Sidebar

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Graduating college and getting a job. For most of us, it’s an inevitable rite of passage. It’s a fun time, an exciting time; but more than anything, it’s a period of transition. You might find yourself working in the city, adapting to the rigors and routines of a 9 to 5 job and the responsibilities of forging through life on your own. You’ve got new friends, coworkers, and a wealth of opportunities ahead.

You’ve also got a city’s worth of exciting bars to explore. The thing is, just because you swapped your faded jeans and t-shirt for some more professional-looking duds doesn’t mean you’ve fully adopted new drinking habits. You’ve only recently emerged from a world of Rolling Rock, keg stands, and Jello shots. A cocktail to you is rum and Coke, with a lime on special occasions. You might even think white zinfandel is a drinkable wine.

So yes, you might look the part of a young business professional, but when you’re meeting friends after work, places like TRADE or Scholars aren’t quite your scene just yet. Plus, you don’t have mom and dad to bail you out anymore when funds are low. Welcome to Sidebar.

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A Boston dive bar that straddles the border of the downtown area and the Financial District, Sidebar also sits at the junction between your college mindset and your evolving identity as a responsible, gainfully employed adult. It has all the trappings of the typical city dive bar – no-frills attitude and décor, a couple of arcade games, and most importantly, cheap beer – yet its location draws a hearty after-work crowd from the countless businesses in the area.

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So when the clock strikes 5, you tend to see a lot of people with their suit coat in one hand and a $2 Bud Light in the other.

Sidebar has two separate rooms, each with a markedly different feel, but united by the rust-colored tile floor that seems to come standard in a Boston dive bar. One side is your standard, straightforward barroom – a long, 20-seat bar in a narrow, dimly lit room, with about five tables and a couple of booths.

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Some of the walls have exposed brick, others are coated with fading blue paint and years’ worth of scuff marks. Neon signs, Guinness mirrors, and posters provide a little ambience.

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The other side reminds me of an on-campus college bar or the common room of a frat house. It’s a big, open room with wood-paneled walls, maybe 10 tables and booths, and a small bar. Video games like Big Buck Safari and Golden Tee, along with a booming jukebox, tend to make this the more boisterous of the two sides.

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Sidebar’s always been an occasional destination for me. The location can’t be beat; it’s close to my office and on the way to the T, so it’s a trusty spot for an after-work beverage. I stopped in a few weeks back to meet my friend John, of Brew Dudes fame. I took a seat on the quieter of the two sides and enjoyed a Jameson on the rocks while I waited for him, watching as the bar almost completely filled up by 5:15.

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When John arrived, we grabbed a wobbly table and began discussing beer options. Sidebar’s draft selection is pretty average – Sam Adams, Blue Moon, Guinness, Red Hook, that sort of thing. But it’s the $7 pitchers of Bud Light that have helped this place build such a devoted following. There are bars nearby where you can spend $7 for a single beer, let alone a pitcher. I would have gotten one – it’s sort of obligatory here – but John is an aficionado of microbrews and a producer of excellent homebrew; I couldn’t in good conscience ask him to go for BL. We went with Sam Adams Alpine Spring instead.

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That led to a lengthy discussion about how disappointed we were that Sam Adams began selling their “spring” beer in January. Last I checked, January is the dead of winter. It’s bad enough that stores put up Christmas displays in September; must we rush everything? Couldn’t we have enjoyed some strong winter ale during the winter? Adding insult to injury, Boston Beer Company founder Jim Koch, in response to widespread criticism of Sam’s season-skipping, cheerily offered a flaccid defense of the decision by saying that they released the beer early because New Englanders tend to look forward to the end of winter. Huh? Yes, in the winter, most of us do indeed yearn for warmer weather; but drinking a spring beer in January does not cause snow to melt and flowers to bloom. I’d drink Red Stripe year-round if I thought it would result in a Caribbean climate in New England. Sam Summer’s out now; grab yourself a pint before June, when I’m sure they’ll start selling Octoberfest.

<End Rant>

Anyway, the Alpine Spring was good. The wobbliness of our table put the pitcher at constant risk for spilling in catastrophic fashion, but that just added an element of adventure to the evening.

While Sidebar is already somewhat unusual in that it draws such a predominantly white-collar crowd, it further distinguishes itself from some of the area’s other lovable dives by virtue of the fact that it offers food. And the menu is surprisingly extensive, with broad selections of sandwiches, pizzas, wraps, salads, a few house specialties, and more. Maybe that doesn’t sound like anything extraordinary; but at bars like Beacon Hill Pub and Sullivan’s Tap, the only edible goods tend to come from a vending machine. One doesn’t go to a place like this and expect to see a variety of, say, panini sandwiches, but there they are – meatball panini, veggie panini, roast turkey panini, and so on. John opted for the chicken pesto panini, topped with provolone cheese.

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The list of burgers features an astounding 15 options, with a tempting-sounding teriyaki burger and a deep-fried burger topped with bacon, BBQ sauce, and cheese, which may well have been worth the few months it would take off my life had I ordered it. I settled on the blackened bleu burger, coated in Cajun spice and topped with blue cheese. It was a pretty good burger! Nothing outstanding, but definitely satisfying.

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John and I hung out for a while after dinner. The post-work crowd thinned out after 7 or so, making it a pretty mellow environment for killing time, chewing the fat, and watching whatever games were on one of the five TVs. We discussed the Sox, the merits and drawbacks of Led Zeppelin’s “Presence” album, and the emergence of excellent craft hard ciders, like those made by Downeast and Bantam. Since we were on the subject, I got an Angry Orchard to close out the night.

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I would call it more of a hard apple juice. The fact that you can see right through it in this picture might tell you something.

Since no review of Sidebar would be complete without a trip to its other side, I returned a week or so later and settled in with a Narragansett. If the more conventional side of Sidebar is where you meet a friend for a drink, the second side is where you head with a group.

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Whenever I walk into this half of the Sidebar, I feel like I’m arriving at a party that’s been going on for about 9 hours. There are tables with empty or half-filled beer pitchers, a few guys taking down some wild game on Big Buck Safari, sports on all six of the TVs, and something always blaring out of the jukebox. When I was there last, there was music coming from the jukebox and the bar at the same time. Nobody seemed to notice.

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This side of Sidebar might be louder and have more of a late-night party feel, but it has the same casual, come-as-you-are atmosphere as the quieter side. It recalls visions of crowding around a table with good friends and bad beer, laughing the night away. Maybe that’s a chapter of your life that closed long ago. But I think it’s the kind of thing you never get too old for.

Last Call

It might be as laid-back a bar as there is in Boston, and that’s a good thing. Sidebar is right smack dab in the middle of one of the busiest sections of the city – exactly the kind of area that needs a cozy, comfortable dive bar.

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And I do this place a disservice if I characterize it solely as a hangout for people in their 20s who haven’t outgrown their college days. Sidebar draws a diverse clientele, from professionals to Suffolk Law students to anyone who enjoys the merits of affordable food and drink. One gets the sense that all are welcome here.

The $7 Bud Light pitchers are the best value, but not the only good deal. If you don’t need a pitcher, a Bud Light draft will run you $2. My Narragansett was $3.

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Prices for other beers and drinks are fairly standard. Our pitcher of Sam Adams “winter is coming” Alpine Spring was $18, and my Jameson was $6. Other draft beers are about $5, which is pretty good.

The food is reasonably priced, though it’s higher than what is currently displayed on Sidebar’s website. John’s panini and my burger were each just under $10. Not exactly a steal, but since sandwiches and burgers in the area are starting to average around $12 (which blows), it’s still one of the better deals around.

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If you’re looking for eclectic beer selections and craft cocktails, there is no shortage of bars serving them downtown and near the Financial District. The area is home to some of Boston’s most popular bars, like Stoddard’sand JM Curley. Sidebar, meanwhile, is comparatively modest; it almost blends into the other storefronts along Bromfield Street. It’s a low-cost alternative that isn’t as shiny and trendy as some of its neighbors, but there’s much to be said for pitchers of beer and a good jukebox. Because while the popularity of microbrews and artisanal drinks will ebb and flow, the simplicity of a comfortable bar with cheap beer will never go out of fashion.

Address: 14 Bromfield Street, Boston

Website:http://www.sidebarboston.com/

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Copyright © Boston BarHopper. All Rights Reserved.

Sweet Cheeks Q

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After a year of submitting these near-weekly dispatches on all that’s good about Boston bars, I consider myself to be fairly well informed on the matter. And while I’m no food critic or cocktail whiz, I feel reasonably qualified to share my experiences with friends, family, and complete strangers. But when it comes to an issue as contentious as barbecue food, I stay safely above the fray. Few types of cuisine send ordinary folk into such paroxysms of fierce, uncompromising opinion as barbecue. If you’re in mixed company and express a fondness for Somerville’s Redbones, you’ll be dismissed as a rube and given an unasked-for lecture on how overrated their food is. God help you if you don’t pay the proper respect to Blue Ribbon in Newton and Arlington – near consensus exists on its awesomeness. But even a reverent discussion of Blue Ribbon can be hijacked by the breathless report of someone who recently returned from a trip to South Carolina, where they stumbled upon the best BBQ place ever. Yet the credibility of a traveler can be shredded by a native of the Deep South who can tell you how barbecue really is in, say, Alabama.

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There’s no end to it – heated arguments about baby back ribs v. St. Louis ribs; saber rattling about wood chips; disputes over sauces nearly coming to blows.

Myself, I’m not that picky. So if you’re expecting a declaration of where Sweet Cheeks ranks among the local BBQ eateries, you’ve come to the wrong place. But if you’re like me and think that a plate of smoked meat, some spicy barbecue sauce, and a few cold beers are the ingredients for glorious night of down-home decadence, then by all means, keep reading.

