Bowl Bar Packaging & Liquor

Picture the scene: Your rugby team has just moved into it's new home, first practice on a fresh field...2 hours of non-stop athletic sluggery. Each time your boot hits the ground, the shock wave travels up your body, only to be met at your head by the equally oppressive stadium lights that shower the field in their opulent glow. The mud clinging to your feet, making them heavier with every step. You can't help but notice that this isn't the first time you've felt this...perhaps you were a German soldier marching through the Ardennes forest in a past life.

Coach-President blows the whistle. It's over. You're relieved, proud of yourself...great start to the pre-season. But there's another feeling lingering about...thirst. The kind of thirst that only a Mongolian crossing the Eurasian steppe would be familiar with. You and your comrades demand refreshment, and fast. But where? This is a new land to us...we aren't familiar with the terrain. With his booming voice, our massively resplendent Coach-President announces he has found what we require, and tells us where we can get it. "Boys, we are going to Bowl Bar..."

...quickly, we gather together our gear and disperse to our waiting vessels of transport. We follow our brave leader, much like those Mongolians followed the intrepid Genghis Khan through the arid Eurasian steppe. Luckily for us, our journey was not nearly as arduous...as we only need travel half a block.

It is only mere seconds after leaving the field that you lay eyes on your promised land. An extremely poorly lit parking lot, devoid of cars. Undiscovered land? Maybe. Brave, and desperate...but mostly brave. You and your band of nomads gather in said parking lot, which is surely the staging area for a night of splendorous imbibing. You approach the heavily tinted plexiglass door, unsure if this establishment will avail itself to you tonight. You're the first one, you turn around, and with reassurance from your traveling companions grab the handle of the door. You open it, slowly. With an unsure first foot, you breach the threshold and step inside.

As if in a bar scene from a spaghetti-Western, time seems to stop as you enter. The establishment is empty aside from the bar staff, which all look up at you with confusion, or perhaps in wonderment, as if you were John Smith and have pushed through the bushes and discovered a new tribe. Still holding the door open, you turn to your compatriots and announce..."It's open!"

Within seconds 20 or so sweaty, dirty men fill the bar. Quickly encircling the fine marble and glass-brick fixture that dominates the room. Lights? You don't need them. You're not here to look. You're here to drink. Without saying a word, the heavily make-upped, but obscenely polite and helpful bar staff snap into action. You're immediately poured an extremely heavy vodka soda (mostly vodka.) Your friends all go for the deal of the night...and WHAT A DEAL it is! 5 Heinekens for $15! Boom. Buckets of Heineken start flying, bottle caps popping off all over and the sound of air escaping freshly opened bottles permeates the room. But wait! You need tunes! Bowl Bar has you covered, a state of the art Jukebox is available stocked with all the latest (now, and 15 years ago) and greatest hits. A killer sound system sends the waves pulsating through you, almost massaging your aching body.

Through the rigorous consumption of alcohol, your mind may begin to wander and you may begin to worry about your safety and that of your companions. But relax, friend. You're at Bowl Bar, the wall-to-wall mirrors ensure that you will be able to detect any mobile threat from every angle. This well thought-out feature makes ocular pat-downs of potential assailants a breeze.

After a few beers, a couple vodkas...you realize you've found it. Your new home. The German soldier marching into a lightly defended France, the Mongolian nomad sweeping westward to conquer unknown lands. You're all home, and what a home it is. Enjoy and cherish it.

Smells very much like cigarettes. Giving 2 stars because the staff was very nice but I could not hang out these for longer than 15 minutes

This bar is the best of the "genre" of bars all along NW 7th St.  If you are familiar with it, you know what I mean.  If not, go with an open mind.  Girls frequent the place, you buy them drinks.  Yours is $3 and theirs is $15.  It's just the way it works.  It's like watching sharks feed, but more fun.  

FYI, just about every bar on NW7th near the stadium works like this.  It is a cultural experience that makes Miami what it is...  Try it.

The girls are like coin-operated vending machines, and will keep you happy as long as possible to get more drinks.  Be firm, and ask them not to guzzle it quickly.  Ones with skirts are more likely to be fun.  Late-night on weekends is the best.  Places like this can come in handy....  Upscale, no.  Clean, no.  Fun, yes.  A few words of Spanish will go a long way.  BYOHS (Bring your own hand sanitizer.)

