Football at the Federal

I heard whispers of a plan to open on Super Bowl Sunday in hopes of catching the spillover of patrons from the crowded Big Wangs across the street. I decided to see for myself, and walked over to the art deco building in the Arts District at half-past noon. A chalkboard sign said "We’re Open" and a bouncer greeted me at the door. Inside, there were not more than five customers. This didn’t seem unusual; it was a Sunday, it was the Super Bowl, and no one knew this place was open.

I took an empty seat at the bar and studied the chalkboard menu on the wall before being informed that they had a special "Super Bowl" menu. The regular menu will be available starting Tuesday, its scheduled grand-opening night. I settled on a vegetarian burger made with brown rice, lentils and sunflower seeds with a side of garlic and parmesan fries. Several flat-screen TVs were blasting pre-Super Bowl commentary, but the front room felt strangely empty. Pedestrians peeked their heads inside, and a couple of them actually made it through the door. After weeks of delays, the neighborhood was still apprehensive about the unofficial opening. The doors to the Federal were opened regularly the past week, with construction workers putting the final touches on the two-story building.

I chatted with the 20-somethings at the bar before they left to go to a party. A  friend of mine who lives in the Arts District joined me toward the end of my meal. I suggested that she order the vegetarian burger, which she did, immediately after tasting mine. One of the employees said they didn’t try the burger during a taste session prior to the opening, but it was a creative, rich and flavorful substitute to the traditional burger preferred by Super Bowl fans. If this is a preview of the vegetarian delights it will offer, I will return for dinner.

By the time it reached 3:36 p.m., rowdy fans were spread out at the bar and several of the tables. I was at one of those tables now, with two friends, and my second beer, which had a faint taste of blueberries. There were two babies in the bar.

A father of one of the babies introduced himself to us. He went back and forth every minute from betting on the game with a friend to talking to his girlfriend and baby. He noted the number of attractive bartenders and said that if he were a lesbian, he’d be really happy.

Meanwhile, his child tried to climb walls and tables. The room was filled with mostly older men, who shouted at one of the TVs in the front room. I was sitting in an awkward seat, where I could look straight up at the TV, craning my neck, or I could turn around to face the multiple TVs at a comfortable level behind me. I saw too many Pepsi Max commercials, no matter which way I faced.

Football is not a continuous, flowing sport. It starts, it stops, it starts again. It doesn’t lend itself to prolonged, engaged, visual entertainment the way a film does. Or basketball and soccer, for that matter. While I excessively enjoyed watching the NBA playoffs and the World Cup at bars and restaurants across Los Angeles last year, the Super Bowl needs distractions to make it watchable: ridiculous commercials, adorable commercials, flying musicians, female belters, and two teams with yellow spandex pants.

After an hour of the game, I felt restless. Maybe it had to do with the fact that a baby that didn’t enjoy being in the bar was crying, or hyperactive fans were talking so loudly during the game it was hard to concentrate on the action. I walked home with my roommate, hoping that videos of the Puppy Bowl were available online.