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Whatever your preference or how strong your opinion, there’s no disputing barbecue’s popularity. Case in point – I called Sweet Cheeks on a Friday afternoon to reserve a table for myself and a few fellow barhoppers on Saturday night; I was told they weren’t taking any more phone reservations, but walk-ins were welcome. I should have known right then I’d have my work cut out for me. But I am, after all, Boston BarHopper – and thus, not averse to hanging out at the Sweet Cheeks bar for an hour or so, sampling the liquid offerings while waiting for a table. Just to be safe, I went in early to get a few pictures before the place filled up. And this is how it looked at 5:30.

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Forget sitting at the bar; I could barely get to the bar. Eventually my cousin Adam and I squeezed in, ordered some drinks, and retreated to the waiting area with Kelly, Melissa, and Adam’s girlfriend Danielle (there was also a brief, mysterious cameo by my other cousin, John, but I have no visual proof that he was present).

Sweet Cheeks is the brainchild of, and first restaurant from, chef Tiffani Faison. As a former finalist on the reality show Top Chef, it’s probably safe to say that Faison knows her way around a kitchen. She also knows plenty about Boston, having lived here and worked in various restaurants in the city before making her name. But it was a BBQ-soaked road trip through the Texas that provided the inspiration for Sweet Cheeks.

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And a drive through the Lone Star State contributed more than just ideas on the best way to prepare good barbecue food. Indeed, while Sweet Cheeks may be north of the Mason-Dixon line, it spares no detail in channeling the essence of a southern roadhouse. Long wooden tables, a concrete floor, wood-paneled walls, and lights strung along the ceiling attempt to capture the milieu of a humble, open-pit BBQ shack along a rural stretch of road in Texas. Food served on metal trays, silverware and napkins stored in reused coffee cans, and drinks served in mason jars further evoke images of earnest, hard-working folk and southern hospitality.

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It was probably more luck than hospitality, but despite the crowd, our wait was actually less than an hour. That’s not terribly long on a Saturday night, but the minutes seemed to drag on endlessly as waiters rushed by us with platters full of treats. The aroma of wood-burning smoke wafting toward us the whole time was torture. When we were mercifully shown to our table, I don’t think we were even in our seats before we called for some appetizers.

First up was the most quintessential of BBQ snacks – hush puppies. If deep-fried cornbread isn’t the most fitting prelude to a bacchanal of barbecue, then I don’t know what is.

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Along with that was the bucket of biscuits, which actually came in a can as opposed to a bucket, but nobody said anything. Soft and warm, they would have been pretty satisfying on their own, but a whipped honey butter gave them an added dimension of deliciousness.

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With some appetizers to take the edge off our ravenous hunger, it was time for another round of drinks (I’m sorry to report that it was too chaotic in the waiting area to take pictures of our first round; but the Dollywood cocktail was a huge hit).

Kelly ordered the House Bill 819, a mix of tea-infused Berkshire Mountain corn whiskey, lemon, mint, and simple syrup. It was an intriguing combination of flavors, but really intense up front; I think the tea was a little too much. I heard no complaints from Kelly, though.

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Adam wisely got the Left Hand Milk Stout, on nitro, which was just tremendous; smooth and creamy, with hints of coffee, chocolate, and vanilla.

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Danielle opted for Kentucky Rosie – rye whiskey, pineapple, grapefruit, and lemon juice, and simple syrup. The sweet and tart flavors worked well with the spicy and bitter essence of the whiskey.

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I went with the Indian Summer, made with apple cider and no fewer than three types of rum – coconut, spiced, and Cruzan Black Strap. If that isn’t enough, the rim was lined with toasted coconut. It was tasty and sweet, but even as a lover of all things coconut, I found it to be a little excessive.

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Satisfying as the appetizers were, the main event was still to come. Sweet Cheeks’ menu has all the staples of a good ol’ southern BBQ spread – ribs, brisket, pulled pork, chicken, black-eyed peas, mac and cheese, fried green tomatoes, you name it. You can get a “tray,” which comes with one type of meat paired with two sides (one hot “scoop,” one cold), or a sandwich, which lacks the sides (unless you pay extra). If you prefer your meat with a side of more meat, you can opt for the “Big Cheeks Tray” (two meats) or “Fat Cheeks Tray” (three). Whether you can order either of those without feeling a little self-conscious is your own business.

At last, our patience was rewarded with a feast of smoky magnificence. For Danielle, it was the fried chicken tray with salad and a scoop of mac and cheese.

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Kelly got the pulled pork tray with mac and cheese and potato salad.

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Adam opted for pulled chicken sandwich, served (naturally) on Texas Toast. He added potato salad and mac and cheese so he could have a tray like the rest of us.

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Mel ordered the pulled chicken tray with collard greens and cole slaw.

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And I got the pork belly tray with potato salad and collard greens.

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We dug in with such gusto that the waitress felt compelled to remind us that utensils were available and that their use was encouraged. Danielle practically made a scene over her fried chicken, which she demanded everyone try (and yes, it was worth the fuss). In a comparatively quiet voice, I offered samples of my pork belly, privately hoping no one would hear…but they did. Unsurprisingly, it was a hit – spicy and tender enough to melt in your mouth.

Even the sides were impressive. Some of them, like the collard greens and mac and cheese, were served in a coffee cup; whether this is part of some southern tradition or just an exercise in novelty, I don’t know. The potato salad was popular – and topped with bacon crumbs, why wouldn’t it be? Even the cole slaw, which normally wouldn’t warrant a mention, stood out with its creamy texture and vinegary flavor.

If you somehow have room after such a meal, there are a few dessert options, like butterscotch pudding and warm apple pie. None of us could fathom that, but we did manage a couple more drinks. Mel got the Damn Yankee, sort of a twist on a Manhattan (a drink she doesn’t particularly care for, so I’m not sure what prompted that order). Made with Johnny Drum bourbon, Sapling maple liqueur, and maple bitters, it was kind of like a backwoods Manhattan with its rich, rustic maple flavors.

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I meanwhile looked to the beer list. Sweet Cheeks has a pretty respectable beer selection; on draft, there’s small offering of rotating microbrews, like the Left Hand Milk Stout that Adam got. Along with that is a ton of bottle and can options, with some top-notch craft beers and plenty of old favorites. I closed out with a classic.

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With so many quality beers available, you might consider a cheap can of PBR might to be a wasted order. I disagree. Because while I might not be an authority on what constitutes the most authentic barbecue food, I do know what goes best with it.

Last Call

If you want a statement on how Sweet Cheeks stacks up to other BBQ places in the area, you’ll have to consult an “expert.” You’ll likely have no trouble finding one. All I can say is that my pork belly was phenomenal and I’d order it again in an artery-clogged heartbeat.

Meanwhile, this bar “expert” can’t even talk about the bar at Sweet Cheeks. This is what it looks like from a distance:

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It’s a relatively small bar, and it’s tight quarters with the tables close by. I can’t imagine coming here just for a drink, given how crowded it gets. And why on earth would you come here and not eat? If you can sit there amid the heavenly smells and just have a drink, you have way more willpower than I do.

None of the specialty cocktails wowed me; but then again, what goes better with barbecue than beer? Sweet Cheeks also has an excellent selection of whiskey, and bourbon in particular, which seems appropriate for a southern-themed restaurant.

Prices are in line with Fenway-area restaurants, but they’re quite a bit higher than other local BBQ places. Our trays ranged from $18 to $21. The hush puppies were $7, and the biscuits $10. Still, there’s something for every appetite and budget – from a single rib for $3 to the Big Rig for $450, which seems to be 20-plus pounds of food for up to 10 people. Cocktails are $10, which is pretty standard, and beers range from $3 (PBR) to $9 for some craftier options.

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And while I mentioned how crowded Sweet Cheeks was, don’t let that daunt you. A BBQ joint is always going to be busy, even more so when it’s run by a popular chef. Plus, tables seem to turn over pretty quickly. I figure that’s because like me, most people inhale this stuff and then quickly depart before slipping into a food coma.

Address: 1381 Boylston Street, Boston

Website:http://www.sweetcheeksq.com/

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Copyright © Boston BarHopper. All Rights Reserved.

Granary Tavern

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If you walk into a building that was once used for grain storage and your first thought is “You know, this would make a really great bar,” you either have a vivid imagination or you drink too much. Possibly both. Either way, Granary Tavern isn’t the first bar in the Boston area to use historical infrastructure as inspiration for modern design – in a town as old as this, you can enjoy cocktails in a former prison, beers in what was once a bank, and Southern comfort food at the site of a 17th-century printing press. But of all the bars that channel the spirit of their prior tenants, I’d have to say Granary Tavern does it best.

As the name implies, Granary Tavern is housed in a former granary built in 1816 on the outskirts of what we now know as the Financial District. Iron machine gears and burlap sacks adorn the exposed brick walls, conjuring images of 19th century laborers happily threshing and bagging wheat and barley all the livelong day.

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It’s a big, open room with a light brown, hardwood floor, and a ceiling of exposed wooden beams that are vestiges of the original building. The effect is almost barn-like, which makes sense – the owners of Granary Tavern actually purchased a 19th century barn in Vermont and repurposed the wood for use throughout the bar. The structure absorbed nearly two centuries’ worth of New England sunrises, turning the wood a deep amber hue and giving this months-old bar a sense of age and character.

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But amid the rustic backdrop are all the right modern amenities – two floors’ worth of craft cocktails, microbrews, comfort food classics, and a few mammoth TVs. The floor-to-ceiling windows, which offer a beautiful view, open up in the warmer months, and there’s an outdoor patio as well. A brick wall divides the upstairs space into two large rooms, each with plenty of tables, and a 12-seat bar extends into both rooms. Hanging pendant lights create an industrial vibe, and the whole place is bathed in an orange glow.

