Legends Sport Pub and Grill 

7609 W. Overland, 208-377-1819. Sun.-Thur. 11 a.m.-10 p.m.; Fri.-Sat. 11 a.m.-midnight

My buddy Jared and I walked into Legends Sports Pub and Grill at two o'clock on a Friday afternoon, and the first thing we noticed was the music: the two-chord bombast of The Boss singing "Born in the USA."

Legends could have only been born in the USA. The place is an expansive array of television screens and sports memorabilia. And, of course, it's situated in the sprawling mini-Vegas Edwards complex on Overland Road.

Considering the time of day, we pretty much had run of the place. The lack of patrons during this in-between time made the music seem a little louder than, say, happy hour. The '80s music station provided an amusing soundtrack to our late lunch.

(Foreigner's "Dirty White Boy" plays in the background.)

We sat down at a high table near the bar. Immediately a welcoming waitress named Amanda came over and put some silverware and menus on our table. As I looked at the silverware bundle, I realized that I was losing the bandage off of my recently stitched-up finger (pruning shears) and that I was going to need a new one (bandage, not finger). She took off in a flash and returned with an assortment of Band-aids. Nice service.

That was one thing that stood out immediately—everyone who works at Legends was cheerful, always moving around and always doing something.

Amanda disappeared, and the bartender Aaron came over to see if we wanted something to quench our thirsts. I was craving something a little less highfalutin—a PBR, maybe even a Tecate—but even with the fairly large selection of taps, there was nothing of the sort. Jared went for a large Newcastle (22 oz., $4.95) while I went for a Blue Moon Ale (16 oz., $4.01—maybe the penny was for the orange slice).

The menu is filled with standard pub fare: burgers, sandwiches and appetizers. I chose the Reuben ($7.95) with pub chips, which are kitchen-made potato chips. Jared opted for "The Italian" ($8.95)—a hoagie roll concoction with nearly every nitrate-containing meat in existence—and fries.

(David Bowie's "Let's Dance" plays while Jared and I discuss Stevie Ray Vaughn's guitar playing and Nile Rogers' production on the song and also how P Diddy should have left it alone.)

I ate most of my pub chips first—they were addictive as only greasy potatoes can be—and then attacked my sandwich. The Reuben was a customary affair: a little kraut and a lot of corned beef on rye bread. It was so filling, I could only eat half. Jared devoured his sandwich in a few large bites. When I asked how it was, he replied with the last bite, "Pretty good. Did you want to try it?"

(Kiss' "Rock and Roll All Night" begins playing.)

With my Reuben half gone and Jared's sandwich reduced to a few crumbs, we ordered another round of beers and reflected on the place. Overall, the visit was pleasant, and, in short, exactly what we expected. The food was good—not excellent (the Reuben could've used a bit more sauce and a little more toastiness to the bread), but not awful. The beers, though a bit spendy, were a good temperature and the staff were friendly. If your goal is a sports pub dining experience, this one hits the mark.

When our bill came, and I realized my beers were $4.01 a piece, I wondered if it was a penny for my thoughts? With the Car's playing "Shake it Up" in the background, Jared and I shook it on home.

—Ryan Peck thinks dining to Def Leppard is divine.

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