Chaucer's looks big from the outside, but inside it's a narrow space cluttered with drinkers of all color collars. The mismatched artwork further lends to its charm; in the corner, a framed Flyers Stanley Cup poster hangs next to a sepia portrait of a stoic Eskimo. And the bar's intricate wood inlay is classy without being too Cheers-y.

After ordering drinks, the girlfriend and I secured high-top seats right by the TV so that we could watch the Spurs-Mavericks game. A thirtysomething couple sat on stools adjacent to our table. The tentative nature of their conversation suggested that they were either on a first date or were friends navigating a maelstrom of sexual tension.

I couldn't really hear their conversation, save for a bizarre comment that threw me for a Lewis Black-ian loop. "I don't even know what a cyclops is," the woman admitted to her companion, who assured her it was OK.

Chaucer's weirdness isn't just reflected in its patrons. The menu says if you can recite "Jabberwocky," a poem from Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass, you win a drink on the house. It's harder than it sounds—this seven-stanza beast contains bizarro phrases such as "vorpal sword" and "o frabjous day." Get to studying, you frumious Bandersnatch, you.