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I’d been wanting to check out Granary out since it opened last fall, and I finally visited a week ago. It’s popular – there was already a crowd of about 50 people when I arrived around 5:15, but in a place that can accommodate 250, it didn’t feel too congested.

What was congested on this particular Friday evening was Storrow Drive, delaying the arrival of fellow barhoppers Kelly and Melissa. Troubled by their plight as I was, I considered abandoning the bar and waiting outside, suffering with them in solidarity, despite the miles that separated us. Instead I perused the drink menu.

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Like so many places these days, Granary Tavern offers a bevy of craft cocktails. But the options here have a distinctly personal touch – each bartender contributed at least one original drink recipe, and the current menu is in something of a “tryout” phase. The most popular concoctions stick around longer, so there’s a spirit of friendly competition among some of the bartenders. The winner, of course, is those of us on the other side of the bar.

I began the evening with a Revolver, made with Bulleit bourbon, coffee liqueur, blood orange bitters, and an orange garnish. It was kind of like a coffee-infused Manhattan, which definitely isn’t a bad thing. I’ve been noticing Bulleit in a lot of drinks recently, and I can see why discerning bartenders like using this bold, spicy, and smooth bourbon in their cocktails.

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Next up was the Tavern Sling, an exquisite mix of Hendrick’s gin, St. Germain, mint, simple syrup, and fresh lime juice, with a splash of soda. I recalled from my intense studies at the Hendrick’s Cocktail Academy what a good pairing Hendrick’s and St. Germain can be, and this was no exception. The mint and lime, along with the sweetness from the syrup, naturally made me think of a mojito. But the gin gave it more bite, and the St. Germain contributed a soft, floral warmth. “That’s one of the ones we’ve had from the beginning,” the bartender, Colleen, told me. I can see why.

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It was a little after 6 when Kelly sauntered in, and by then the whole place was pretty full. Kelly ordered the Granary Smash, a recipe contributed by another of our bartenders, Tiffany. This one combined Patron Silver, St. Germain, orange juice, and fresh lemon juice. It was the first time I’d encountered St. Germain mixed with tequila, and not surprisingly, it worked well; I’m beginning to think St. Germain works with pretty much anything.

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Every drink on the menu sounded appealing, particularly some of the seasonal options, like Granary’s version of a hot toddy. Unable to decide, I asked Colleen for a recommendation, and she chose the Winter Sangria (one of her own recipes). It’s funny, but in looking at the menu, I skipped right past this one. For some reason, the name gave me the same feeling I get when I see “white” in front of “zinfandel.” I’m glad I took the suggestion, though, because this was one of the highlights of the evening.

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Merlot, cinnamon simple syrup, and a cinnamon stick made me think of a chilled mulled wine, well suited to the winter weather, while lime juice and soda provided subtle hints of the warmer months ahead.

After a leisurely two-hour drive, Melissa finally graced us with her presence around 7 and ordered a glass of Malbec.

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I prepared for the worst when we put our name in for a table, but despite the crowd, the wait was only an hour (not bad at all for a Friday night). We ordered some appetizers to take the edge off while we waited.

First up was a bowl of garlic chips and dip. The crispy chips were homemade, garnished with divine slices of garlic, and doused in oil. With a delicious, spicy dip on the side, these babies totally hit the spot. (There were enough chips to share among the three of us, and enough garlic to share with everyone we encountered over the subsequent 24 hours.)

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To that we added “chicken fried chicken,” and no, I don’t know how it got that name. What I do know is that the chicken was crispy outside and tender inside, and it came with more of that rockin’ dip.

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With a little food to sustain us, another round of drinks was in order. Kelly opted for the elegant Ginger Rogers, made with vodka, ginger liqueur, freshly squeezed lemon, mint, and a splash of ginger ale.

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Melissa went with the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, the flavor of which bears an almost eerie similarity to the cereal you remember from your childhood (if you’re still eating it as an adult, no judgment). This creamy concoction was made with Patron Café, vanilla vodka, Baileys, and cinnamon syrup, and was again the handiwork of Tiffany. Sinful, decadent, and delicious.

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I, meanwhile, was happy to explore Granary Tavern’s fine beer selection and settled on a Lagunitas. There are 10 beers on draft and plenty of bottled offerings, with a good selection of microbrews and an emphasis on local fare.

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We’d been waiting less than an hour when the hostess told us there was a table available downstairs. The lower floor is a little smaller and a bit less crowded than upstairs. It has its own bar, with a dozen stools, and features a custom tap built from old iron plumbing pipes.

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The ambiance is similar to that of the main floor, but with its stone walls and concrete floor, the downstairs feels more like a cave (albeit a really nice cave). And that stonework isn’t just for aesthetics; it’s the original sea wall, still in place from the 1800s.

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We settled in for dinner and ordered up a bowl of spiced popcorn while acquainting ourselves with Granary’s sandwiches, flatbreads, and comfort food entrees, all made with locally sourced ingredients and jazzed up wherever possible. The cheese fondue made with Harpoon IPA was particularly tempting, as was the chicken and waffle.

Kelly went with the fish and chips, which has become her customary order despite her complex relationship with seafood.

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Melissa opted for the roasted beet salad, which she loved; the goat cheese and pumpkin seeds sounded like inspired additions. Given my hatred of beets, however, I’ve made the picture as small as possible. Which is too bad, because it was cool-looking, too.

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I got the blackened catfish sandwich, which was spicy and tender and came with more of those delicious homemade potato chips.

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Dinner was a pretty relaxing affair. Kelly ordered a Tavern Sling, which I’d recommended from upstairs. And since I can almost never resist it when I see it on draft, I closed out with the smooth,  smoky stylings of a Kentucky Bourbon Ale.

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We hung out for a bit after we ate, soaking up the cool downstairs vibe and enjoying the excellent soundtrack of Modest Mouse, Franz Ferdinand, MGMT, and the Killers. After months of wanting to come here, I was really glad this place didn’t let me down. I’ve been in plenty of new bars that use their style and popularity as a license for pretension; I got no sense of that here. The atmosphere was very casual and we had great service all night. There’s a lot at Granary that will change – I’m told the menu will fluctuate with the seasons, the drink list will always be in flux, and the respectable beer list will rotate frequently. But there’s a fresh, friendly, even humble attitude here that I hope will stay exactly the same.

Last Call

The food’s good, the drinks are great, and the setting is incredibly cool. What really stands out about Granary Tavern, though, is that it conveys the spirit of a small operation. And that’s unexpected; nothing about it is small, and I’m not just talking about the impressive size of this two-floor bar. It’s owned by the Glynn Hospitality Group, which runs seven or eight other bars in Boston. Call me cynical, but with that kind of corporate backing, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Granary felt prepackaged and rigid.

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downstairs-edit

Instead, I detected the energy and enthusiasm I’d normally associate with a newly successful, homegrown business. From the hostess to the bartenders to our waitress, the staff seemed earnest and genuinely friendly. The bartenders, perhaps by virtue of participating in the drink design, exhibited pride and a sense of investment in their cocktails. Every time I ordered another drink, the person who made it would come by and ask what I thought of it. That’s a small thing, but it says a lot. I also appreciated Granary Tavern’s general manager, Nikki, taking time to meet with me and tell me more about this very cool place.

Granary’s prices are fairly typical. The cocktails were all $10, which is pretty much the going rate, and most of the beers were $6 or $7. Sandwich and entrée prices are a little high, but not outrageous. My catfish sandwich was $15, Melissa’s roasted be*t salad was $9, and Kelly’s fish and chips were $17. Snacks and appetizers are reasonably priced – $3 and $4 for the popcorn and garlic chips, respectively, and $10 for the chicken fried chicken.

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grain-edit

Whenever I’ve mentioned this place to someone, particularly its being built in a former granary, I get some variation of “Oooooh, that sounds cool.” Yes, it does sound cool; the concept is enough to lure you in at least once. But Granary Tavern rises above the novelty of its setting and seems poised to thrive.

Address: 170 Milk Street, Boston

Website:http://www.granarytavern.com/

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Copyright © Boston BarHopper. All Rights Reserved.

Emmet's Pub & Restaurant

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If you live in the Boston area, then you likely did not escape the wrath of the February nor’easter that spent last weekend walloping us.

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20130209_095030

Perhaps you enjoyed it. I did not. I never do. For despite spending all of my life in the New England area, my tolerance for snow – and winter in general – diminishes with every passing year.

It was not always such.

When I was a kid, having a big snowstorm was like hitting the lottery. On a weekday evening, with worksheets of math equations in front of me, I’d listen with glee as the weather forecast worsened. I’d sit breathlessly by the radio or TV and wait for the announcement that school was canceled for the day. It meant that quizzes and homework were suspended in favor of sledding, building snowmen, and hurling snowballs at friends and younger siblings. Maybe a little igloo construction would be in order if a few of us were feeling industrious. Not a bad way to spend a winter day.

The change was gradual. As I got a little older, those snowbound pursuits would have to wait until I had helped shovel the porch and the driveway. A small price to pay for a day off, I suppose. But later there’d be movies, dates, and parties, long-awaited and carefully coordinated plans thrown into chaos by inclement weather and the threat of slippery roads. Sure, it was still nice to have a day off now and then, but when it came at the expense of the all-important social life of a high school teenager, the scales began to tip.

