find the Boston lager — I was in no hurry, so no harm, no foul.

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