Bowl Bar, aptly named for its proximity to the old Orange Bowl site and its exterior's resemblence to a place you'd likely find a lot of feces, is both a wonderful and horrifying establishment. At the same time, if that makes any sense. It's sort of a melting pot of sadness and various diseases that modern medicine may or may not yet have a cure for. It's majestic, really.

As you cross the street from Marlins Park and make your way to Bowl Bar (I can't imagine the Pepsi logo in the bar's name isn't breaking some sort of copyright law, by the way), you'll notice a brightly lit liquor store. That's not it. You want the next door, the one that looks like you're about to walk into a drug deal in the back of an abandoned building.

I entered that tiny door, The Gateway to Regret. This is my story:

The second I walk into Bowl Bar, I'm immediately transported to a strip club you'd find in a detective movie sometime between the late-70's and early-80's. Mirrors line the walls, while the majority of the floor is taken up by a huge, empty wooden bar. There aren't any strippers, but it's only 6:00 p.m., so who knows? The liquor store next door, with the bright lights and neon signs, is connected to Bowl Bar; the electricity, apparently, is not. And that's probably a good thing.

There's a man passed out on one of the stools closest to the door, his head resting on the wooden bar. He might be dead. The only other people in the place are a slightly-intoxicated Spanish man on the other side of the bar and two female bartenders. My friend and I sit a few seats down from the corpse and order two Coronas.

Right away, we're unsure of our decision.

"These come in a bottle, right?"
"I think so."
"A sealed bottle...?"

The bartender, a gigantic woman in a spaghetti strap top that's roughly fourteen sizes too small, pops the caps on our beers and brings them over to us.

"Eight dollars. Would you like lime?" she asks in broken English.

The lime does not come in a sealed bottle. We politely decline.

After a few minutes, the bartender shuffles back from the liquor store next door with our change. One hand is holding dollar bills. The other hand is buried down her top, adjusting her massive boob, which seems as if it's about to come spilling out at any second. She catches us staring and begins to laugh. We laugh. We all laugh. Together. Uncomfortably.

A little later, the back door opens and another young Spanish man walks in and sits across from us. He's got an entire row of gold teeth. And what looks like a four-year-old. In a bar. For some reason, I'm not at all confused or alarmed by this. Just seemed like it fit. Shortly after that, the drunk guy from the other side of the bar comes over to wake the corpse. He rises from the dead and they slowly stumble out into the night. The man with gold teeth and questionable parenting skills leaves, too.

It's just us now inside this bar-slash-cave, two 30-something gringos completely out of their element. The person controlling the music notices this and, immediately, the slow, seductive sound of Latin music is replaced by Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)". The DJ(?) is clearly pandering. This is our cue to leave. We've been here for almost thirteen minutes and that's about twelve and a half minutes too long.

Walking out the front door is a legitimate shock to the senses. You almost forget that the place you just stepped out of is real. Or that it's in a part of the world with running water. You leave Bowl Bar a changed person. Things looks newer. Colors appear more vibrant. Life has meaning. All this after spending just under 800 seconds inside.

If you're in the area, I can't say I recommend going to Bowl Bar. I also can't say I don't recommend it. I'm simply preparing you. And yet, somehow, you'll still be unprepared.

***This review only applicable before 7:00 p.m.. After that, I mean, hell, you're on your own.***

If you walk into this place and stay more than 3 minutes and then walk out and give it a 1 star review... you sir are a 1 star person.  Lets all be honest here... if you walk in and within the first 20 seconds cant tell this place is a seedy hole by the aroma of month old spilled beer, old leathery hookers, and the tinge of fecal matter... and you don't walk back out... you got what you really wanted.. and don't want to admit it.  This place reminds me of a bar I would see in Tijuana when looking for a night of debauchery in my early days.  You know you secretly stay here because you want to see what the old ladies of the night will do next... who will come through the door... and if you can actually make it an hour without witnessing a felony in progress.