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20130209_064313

And then, seemingly overnight, all the joy was gone. Schools being closed for the day didn’t necessarily mean your employer was giving you a mulligan. The weather that once signaled a carefree day of building a snow fort or reenacting the battle of Hoth now meant getting up an hour early to shovel out the driveway and enduring the biting cold while waiting for the inevitably delayed T. Walking to the bus stop or the office, an ordinarily uneventful act, became a test of agility and quick reflexes. The mere mention of snow in the forecast has become a harbinger of inconvenience and an invitation to media-induced hysteria. Oh, and a shit-ton of shoveling.

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guinness-edit

But I’ll admit that once in a great while, I still recognize the charm of a snowy night. One such occasion that stands vividly in my memory took place a few years ago, when I was meeting some friends after work at Emmet’s pub in Boston. Since Emmet’s is just up the street from my office, I had time to kill before the others arrived. I took a seat at the far end of the bar, ordered a Guinness, and picked up one of the newspapers that were strewn about the bar. Midway through my beer I looked up and noticed it had begun snowing.

Have you ever had the experience of mentally stepping back, taking stock of a moment, and seeing yourself in the context of your environment? It’s like stepping outside of time, briefly, and seeing yourself through the eyes of a storyteller with a keen sense of detail.

This was one of those moments – drinking a hearty stout in a warm, quiet, Irish pub; reading the paper; watching big flakes of snow fall softly, filling up the window panes, against the backdrop of a dark winter night, punctuated by streetlights and headlights. It was simple, peaceful, and recalled the traditional notion of the bar as a public house – a place in your neighborhood where you’d stop in, warm your hands by the fire, unwind with a pint, and chew the fat with the bartender and maybe a few other locals.

It’s an image that’s stayed with me over the years, and while it hasn’t much improved my opinion of the winter weather, it’s given me an enduring fondness for this underrated bar.

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Picture 102

Situated on the outskirts of Beacon Hill, Emmet’s is an unassuming little place. Its proximity to the State House and many downtown businesses makes it an obvious after-work destination, but it’s a little less conspicuous than the bars on nearby Cambridge Street and along the Boston Common, so it tends to not become quite so packed.

Dark woodwork, cream-colored walls, and a worn-looking hardwood floor give Emmet’s the look and feel of a classic Irish pub. Framed black and white pictures of Irish people doing Irish things in Ireland offer accents of authenticity. An ornate wooden structure behind the bar gives the space a formal feel, and the bartenders look distinguished in their black vests and white shirts. Chandeliers cast a warm glow over the entire bar, and candles on the tables contribute a sense of intimacy.

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Picture 013

For a place that feels so cozy, Emmet’s is actually pretty spacious. There are about 15 seats at the bar and a surprising number of tables. But the tables are set up in distinct groups in various areas of the bar – a few tables by the windows overlooking the street, a few partitioned off in the central part of the room, and still more in the back part of the bar. The configuration makes each area of the bar feel small unto itself; and if you’re coming in with a group, you can easily commandeer your own little section. Further maximizing the space, the square support posts are outfitted with large wooden shelves that serve as makeshift tables with stools tucked underneath – also convenient for standing around chatting.

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Picture 022

Our sudden winter wonderland put me in the mood for drinking at a place like Emmet’s, so I stopped in on this past Tuesday evening with my friend and coworker Jen. (Incidentally, Jen was really hoping for the recent snowstorm; Jen also doesn’t have to shovel where she lives, but I digress.) Things were pretty quiet at 5; only about half a dozen people were there.

There are a dozen beers on draft, and the options are pretty standard – Guinness, Harpoon, Sam Adams, Stella, and so on, with a couple of less common choices like Whale’s Tale and Goose Island Honker’s Ale. I began my night with Harpoon’s Rye IPA, a crisp, hoppy beer that I’d been wanting to try since my recent visit to the Harpoon Brewery Beer Hall .

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Picture 006

Jen started off with a Malbec, which she pronounced to be “OK!”

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Picture 025

We shook off the winter chill and began perusing the appetizers. Emmet’s’ menu consists mostly of your basic pub fare and comfort food – wings, nachos, burgers, sandwiches, and so forth. There isn’t much in terms of traditional Irish cuisine, aside from the Irish bacon that finds its way onto some of the sandwiches (and, interestingly enough, corned beef raviolis). But the food is good, and Emmet’s makes an effort to use as many locally sourced ingredients as possible, which is laudable.

We began with Buffalo chicken nachos, which packed some surprisingly intense heat. Jen captured the experience eloquently and succinctly: “My face is sweating!” That didn’t stop us from devouring them.

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Picture 034

Now, one of the benefits of drinking with Jen is that she often has the inside track on alcoholic beverages that are just beginning to gain widespread notoriety. Granted, living life on the cutting edge of cool can have its drawbacks; her Four Loko phase, for instance, was as regrettable as it was short-lived. But it was Jen who led me to Meadhalllast summer for the sole purpose of trying Downeast Cider, for which I am eternally grateful. And at Emmet’s, she introduced me to Crabbie’s – an alcoholic ginger beer. Served over ice in a glass garnished with a lemon and a lime, it’s like the lazy man’s Moscow Mule. In a bottle. Brilliant.

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crabbie-edit

Nachos and malternatives are all well and good, but by this point I was ready to switch into full-on Irish pub mode. And that, of course, begins with a Guinness.

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Picture 049

For dinner I went with the excellent shepherd’s pie. If there’s a better comfort food to have at an Irish pub on a cold winter’s eve, I don’t know what it is. Made with very tender ground beef and vegetables beneath a blanket of mashed potatoes, topped with a thick, rich gravy, and served with crispy bread on the side, Emmet’s’ shepherd’s pie is top notch. I was completely full about halfway through, but it was so good, I just kept on shoveling it down. (It’s a choice I regretted later, but that’s another story.)

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Picture 091

I closed out the night with a Palm, which I ordered in part because of the distinctive glass it was served in and partly because it was billed as “Belgium’s amber beer.” I confess to not being a huge fan of the spicy, fruity flavor that emanates from Belgian yeast; I’d never encountered a Belgian amber, though, and was curious. I was pleasantly surprised by the Palm, which was smooth and rich, and entirely unlike the more typical Belgian style.

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Picture 074

For a Tuesday night, Emmet’s was surprisingly packed by 7:30 or 8; maybe because it was Mardi Gras, and where better to celebrate than at an Irish pub on Beacon Hill? Before it got so busy, though, I witnessed an interesting scene. A woman in her 70s walked in shortly after I arrived and sat at the bar. She knew the bartender and chatted with him while reading the newspaper and drinking what appeared to be a customary glass of white wine. She exchanged a few more pleasantries with the staff and left shortly thereafter.

It reminded me of that night when I had an hour to kill, watching the snow fall from within the warm confines of Emmet’s. It also helped me appreciate the neighborly atmosphere this bar exudes – which is kind of odd. As far as I know, Emmet’s isn’t some renowned Boston institution that’s been pouring beers for a century; nor is it tucked away in a residential area, serving a dedicated crew of regulars. It doesn’t even necessarily stand out among Irish bars, which would be tough to do in this city anyway. But whenever I’m here, I always feel very welcome; like the staff is genuinely glad I stopped in. And that – more than corned beef on the menu, Guinness on draft, or a Celtic folk band playing in the corner – may be the true essence of an Irish pub.

Last Call

Like I said at the outset, Emmet’s is an underrated, unassuming little place. I don’t often hear people raving about it or planning their nights around it; but I’ve also never heard anyone say they don’t like going there. And what’s not to like? It’s a comfortable bar in a great location with a friendly staff. That’s good enough for me.

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bar-edit

Their beer selection is respectable, if not outstanding. Having a couple more Irish beers on tap, like Murphy’s, would be cool – and a cask option would put them over the top. But just because there aren’t more extensive or exotic options doesn’t mean Emmet’s doesn’t take its beer seriously. Case in point – I overheard a guy ask for “a PBR or High Life,” and I swear to God, the bartender feigned deafness. The guy asked again and was politely told that those beers were not available.

Prices are fairly standard for a downtown Boston pub. My Harpoon was $5.50; the Guinness and the Palm, $6. Jen paid $8 for her wine and $7 for the Crabbie’s. Nachos were $10, and my delicious shepherd’s pie, $12.

One last note – Emmet’s has always been a convenient after-work destination for Jen and me, but the impetus for our recent visit was not merely to blow off steam after a long day. Jen is the creator of the always entertaining Mismatched Disharmony blog, in which she recounts the triumphs and pitfalls of online dating. Jen and I will be teaming up for an occasional series of blog posts in which we’ll visit some bars and discuss whether they’d be a good place to bring a date. We came up with a lot of fun ideas while at Emmet’s, and I can’t wait to get started. We’re aiming to get our first post up within the next couple of weeks.

And if the topic of “where to take a date who loves shepherd’s pie” ever arises, I’ll know what to suggest.

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Picture 020

Address: 6 Beacon Street, Boston

Website: http://www.emmetsirishpubandrestaurant.com/

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Copyright © Boston BarHopper. All Rights Reserved.

Sullivan's Tap

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May 10, 1970. Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Boston Bruins vs. St. Louis Blues. Forty seconds into sudden death overtime, Derek Sanderson dishes the puck to Bobby Orr, who one-times it past the Blues’ goaltender, getting tripped up in the process and sailing through the air. By the time he landed on the ice, the Bruins’ 29-year Stanley Cup drought was over and the capacity crowd of 14,835 was in a frenzy.

May 26, 1987. Game 5 of the NBA Eastern Conference Finals. Boston Celtics vs. Detroit Pistons. Down 107-106 with five seconds remaining in the fourth quarter and Detroit in possession of the ball, Larry Bird steals an inbound pass from Isaiah Thomas and lobs it to Dennis Johnson, whose layup puts the game away in front of a hysterical crowd of 14,890. The Boston Celtics went on to beat the hated Pistons in seven games before falling to the even more hated Lakers.

