THE GRUENE TAX: WHAT ARE YOU ACTUALLY PAYING FOR?

Duesy’s is close to historic Gruene. We are not in historic Gruene. There’s a big difference. We don’t sit right in the middle of the foot traffic, where people are already wandering from one bar, shop or music venue to the next. Nobody just happens into Duesy’s because we were the next stop on the walk. Folks have to make the choice to come here.

Maybe that means walking three minutes up the road. Maybe it means getting back in the car. Either way, when you get here, you can park for free - which around Gruene is apparently worth mentioning. I actually like that we have to earn the business. Geography doesn’t get to do the heavy lifting for us. Duesy’s has to be worth it.

That brings me to what I call the "Gruene tax." The formula is familiar. You’re close to Gruene proper. There’s live music. There's trees. There’s a drink in your hand. You’re outside in whatever mood Texas weather happens to be in that day. Maybe there’s some shade. Maybe there’s a fire pit. Maybe there’s somewhere to sit. And somehow, the closer all of that gets to Gruene Hall, the more expensive everything gets.

I understand economics. I own a business. Prime real estate costs money. Rent costs money. Payroll costs money. Tourism makes money. If another business can charge ridiculous prices and people happily line up to pay them, have at it. I’m not running their business. But I damn sure don’t have to run mine that way.

I’m not charging somebody a stupid amount of money for a Tito’s because our ZIP code says I might get away with it. Nope. Ain’t gonna do it. We aren’t servin’ a plastic-cup cocktail and pretending the price is somehow part of the historic Gruene experience either. I want our people drinking a good cocktail, in a real glass, at a price we can put on the menu and still look somebody in the eye when we charge it.

There’s a difference between paying for a good drink and paying for an address. And there’s something to be said for not letting the first crowded place with a “DRINK” sign make the decision for you. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder outside when it’s 97 degrees, 47 degrees, raining sideways or windy enough to make holding onto your drink a two-handed job may absolutely be somebody’s idea of a good time. Clearly, it is for plenty of people. Good for you. Spend the money. Sweat. Freeze. Dance. Drink. Have at it. Or keep walking another three minutes. You might find something worth the extra steps.

That’s where Duesy’s comes in. We have real, glorious air conditioning when Texas resembles Hell. We have a covered breezeway where music can keep going rain or shine because, quite literally, we’ve got it covered. When the temperature drops, we winterize it. We have sixteen TVs with separate audio zones, three pool tables, darts, Golden Tee, BullShooter and cornhole. There’s room to sit, room to move, cold beer, great cocktails and free parking.

You can listen to music, shoot pool, watch football with sound, throw darts, sit at the bar, or do absolutely none of it. There ought to be more to a bar than ordering a drink, drinking the drink and waiting until it’s time to order another one. I own a bar, so obviously I’d like you to buy drinks. Buy several. Tip the bartender while we’re at it. But I also want you to hang out.

Being a few minutes outside historic Gruene means we don’t get to rely on foot traffic. People have to make the choice to come here - and I've grown to prefer it. It keeps us honest. When a place sits directly in the path of thousands of tourists, location becomes part of the product. People are already there. They’re walking by. They’re thirsty. They see a bar. Transaction complete. Nothing wrong with that. It just isn’t our reality.

You made a turn to get to Duesy’s. You parked. You walked in. That means we better give you a reason to come back. I’d rather build that kind of business anyway. I don’t want to win because somebody else’s front door dumped people into ours. I want to win because somebody came here once, liked the place and decided it was worth returning to.

That’s also why I don’t spend much time worrying about what the places closer to Gruene proper are doing. If somebody starts with, “Well, over there they…” I already know where this is going. Good for them. They know their business. I’m running mine. Somebody else’s success is not my business plan and somebody else’s address sure as hell isn’t either.

If "they" charge fourteen bucks for a cocktail because tourists are already standing in front of the bar, that doesn’t mean I need to. If "they" can cram people shoulder-to-shoulder into a courtyard because that courtyard happens to sit in exactly the right spot, that doesn’t mean I need to recreate it. Sometimes "they" just have better dirt.

That’s the Gruene tax. You’re paying for the drink, sure, but you’re also paying for the dirt underneath your chair. And there’s nothing wrong with that if that’s what you want. Duesy’s just sits far enough outside that little bubble that we have to compete on something else. All good.

78130 has a ridiculous number of choices and Duesy’s won’t be everybody’s. I don’t want it to be. Crowded doesn’t automatically mean better. Closer doesn’t automatically mean better. More expensive sure as hell doesn’t automatically mean better. Sometimes crowded just means crowded. Sometimes expensive just means expensive. And sometimes the place three minutes farther down the road was worth the walk.

Duesy’s doesn't have the most valuable forty feet of gravel in Gruene and we sure as hell don’t charge the “Gruene tax.” We don’t have the foot traffic, the address or the luxury of assuming you’ll stop because we happen to be standing in your way.

We have to be worth the extra three minutes, and I’ll take that deal all day long. I’d rather earn your business than tax you for finding us.

Keep walking. Oh, and the parking’s free.