Spotted by locals

This is not spotted by locals. First I'm not a spotter and second I consider myself more of a tourist than a local.
"Warm beer, cold girls" that was the sign that sold the place.
Comfortably hidden between a renown bar and a sinful street-food joint there is a door, a random old metal door. Behind the door lies a garden with blooming late summer early autumn flowers. Here you can have a first date beer or lament the fact that most of them are as cold as stone over a warm beer. Here you can grab one with your mates after work or before you hit the town. Here you can escape. Just after the garden there is a welcoming smile and always room for good company, even if that means a party of unexpected 10+. There is the usual tapas and meze. There is the warm smile and a solution to any problem. There are beers,lager and stout. There are regular faces and great stories from the table across, but who cares  about that?!
This is the headquarters, the oval room, the assembly of life or death decisions below the always starry sky. This isn't Kremlin, Capitol or Downing Street 10, welcome to Bourbon street.