These are indisputably two of the greatest moments in Boston sports history. Some of you may have witnessed them as they happened. Most of you, myself included, either hadn’t been born yet or were too young to care. Yet they live in our collective consciousness, even if we weren’t around to enjoy them. You can watch them on YouTube any time you like. And in the days prior to such instant online accessibility, you may have seen them replayed countless times on television. Even before that, though, you might remember being a kid and hearing your dad, uncle, or older siblings or relatives recounting those moments with a feverish reverence. You didn’t need to understand the X’s and O’s of a sport to sense the passion that your family had for a team. The ecstasy of victory, the agony of defeat, the unbridled emotions elicited simply from watching a game on TV – they created a powerful aura, and whatever its source, you wanted to be part of it.

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20130128_073838

That’s why, to this day, I get the chills whenever I walk into the TD Garden and catch my first glimpse of the spoked B on the ice or the leprechaun on the parquet. I forget about the overpriced tickets, the overpaid players, the lockouts, and all the other nonsense that emanates from modern-day pro sports. I feel like a kid again, awestruck, as if attending my first-ever game, while at the same time appreciating the significance of taking part in a time-honored tradition that started before my grandparents had even met.

This feeling, I suspect, is not unique to me. And I think the joy that comes from immersing ourselves in such a rich tradition might explain why, despite a plethora of bars around Causeway Street where you can grab a pre- or post-game beer, the windowless, no-frills dive with the green, dimly lit, 70s-era sign is always jam-packed on game day. Because while you can’t watch the Bruins or the Celtics in the same building your parents or grandparents did, you can have a drink where they did.

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20130125_171001

Located right around the corner from the Boston GardenShawmut CenterFleet CenterTD Banknorth Garden TD Garden, Sullivan’s Tap opened in 1933, the year Prohibition was repealed. I doubt it’s gotten much in terms of upgrades or makeovers since then, but I’ve yet to hear anyone complain about that.

Sully’s, as it’s affectionately known, is a Boston institution. Long before the area around Causeway Street became a hotbed of sports bars vying for the attention of Garden crowds, Sully’s was there. Plenty of bars and restaurants have opened and forever closed their doors in that time. Yet this unpretentious, blue-collar bar still stands. And having been anointed “Best Bruins Bar” by Boston Magazine and “Best Pre-Garden Bar” by the Improper Bostonian as recently as 2010, I’d wager a guess that Sully’s isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

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20130110_202901

Accolades aside, Sullivan’s Tap is pretty much your typical dive bar. There’s a drop ceiling and the rust-colored tile floor that seems to come standard in places like this. No tables, no food, and no credit cards accepted – cash only. Barely an inch of wall space is visible beneath the neon Bud signs and framed pictures that tell a century’s worth of Boston sports stories. Even the large beer mirrors have printed drink specials and price lists taped over them.

And like any dive bar, Sully’s is not without its endearing quirks. As soon as you walk in, you can’t help but notice how incredibly long Sully’s is. There’s even a sign proclaiming it to be the longest bar in Boston, in case you needed confirmation.

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20130125_171508

Support posts make the narrow space even more challenging to navigate when the crowd swells. The men’s room is unforgivably anachronistic (if you’ve seen it, gentlemen, you know exactly what I’m talking about).

Stretching almost the length of the main room is a bar with a whopping 30 stools (most places I’m in have about a dozen seats at the bar). The bar itself has a laminated top, and immortalized beneath the clear plastic surface are tickets from old Bruins and Celtics games. There’s also a decent-size game room of sorts, with all the dive bar staples: two coin-op pool tables, five arcade games, and a couple of basketball hoops games.

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20130116_172016

The resulting vibe is that of a finished basement in a suburban veterans’ hall – exactly the kind of place where you could envision an older generation gathering to debate the current state of the B’s or C’s over a few brewskis.

Of course, a dose of nostalgia and a close proximity to the Garden aren’t Sully’s’ only merits. For starters, it’s a pretty inexpensive place to drink. And that’s actually what prompted this post – as the country teetered on the fiscal cliff last month and my post-holiday credit card bill arrived, I figured it might be a nice time to hit some bars where I could find some cheap beer. Sullivan’s Tap didn’t disappoint.

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20130125_171344

There’s 15 or so beers on draft, and they’re the usual suspects – Bud, Bud Light, Blue Moon, Stella, that sort of thing. The bottle selection is mostly more of the same. If you’re looking for Pretty Things, Slumbrew, and all the other popular microbrews, you won’t find them at Sully’s; but you also won’t pay more than $5.50 for a beer.

As affordable brews go, a 16-ounce Bud Light “bottle” (assuming it still counts as a bottle when it’s made of metal) will run you $4.25.

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20130110_202928

A 12-ounce PBR, served in an actual bottle (i.e., made of glass), will only cost you $3.

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20130115_171216

If you insist on a higher class of beer, you’ve got Guinness, Bass, Harpoon, Long Trail, Smithwick’s, and a few others to choose from. I tried the Black and Red, made with Guinness and Killian’s. As I’d never had this particular pairing before, I take it as evidence that even at an old place like Sully’s, you can find something new.

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20130111_190503

The Guinness/Killian’s combo was more interesting than I was expecting, with a surprisingly smoky essence; and at $5.50, not a bad deal.

But if you want to adhere more closely to tradition and drink like your forebears, why not opt for a New England classic?

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20130111_184843

At $3 for a 16-ounce can, the Narragansett tallboy is the best deal in the house.

A $3 can of beer is what I instinctively order when I come here, but Sully’s’ liquor shelf is amply stocked if you need something stronger. On one of my recent trips, I opted for a rum and coke, which came in at a modest $5. I’m sure the bartenders here will make you whatever you want, but I can’t imagine ordering anything more complex at a place like this. At least not on a game night.

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20130125_181055

But that brings me to one of the other charms of Sully’s – when there’s not an event at the Garden, the atmosphere can be quiet, almost private. Being so close to North Station, I would expect a place like this to draw a sizable crowd of people stopping in for a drink before their commute home. But around 5 p.m., I typically see fewer than 10 people here; and, much like at the Beacon Hill Pub or Whitney’s, it’s usually a few older guys who look like they’ve been there for most of the afternoon.

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20130110_203449

That makes Sully’s a good place in which to collect your thoughts after a trying day, or when you’re looking for a quiet place to chat with a friend or shoot some pool. One night I enjoyed a Jameson on the rocks while waiting for my train. It made for a pleasant half-hour of hanging out, just watching ESPN and killing time. No crowds. While I was there, a guy came in and sat a few seats down from me. He ordered an Absolut and soda, drained it in two minutes, and left again. It can be that kind of place.

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20130116_171322

But game night is a different story. When the Bruins are in town for a 7 p.m. game, most of the barstools are occupied by 5; by 5:30, it’s standing room only (and even that space can be at a premium).

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The crowd thins out when the game starts, but the atmosphere stays pretty lively. And if you’re not going to the game, Sully’s isn’t a bad place to watch it. Their six TVs might not be up to the standard established by modern sports bars, but Sully’s possesses a sense of Boston sports credibility that can’t be simply manufactured. Any bar can install a couple dozen TVs, plaster its walls with sports memorabilia, and try to appear like it’s been part of the Boston landscape forever, but long-time fans are too savvy. That said, there are plenty of places near the Garden to have a drink, and I think most of them are pretty cool. But for true diehards, there’s really only one choice.

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20130111_192103

Last Call

Straightforward. Humble. Quirky. Lovably archaic. More functional than fashionable. I might characterize Sullivan’s Tap that way, but I could use the same words to describe the building that stood across from it for nearly 70 years.

I remember the old Boston Garden. I can’t say that I ever witnessed anything truly historic there, like a breathtaking playoff game or a trophy being lifted. And while the countless images of triumph and anguish that occurred within its walls are ingrained in the shared psyche of multiple generations of Bruins and Celtics fans, my memories of the Boston Garden are a little more personal.

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20130125_172646

I remember a certain simplicity – in particular, an absence of the bells and whistles that punctuate the modern sports experience. I recall with fondness a time when a routine stoppage in play didn’t cue an assault on the senses – music, videos on the Jumbotron, Ice Girls, Celtics Dancers, games, contests, animated bears trying to get the crowd to make some noise. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that stuff – but the game is good enough without it. Using that time-out to talk with your friend about how the team looks, or dissect the last play – or maybe, when you were young, listen while your dad explained the rules to you – those things have more value to me.

And this, I think, is Sully’s’ true appeal – it hearkens back to a time when our favorite games seemed simpler, purer. With the space once occupied by the old Garden poised to become a high-rise development, Sully’s is one of the few remaining connections to the glory days that fuel our present-day passion. Since 1933, crowds have poured out of the Garden and into Sullivan’s Tap to celebrate a win or numb the pain of a loss. That tradition continues this season.

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20130125_173231

And who knows? Maybe this June there’ll be a thrilling Game 7 that goes into sudden death overtime, and with seconds to spare, an athlete will become a legend, smacking the puck past the goaltender and sending the TD Garden into delirium. If you’ve got a couple hundred bucks to spare, maybe you can score a ticket and watch it with your own eyes. But if you’re OK with a $3 ‘gansett and don’t mind standing, you can still be part of history from across the street.

Address: 168 Canal Street, Boston

Website: None.

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Copyright © Boston BarHopper. All Rights Reserved.

Harpoon Brewery Beer Hall

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It’s an idea that seems so obvious, I’m surprised it hadn’t already been done. And I do wonder why, after almost 30 years of brewing beer in Boston, offering daily tours of the brewery, and hosting brewfests every few months, it took Harpoon this long to build a bar in their visitors’ center so you could stop in and enjoy a few pints. Whatever the reason, the new Harpoon Brewery Beer Hall is well worth the wait.

