We've all been here: You're out at a bar. It's close to midnight, and suddenly that hunger monster in your stomach informs you that if you don't give it something other than beer or cheap Scotch, its rumbling is going to make your prospective romantic companion think you've got gastric issues. Not wanting to leave, you order a plate of whatever passes for food in the bar, and end up paying the price for the next 24-48 hours.

That's a worst-case scenario, of course. You're far more likely to be served a plate of something that has roughly as much flavor as the cardboard box it came out of with enough fat and calories to stoke the fires of a football team for a day.

The above is still true, sadly, at the majority of bars, even some that call themselves "bar and grill" establishments. The problem there is timing. During the lunch and dinner hours, they'll run a full kitchen and turn out a respectable menu of delicacies. After hours, though, it's not usually cost-effective for them to keep a full kitchen staff and keep things like fryers and grills hot. More than likely, you'll find a member of the bar staff who's been adequately trained in the operation of a microwave or toaster oven acting as chef.

Here in North Carolina, however, and in some other states, there is a quirk of the liquor laws that makes it possible to find excellent bar food into the wee hours of the night. In yet another attempt to legislate morality, at some point in the past the liquor laws were written so that if an establishment didn't make a certain amount of its income from non-alcoholic sources, it had to operate as a private club. This is one of the most ludicrous laws I've seen in operation, as every place I've gone here that falls under the private club umbrella will let you in provided you are able to sign your name (maybe yours, maybe Mickey Mouse, no one's ever checked) on a list of "club members."

It is, however, an annoyance, and there are certain other quirks in the law which make it desirable to keep clear of the private club designation. That led to my discovery earlier this week, when my thirst for tap beer merged with my desire to warble karaoke at unsuspecting citizens drove me to The Blvd. Beer & Ice in Gastonia, N.C. Shortly before midnight, my stomach told me that it needed something substantial to soak up the fairly generous amounts of Yuengling and Famous Grouse it had been asked to process. I asked the bartender what sort of food was available, steeling myself for at best a plate of taco chips with some Velveeta microwave-melted atop it, and was surprised to be presented with a full menu.

I quickly made my selections, and the food was in front of me before my next Yuengling was drained dry. I had ordered "gourmet" chips with a blue cheese dipping sauce and something described as "blackened steak bites," and was pleased to find that both lived up to their billing.

Freshly made potato chips are one of life's great pleasures. Until you've had a basket of chips that were cooked to your order, you haven't truly lived. These were perfectly cooked, with just the right crunch, and the blue cheese sauce had actual chunks of good blue cheese floating around in it. The steak bites tasted like they had never seen the inside of a freezer, with a peppery kick that called for another Yuengling to quench the fire. I'd never had bar food like this, at least not this late at night, in this town, and it quickly put The Blvd. on my list of regular beer joints.

It doesn't take arcane liquor laws to make good bar food happen, though. In just about every town of any size, there's at least one pub with a cook working the late shift. One of the best ways to find your local home for late-night eats is to talk to your server at your favorite restaurant, or better yet one of the folks working in the kitchen. Restaurant people on the night shift generally leave work with two things in mind: alcohol and sustenance. If they can find both in one location, they'll make it their home. If you're known as a good tipper, which I certainly hope you are, you just might be made privy to the name of their late-night gathering spot.

Imagine a world in which bar food no longer involves pickled wieners, Slim Jims, microwaved nachos or bowls of snack mix that have been pawed through by every leprosy-ridden suds hound in town. With a little work on your part, you can make this world a reality.

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