Make it a "skinny" - ask your server for Crystal Light lemonade — Photo courtesy of A.D. Thompson
Replacing the ubiquitous free peanut basket with a massive glass jar of crunchy dill pickle slices on every table, Ollie’s Public House–a newcomer to the ever-expanding roster of Orlando's College Park venues –ups the ante in terms of food expectations, while at the same time retaining a local-joint vibe in the space where the old Jax 5th Avenue used to be. Outside: a comfortable patio with umbrella tables. Inside: a warm neighborhood atmosphere, surprisingly open seating with easy views of multiple televisions. Either way: a robust menu of offerings via plate, bottle or whimsical mason-jar glasses.
Pickles (pleasantly crunchy!) are free, but getting pickled won't break the bank — Photo courtesy of A.D. Thompson
Eats include finger-food bites like the smoked fish dip (salty, creamy and – as it’s served with a side of jalapeños – as spicy as you want it to be) and ample sandwiches like the Legend, loaded up with your favorite Italian artery-cloggers from the deli counter, and the Veggie Wrap, crammed full with its cool, crunchy nutritional opposite. An array of crispy pita pizzas melds white-collar, thin-crust sensibility with blue-collar resourcefulness.
Inspire dessert envy. Entertain the kids. Try the S'mores. — Photo courtesy of A.D. Thompson
Ollie’s has a full bar with a fun menu. House cocktails are colorful and served in those charming aforementioned jars, particularly well-suited for the Ruby Red and Huckleberry Finn (lemonade-based elixirs), as well as the Drunken Arnold, which might have you staggering around the links of the nearby Dubsdread Golf Course with a tad less finesse than the man for which it is named. An impressive beer list for a local joint fills in the blanks and $2 Yuenglings – all day, every day – will prevent you from breaking the bank.
Kids are welcome here before the 10 o’clock hour – they have their own small menu – and if you want to prolong your game time, finish with the DIY S’mores dessert, served deconstructed with its own tabletop hibachi. Good, gooey times.