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20130129_183814

Part of a multimillion-dollar expansion of Harpoon’s Seaport District brewing facility, the enormous Beer Hall is equal parts modern and traditional. Since the doors hadn't yet opened to the public when I was there, the place feels new and looks pristine; but exposed brick walls, a gorgeous floor made from reclaimed wood, and long, communal benches made from butternut trees in Vermont create an atmosphere of comfort and familiarity.

The result is a cross between an industrial warehouse and a German beer hall. Circular metal chandeliers hanging from the black, exposed ceiling look stern and functional but cast an intimate glow on the soft hue of the wooden floor. The windows on the inner wall overlook the brewery’s kegging area, offering drinkers a glimpse of their suds in the late stages of production, while floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall provide a spectacular view of the city.

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20130129_182046

Best of all, the Beer Hall seems like it was deliberately designed by someone who was familiar with the pitfalls of crowded bars and determined to avoid them. The space isn’t merely huge – it’s thoughtfully laid out. In addition to the long tables in the center of the room, there’s another set of tables with chairs instead of benches, a handful of pub tables if you’re standing, and shelves for your beer placed conveniently along the walls and on support posts. Could they have crammed even more tables in there? Sure. But they opted to leave plenty of room to maneuver, so if you’re cautiously shuttling three beers to your table, you won’t have to worry about stray elbows jostling your precious cargo.

And then there’s the bar.

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20130129_195920

Pardon the limitations of my camera, but I’d need a wide-angle lens to capture even half of the mammoth bar, which looks to be slightly shorter than an airplane. I lost count of the number of chairs, but there’s no shortage of them; and the opposite side of the bar offers ample standing room. There are also multiple banks of beer taps, which minimizes waiting and lessens crowds gravitating to a single bartender. If you still need your personal space, there’s a second, smaller bar on the far end of the room.

Melissa and I, enjoying the benefits of our membership in the free “Friend of Harpoon” club, scored tickets to one of the Beer Hall’s pre-opening sessions this past week. The staff’s enthusiasm was both unmistakable and contagious. Bartenders, servers, and managers alike appeared happy to be working there, excited to finally have guests, and eager to talk about everything from the beer to the new addition to their brewery. It was a pleasure to share in the good vibes.

There are about 15 to 20 beers on tap, all Harpoon of course (as if you’d come here and order a Coors Light). If you’re a Harpoon lover, seeing this many varieties of their beer in one place is like a wet dream come true. Approaching the bar and seeing so many options I’d never tried, along with so many familiar classics, I found myself momentarily overwhelmed and settled on a Celtic Red.

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20130129_182922

This has long been one of my favorite Harpoon offerings. It was traditionally a “spring seasonal” beer, but its release date seems to drifting further and further back into the winter months. In a way, that’s too bad; I always viewed its appearance in bars and liquor stores as a harbinger of spring. On the other hand, I’d be happy to drink this medium-bodied, amber-hued brew all year round.

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red-edit

Mel went with the Coffee Porter, which the bartender noted was in short supply and rapidly dwindling. I’ve never been a big fan of coffee beers, which is ironic, given how much I drink of each beverage. But the coffee flavor was a little milder than what I’ve experienced with other brands, and Mel raved about it.

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coffee-edit

Next up for me was the Leviathan Imperial IPA. With 10% ABV, it’s best to only have five or six of these bad boys in a session (I’m kidding! Three or four, tops.) I was expecting an overload of hops and the sharp, alcoholic sting that you often get with high ABV beers. I was pleasantly surprised; the hops were certainly prominent, but well balanced by a smooth malty essence, and it didn’t taste overly alcoholic.

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20130129_182959

Mel’s next choice was the Harpoon Dark, formerly known as the Munich Dark. Our server, Nick, told us that this particular variety doesn’t sell well – in fact, it loses money. But brewers tend to be awfully fond of it, so Harpoon keeps cranking it out.

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20130129_184636

I have to say, I was impressed to hear that. It makes me feel like if you’re a successful company and remain true to your vision, then sometimes passion for a product can trump the coldness of the bottom line. It feels like the triumph of principle over profit.

That same attitude would seem to explain the Beer Hall’s lack of a food menu. As staff members Aaron and Zack told me, Harpoon doesn’t want their Beer Hall to compete with nearby bars and restaurants, many of which serve Harpoon beer. “We want it to be the kind of place where you can have a couple of beers and a snack, then head out to dinner,” said Aaron. Fair enough.

The snack he referred to is the Beer Hall’s freshly baked soft pretzel. Now, believe it or not, I don’t care for pretzels (this tends to shock people; I get it). But this is no ordinary pretzel – it doesn’t even look like one, if you’re envisioning the typical twisted shape and dark brown dough.

If I'd known it was going to be so good, I'd have gotten a better shot of it before we tore into it.

If I'd known it was going to be so good, I'd have gotten a better shot of it before we tore into it.

Made from spent grain from the brewery and battered with Harpoon’s flagship IPA, it was the biggest, softest, most flavorful pretzel I’ve ever had. Warm out of the oven, it came with a grainy mustard and a thick peanut sauce that was so good I could eat it with a spoon.

Feeling renewed by the sustaining benefits that only a pretzel can provide, I moved onto Harpoon’s cider, which is always a treat to find on draft. My opinion of hard cider in general was pretty lukewarm until I tried Harpoon’s a few years back. Its fresh, natural flavor was a welcome change from the artificial sweetness I associated with other brands. (Is Cider Jack still around? God that stuff was disgusting.) Even Mel, no cider fan, enjoys Harpoon’s version. Our server, Nick, explained that their cider is made with apples grown in Harvard, Massachusetts, and contains no preservatives. Just apples and yeast, yielding a light, drinkable cider that’s not overly sweet.

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cider-edit

As the tasting session began drawing to a close, I hit the bar for one last round, again flummoxed by the options. Should I get the Rye IPA that everyone’s been raving about? But how could I not order the Czernobog, an imperial stout named after the Russian word for God of Darkness? Ultimately I left the decision to one of the bartenders, Jessica, who poured me a Black IPA. Instantly rendered intriguing by virtue of its being made with a malt called “Midnight Wheat,” the Black IPA also stands as proof that you can’t always judge a beer by its color. Despite its visual similarity to a stout or porter, it had the hop notes of an IPA and a surprising fruity aroma.

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20130129_193134

It was a great recommendation by Jessica, and I never tire of helpful bartenders who know their beer and want to make sure you enjoy what you’re drinking. As another staff member told me, “the training here was great; they really encouraged us to try the beers and get to know them.”

No wonder everyone seems to like working here.

Last Call

Harpoon is a bona fide Boston institution. And one of the things I’ve always loved about this brewery – aside from the beer – is that despite its growth over the years, it’s maintained the character of a small, personal operation. Maybe that’s because I remember when Harpoon only made an IPA, and I got to watch as they expanded to seasonal varieties, complex specialty brews, even a cider. This wasn’t some multinational beer conglomerate opening a bottling plant in Boston one day, flooding the market with its product, and ramming marketing slogans down our throats. Harpoon started small, started here, and stayed local, even though their beers are now sold all over the country.

The Harpoon Brewery Beer Hall is just the latest step in that evolution. And while the space is grand, it remains humble of nature. It also remains a visitors’ center – there’s a gift shop to the left of the bar if you’re in the market for some Harpoon memorabilia, not to mention growlers and six packs of beer.

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merch-collage

As part of the Friend of Harpoon promotion, our first two beers were on the house. After that, I think I paid $5.75; pretty standard. That awesome pretzel was also complimentary with our tickets, so I don’t know how much it will set you back. And while I really respect Harpoon’s desire to not compete with their neighbors by serving food, I hope that philosophy changes someday. With all these great beers on draft, it seems like the perfect opportunity for food/beer pairings. But food or no, I can’t think of a better place to enjoy my favorite Boston beer.

Address: 306 Northern Avenue, Boston

Website: http://www.harpoonbrewery.com/

Parish Café

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A beer and a sandwich. It is a combination as inherently simple as it is deeply satisfying.

And the possibilities are endless! A complex, gourmet-grade sandwich with a masterful combination of meats, cheeses, veggies, and other accoutrements, accompanied by a robust porter. Something more basic, like a pastrami sandwich with a crisp pilsner. Or maybe…in a pinch…a PB&J and a PBR (don’t look at me like that, you’ve been there too).

A sandwich and a beer is about as straightforward as you can get. Bread, meat, cheese, veggies, hops, and barley. Have someone pass you the remote, and you’re on your way to a pretty decent afternoon.

You can easily whip this up at home, but let’s face it – a sandwich always tastes better when someone else makes it, and a beer always looks more enticing when it’s streaming out of a tap. That said, you can find a good sandwich anywhere in Boston. But as far as I know, there’s only one place where you can get good sandwiches from everywhere in Boston.

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The Parish Café is a Back Bay institution with a simple, unique concept – a menu of sandwiches designed by renowned chefs at some of the top restaurants in Boston. Each sandwich bears the name of its respective restaurant or chef and reflects the style of that eatery’s cuisine. Not that Parish relies solely on the culinary kindness of strangers; their own chefs contribute sandwiches and entrées as well. And since that results in a pretty broad array of flavors and styles, there’s a killer beer list to match your selection.

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It’s a basic formula, but one that has garnered Parish Café widespread critical acclaim, occasional celebrity guests, and countless fans. Its walls are adorned with Best of Boston awards, glowing published reviews, and a host of other accolades. You’ll have plenty of time to peruse them while you’re standing in line, which is nearly inevitable if you want a table.