This bar is perfect if you go to the Marlins game with adults... as it should not be witnessed by a child under the age of 18... it will warp their mind and give them a tainted angle of human reality that may be a curse or a blessing.  A group of men can walk in here and quickly be entertained even with little to no spanish.  If you do speak the local tongue you can sit back and watch as those without the gift of communication are slowly drained of their cash by the old ladies who charge you $15 for a drink if they consume it... The best part is when the bill is delivered and watching the man try to keep his cool as he looks at how fast $15 drinks for hookers can tear up your bank account.... all while trying to figure out how he will cover this expense from his wife.  

If you want pretty.... go to Brickell or the Beach... if you want real world entertainment... The Bowl Bar is where its at.  Go here sparingly... you don't want to be known as a regular of this establishment... nor will it help you advance in your career or marriage.  But a trip here once in a while can remind those with basic street smarts how amazing this world is.. and for that... it gets 5 stars.

This isn't exactly a dive bar - it's a dive into paradise. Have you ever wanted to take a quick trip to Managua but didn't have the cash or time? Head to Bowl Bar - de nada, suckas.

There are always great seats available. In fact, when we went there, we were the only patrons just an hour before the Heat game. It's what those hipsters like to call a Speakeasy but the speakin' is just a little easier here. No bearded dorks trying to make you something with bitters. Just mid-50's Latinas with a beer, a story and a smile.

If you want to live an adventure by ordering a cocktail, there are 12 bottles from which to choose to fill a top-notch plastic cup. Ice is FREE. The smart play at Bowl Bar however is a Corona with a napkin wrapped around it so you don't touch it. Limes aren't a good idea - they're a great idea. It's like why people eat yogurt - getting cultures actually helps you not get sick.

The staff is extremely friendly and are equally versed in English and Spanish. They make you feel at home except a much different version of your home - and in fact makes you feel better about your actual home.

If you have to go to the bathroom, you're in luck - they have one.

Into Selfies? All the mirrors will create a nutso effect in which it looks like there are 7 of you if you stand in the right place. (You'll have to use a flash). Insta that, am I right? All of those other people taking selfies will be so jealous of your multi-selfie Selfie. There are only two places to get one of these - a Funhouse at a County Fair in rural Minnesota in 1990 or Bowl Bar.

Go there. Shhhh. Just feel. It feels right. You're welcome.

I've been to miami 4 times in my life, and visited this bar 4 times. I first came across this bar back in  July 2015 by accident. This bar is across the street from marlins park and the best way to catch a buzz before and after going to a game. I love dive bars, and this one does not disappoint. Originally from San Diego,  this bar is the diviest bar I've ever seen. The other reviews don't lie. All paint a nice picture of how it is. Fake hookers keep single men happy, and then leave them broke. I make it a point to come here. Cheap drinks are always a plus. I really wish this place was a chain. Las Vegas could use a bar like this.

Every now and then my friends and I hunt down super seedy bars in search of a good novelty experience.  Bowl Bar isn't just a bar, it's more like a brothel you'd find in the slums of Managua.  The interior is dim and dirty.  Mirrors line the walls, and women who are definitely hookers just kind of sit around the perimeter of the bar.  They will probably ask you to buy them drinks, so be ready to politely refuse.  They will also probably jiggle their breasts at you.  If you're interested, they may take you into a corner and jiggle your balls as well.  There's a good chance reggaeton will be blasting, but there may also be no music at all.  It's particularly grim sitting there without music, just listening to the sounds of sorrow and the women of the night chatting away in Espanol.  Bowl Bar I love you.

Shithole ! Change the American flag that is rotting off the flag pole . Very disrespectful.

Shadiest bar EVER. I seriously mean EVER. Unfortunately it's the only bar near the Marlins' stadium...so if you want to pregame it's either here or home. First off no one speaks a bit of English. Like at all. Secondly, the place is decorated in all black, with mirrors on the wall, and music BLARING. They have a VERY limited selection of beer/liquor. It's cheap, I'll give them that. And it's in walking distance to the stadium. But that's the only good thing.

Not to mention "ladies of the night" hang out here...and their bathrooms are so so disgusting. I had someone walk in on me as I was getting ready to leave (I thought the doors locked??), and they had a huge picture of a girl with her leg sliced open to remind you not to stand on the toilet when/if you get drunk (I guess this happened....didn't go well.).

It was just...weird. Scary? Weird mostly.