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I recently visited the Parish Café with one of my oldest and most difficult friends, Christine. I arrived at 5:30 on a Thursday and found about 25 people at the bar, although most of the tables in the dining area were still free (it wasn’t until later that I realized what a novelty this was). The interior is fairly small, with a modern, casual feel. It has something of an autumnal glow, with warm orange lights, a black ceiling, cream-colored walls, and worn, brown hardwood floors.

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DSC00543

There’s a long, curvy bar with a handsome, dark wood top and about 17 stools. Ten or so tables are squeezed into the bar area, and another 10 to 12 fill up the dining area. The mirrored wall behind the bar is an attractive touch and makes the space look a little bigger than it is. There’s also an outdoor patio in front for the warmer months; if people watching is your thing, you can’t pick a much better spot than Boylston Street.

Since Christine was heading into town from distant lands and I had time to kill, I grabbed one of the few remaining seats at the bar and took a look at the cocktail list. Like the sandwich menu, about half of the drinks are designed by area mixologists, while the rest are Parish Café originals. Although it was November, Parish was still peddling “Summer Cocktails.” Nothing says autumn like a watermelon mojito, right? I wasn’t going to let an outdated label deter me, but it would have been cool to see what they could devise for fall or winter cocktail offerings.

I began with the drink with the coolest name on the menu – the Wandering Poet, concocted by Jen Jasmin of Via Matta, a Back Bay Italian restaurant. A combo of Absolute Vanilla vodka, triple sec, fresh lime juice, simple syrup, and sour mix, it reminded me somewhat of a SweeTart candy. It was a light, refreshing drink that, on a raw November evening, gave me bittersweet visions of warmer weather.

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DSC00548

The Peach Smash, on the other hand, I’d drink all year round. A Parish Café original, this was a smooth mix of Maker’s Mark bourbon, Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur, white peach puree, simple syrup, fresh mint, sweet vermouth, and ginger ale. I found it to be a fresh combination of flavors, with the peach puree giving it a pleasantly creamy texture.

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DSC00564

After an hour or so, I figured Christine must be walking to Boston, and I needed something to tide me over. The appetizer menu offered a few unusual items, like vegetarian corn cakes, and an oversize meatball. Drawn as I was to the novelty of ordering an oversize meatball, I settled on the roasted “reggae” wings, marinated in Jamaican jerk spices, fresh citrus, and soy, and served with a banana mango chutney. Juicy and tender, they were the perfect pre-sandwich snack. The meat not only fell right off the bone – it would barely stay on the bone. The sweet heat of the chutney was a welcome accompaniment, though the banana flavor really stood out (I could have done without it).

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Many hours or perhaps days later, Christine arrived; all of the tables were taken, and we were lucky to have a couple seats at the bar. As this was Christine’s first time accompanying me on a blogging mission, I explained how helpful it is when people order a variety of cocktails. You know, it gives me more to discuss, more pictures to take. She then proceeded to order the same drink I’d had, the Wandering Poet. Sigh…

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Myself, I was long done with cocktails at that point and eyeing Parish’s top-notch beer selection. They’ve got about 20 beers on draft and at least another 50 or so in bottles, helpfully organized on the menu by type (lagers, Belgians, brown ales, etc.). The Fisherman’s Imperial Pumpkin Stout immediately caught my eye, but the bartender cautioned me that it was $18 a bottle; I respectfully declined. I went instead with the Ipswich Oatmeal Stout, shifting into a winter mode after my summery libations.

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Now if you’re a serious beer drinker and plan to spend a tremendous amount of your time at the Parish Café, you can join their Mug Club. All you have to do is drink all 125 of their beer offerings within six months, and you’re rewarded with your very own 25-ounce glass beer stein to use whenever you visit. You can even have it personalized. Whether the economics are in your favor, only you can decide. But the club’s mugs hang above the bar, challenging you to join their ranks.

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mug-edit

Impressive as the beer list is, the sandwiches are the true draw here. Ranging from simple to fancy, with a bevy of meaty, vegetarian, and seafood options to choose from, there’s something for every palate. And if you enjoy all of the above, good luck deciding what to get. I’d been scrutinizing the menu the entire time I waited for Christine, and when it came time to order, I was still no closer to making my mind up. The pork belly sandwich from the chef at Coppa and Toro? The crabmeat sandwich from fancy schmancy L’Espalier? The Blue Ginger, a sandwich of tuna steak, grilled rare, fashioned by the Wellesley restaurant of the same name?

I narrowed my options to three: the Mexican meatball sub, by Brian Poe, and two Parish Café originals – a chipotle meatloaf sandwich and a steak sandwich.

Tempting as it was, I eliminated the meatball sub; since I was already familiar with Brian Poe’s handiwork as the executive chef of the Rattlesnake Bar and Grill and the newer Tip Tap Room, I figured I should branch out a bit. Still torn, I asked the bartender to settle my meatloaf v. steak dilemma, and he advocated for the latter.

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The Vieira, named after Parish sous chef Ederson Vieira, consisted of pounded, sliced flank steak in a soy, chili, and garlic marinade, sautéed, on an Italian sub roll with roasted red peppers, watercress, onions, and a homemade basil aioli. The steak was juicy; the sandwich, full of flavor. I wondered why I’d had so much trouble deciding on it.

I explained to Christine that, since I’d be writing about a Boston bar that’s famous for its sandwiches, it would be helpful if she got one so that I’d have more variety in my post. She then proceeded to order an entrée. Sigh…

She opted for Sean’s Simple Chicken, presumably devised by Parish’s executive chef, Sean Simmons – pounded, breaded chicken cutlets served with chopped tomatoes and capers, and served over garlic-mashed potatoes and baby spinach. Conveniently, like all of Parish’s entrées, it comes in both a full order and half order. Christine opted for the half order and regretted it; she deemed the chicken delicious and wished she’d gone with the full serving.

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DSC00622

Parish was crowded the entire time we were there, the line for tables growing longer as the hours passed. The tables in the dining area looked pretty crammed, but our spot at the bar was surprisingly comfortable and roomy. Despite the volume of customers, we didn’t have people constantly reaching over our food to retrieve a drink.

I closed out with one more beer, a Paulaner Oktoberfest Marzen (which was just OK).

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DSC00605

I explained to Christine how helpful it is, from a blogging standpoint, if we both order a few different beers from a place like Parish, which has such a broad selection. She got a glass of wine.

Sigh…

Last Call

The restaurant business is notoriously cutthroat, but Parish Café turns the concept of competition on its head – competing chefs contributing original recipes; Parish advertising the wares of competing chefs. It’s an unexpected approach, but it seems like everyone wins. Customers perusing the menu get a sense of other good eateries in Boston, and maybe they’ll go check them out. Yet they’ll probably come back to Parish, too, because of the variety.

And boy do they come back. I walked by on a gorgeous fall Saturday afternoon to find the outdoor seating area full, a line for tables inside, and a packed bar area. I even returned on a Sunday at noon, and there was a line at the door before the place even opened.

But don’t let the crowds deter you. Most of them will tell you that Parish’s sandwiches are worth the wait. There’s also a pretty quick turnover at the bar; you usually don’t have to wait much more than 5 or 10 minutes for a seat.

Prices are fairly reasonable, for the most part. The sandwiches range from about $12 to $19, but there are only a couple at the upper end of that range. They’re also good-sized and, from my experience, very well made. The entrées were all under $15, and you can get a half order if you’re feeling thrifty (or counting calories). The cocktails ranged from $8.50 to $12, which isn’t bad. The selection of microbrews is highly respectable, and the beers I had ranged from $6.50 to $7.50; a little on the high side, but not the worst I’ve seen.

Parish’s enduring popularity led to the opening of a second location, in the South End, in 2010. It’s the same idea, the same eclectic sandwich menu, and the same result – a true taste of Boston.

Website:http://parishcafe.com/

Address: 361 Boylston Street, Boston

Beacon Hill Pub

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outdoors 023

There is probably no greater concentration of wealth, power, and high society in Boston than in Beacon Hill. It has been home to U.S. senators, famous writers and poets, signers of the Constitution, captains of industry, and people who can trace their bloodlines to the Mayflower. It is the most expensive neighborhood in the city to live, and despite pockets of affordability, many of Beacon Hill’s historic residences are occupied by people with old surnames and older money.

Not that you have to be among the cultural elite to enjoy Beacon Hill’s countless charms. It is one of the most beautiful areas in the city (imagine that!), and you could spend hours exploring this ancient maze in downtown Boston. Beacon Hill is a portrait of early American history. Walking along gas-lit brick sidewalks and narrow, cobblestone streets, you find yourself surrounded by brick row houses that have stood for centuries. There are museums in private residences, hidden gardens enclosed by tall, wrought iron fences, flowerboxes adorning window sills, and ornate brass knockers affixed to classic-looking wooden doors.

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outdoors 009

Beacon Hill is probably the most photographed neighborhood in Boston, and it’s easy to see why.

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outdoors 014

Every street you peer down looks like a painting. At the top of the hill sits the State House, with its opulent gold dome. Along the outer perimeter are the Boston Common, the Public Garden, and Charles Street, with its antique shops, boutiques, and realty offices where you can look at the listings in the window and imagine owning one of those remarkable properties.

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The long, rich history and enduring beauty of these majestic environs make Beacon Hill one of the most desirable areas of Boston, whether you live there or are simply content to visit.

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Thus, it’s always struck me as amusingly ironic that this unspoiled gem of a neighborhood is home to one of the diviest dive bars in the city – the Beacon Hill Pub.

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outdoors 032

The BHP, as it’s affectionately known, probably doesn’t make it onto a lot of tourist guides. It’s not exactly the crown jewel of the Beacon Hill; there aren’t many areas it would be the crown jewel of, for that matter. Not that that bothers the proprietors of the BHP, who heartily embrace the gritty character of their bar, or the pub’s many loyal patrons. How many bars would boast about being called the worst dive in the state? That’s right – behind the bar that is a printed quote from a review that calls BHP “a bar scene straight out of Star Wars.” Talk about owning it!

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IMAG1791

I don’t know exactly how long the Beacon Hill Pub has been around. I’d call and ask, but they apparently don’t have a phone. I’d stop in to inquire, but I think a question like that would be met with a raised eyebrow and a “hey buddy, did you say bottle or draft” response. Regardless of how long this place has been pouring its affordable suds, the BHP looks like it could be as old as some of the beautifully preserved architecture surrounding it, even if it hasn’t been maintained to quite the same level of quality.

You might expect a bar in Beacon Hill to be an old-world, subdued, upscale tavern with mahogany walls and leather wing chairs, serving 40-year-old scotches and bottles of wine to men in suits who remark “Ahhh, the ’67…not quite as fragrant as the ’64.” Instead, the BHP is a decidedly humble and, depending on when you go, surprisingly lively dive bar.

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In a neighborhood that boasts swanky lounges like Alibi and modern bars like the Tip Tap Room, the BHP is refreshingly basic. Beyond its nondescript black doors is a large, dark pub that offers no hint of the world outside. The light of day never disturbs the interior of the Beacon Hill Pub, not even through the utterly incongruous stained glass windows. The dim light inside comes mostly from dusty chandeliers with flickering, flame-shaped orange bulbs and the ambient glow of neon Busch, High Life, and Bud Light signs. The rust-colored tile floor probably benefits from the lack of illumination.

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For a place that looks and feels like a cozy hole in the wall, the BHP is pretty big. There’s a cavernous space when you step inside that fills up with standees late at night, giving way to a long bar with a laminate wood surface and more than its share of battle scars. There are a dozen brown swivel chairs at the bar and five half-tables with additional seating. There’s even a second full-size bar in another room, though I think it’s only in use late at night or on weekends.

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Given its sweet downtown location and proximity to the Charles/MGH subway stop, you’d think the BHP would be jam-packed after work. It’s usually not. I’ve stopped in around 5:30, often on Fridays, and been one of four or five people. But for me, that’s part of the appeal. I certainly enjoy the vibrancy of the after-work crowd – laughing with coworkers about some crap that happened in the office that day, and being part of what feels like the whole city collectively letting off steam. But I sometimes prefer a calmer, more private atmosphere. A place to collect my thoughts, write, watch SportsCenter, or have a quiet conversation while sipping a $3 Narragansett tallboy.

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The aforementioned comparison to Tatooine’s Mos Eisley Cantina might be a little unfair; I’ve never personally been threatened by anyone with a death sentence on 12 systems or witnessed a dismembering via lightsaber (although I can’t deny how awesome the latter would be). Still, the BHP does attract a broad cast of characters. The small post-work crowd is often populated by old men grumbling about politics, positing one-dimensional solutions to the world’s problems and commenting on every image and news item that flashes on one of BHP’s three TVs (there’s a fourth TV, actually, but it just shows the security feed from other areas of the bar). But the cheap beer also attracts college students in droves, particularly in the later hours. Mix in MGH workers in scrubs and a few guys in suits stopping in after work, and you’ve got a pretty diverse and colorful crowd at pretty much any time of day.

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On one of my recent Friday visits, I found about 15 people occupying the bar around 5:30. As I walked in, Dire Straits’ “Walk of Life” started playing on the BHP’s always unpredictable jukebox. It felt fitting, given my surroundings – that warm, familiar intro, the story of a musician playing for spare change in a grungy subway station. In an “only at BHP” moment, it was followed by the obscure Metallica nugget “The Four Horsemen.” Yep.

BHP has about 12 beers on tap, and the selection is pretty well tailored to the clientele – Bud, Bud Light, Miller High Life, and the like, with UFO, Guinness, and Long Trail for those who prefer something with a bit more complexity. Maybe it’s a when-in-Rome thing, but I tend to look right past the taps and stick with the basics when I’m here.

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If you’re hungry, go somewhere else first. There’s no food here, although if you’re in a pinch, you won’t starve.

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For a generally “no frills” bar, the BHP offers quite a few diversions. There’s a foosball table and a golf arcade game when you walk in, and a couple of dartboards in the main bar area. Now, that’s not uncommon; but a dedicated “game room” is. Yes, once you’ve put back a few tallboys, you can test your aim at Big Buck Hunter, unleash a little post-work aggression with the boxing game, or shoot a few hoops.

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game-collage

You can also play DJ with the jukebox, but unless you can come up with an inspired mix like “Easy Like Sunday Morning” followed by a White Zombie song and a live version of the Talking Heads’ “Burning Down the House,” why not just leave the running playlist to chance?

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I usually keep to the beer when I’m here, but since I always try working a cocktail or two into a post, I figured I should see what BHP had to offer. Now this certainly isn’t the kind of place that has a menu of fancy drinks; but before I ordered a gin and tonic or something equally unimaginative, I thought, maybe I should ask the bartender if he has a specialty. I mean, you never know when you’re going to stumble upon some really unique or notably well-made drink, right? So I asked. His answer? “Yeah, whiskey.” So I went for a Jameson on the rocks. No complaints.

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The bar began filling up in earnest by 6:45, and as much as I was enjoying hearing “Shout at the Devil” for the first time in a decade or so, I had to excuse myself before the night crowd settled in. While the BHP is quiet in the early evening, it’s a completely different affair in the later hours. The place gets so packed on Friday and Saturday nights, you can barely move; sometimes there’s even a line to get in.

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Imagine that – all the nice bars in Boston, especially downtown, and there’s a line to get into the Beacon Hill Pub. Is it the lure of the $3 Narragansett? Or is it because last call at BHP is 2 a.m., while many other nearby bars close up shop at 1?

Perhaps. But I think there’s more to it than that. The BHP is casual and unpretentious. You laugh a little louder there. Maybe you drink a little more, too. And after a long day of answering to people, or a night of having to be on your game, it’s nice to come to a place where you can just relax and be yourself. I think that’s the Beacon Hill Pub’s true appeal.

That, or Big Buck Hunter.

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Last Call

It’s not the most inviting-looking entrance on Charles Street, but it would be hard to feel unwelcome at the Beacon Hill Pub. Like a lot of old dive bars, it’s the kind of place that feels familiar even if it’s your first time there. Between the characters in the late afternoon and the big crowd at night, it’s the sort of bar where you can either fly comfortably under the radar or talk and laugh at the top of your lungs.

As I already mentioned, the BHP is a pretty affordable place to drink. Aside from my usual Narragansett, on my last trip I ordered a PBR and a High Life that came to a total of $6.25. Beyond bottles and cans, the drink prices are a little more typical of the area. I got a Blue Moon on draft for $5.50, and my Jameson was $6.50.

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As reasonable as the prices are, make sure you hit the ATM before you go. The BHP is cash only, as they helpfully remind you with a dozen or so signs posted throughout the bar. But there’s an ATM on site if you need one more tallboy and only have $2 (don’t judge, we’ve all been there).

The Beacon Hill Pub makes no bones about what it is. That remark about it being “a bar scene straight out of Star Wars”? They took a jab like that and made it a rallying cry, posting it behind the bar and making it their slogan on Facebook and Twitter. (They update their Twitter feed about once every three to six months, with one recent entry flaunting the bar’s stainless steel toilet seats; again, way to own it, BHP.)

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Situated in the most exclusive area in Boston, the BHP is an everyman’s bar. And while a blue collar place like this may seem out of place in a blue blood neighborhood, Beacon Hill and the pub that bears its name are both, in their own way, Boston classics.

Address: 149 Charles Street, Boston

Website: Yeah, right.

P.S. Han shot first.

Shōjō

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I very rarely find myself in Chinatown; which is odd, given its proximity to my office and my fondness for Asian cuisine. Upon reflection, I attribute the infrequency of my visits to three factors. First, the paucity of bars in the area means that Chinatown normally isn’t part of the “where should we have drinks tonight” conversation. It’s somewhere you go almost exclusively for lunch or dinner.

That brings me to my second issue. While some neighborhoods may suffer from a lack of viable eateries, the reverse is true in Chinatown – there are almost too many options. It’s a densely packed area with dozens upon dozens of restaurants, and unless I’m headed to a particular destination, the prospect of simply picking a place to eat is overwhelming.

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chinatowncollage

Finally, my lingering memory of those few occasions when I have dined in Chinatown is of being squeezed into an absurdly tight space in an already crowded restaurant. The neighborhood’s popularity, combined with the small size of some of the restaurants, often means you’re standing outside while waiting for a table. And when you do get a table, you might find yourself squished into a corner near the utility closet (as once happened to a friend of mine). It can make for a chaotic dining experience.

Then you have Shōjō – which does everything differently.

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A first glance alone reveals Shōjō to be distinct from its neighbors. Amid a throng of red and yellow signs advertising dumplings or “exotic” cocktails, its exterior is subtle and understated – a black and white sign against a gray wall, with a row of tall bamboo separating the entrance from the sidewalk. And as soon as you step in, the differences between Shōjō and every other place in Chinatown quickly become apparent.

Shōjō is spacious, refined, and serene. There’s a small, L-shaped bar and 10 or 12 tables, nicely spread out, each with chopsticks wrapped in thick black napkins at the place settings.

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The look and feel is equal parts rustic and modern – which, as one of the managers told me, is very much by design. Gleaming wooden tables with handsome black chairs and a shiny gray concrete floor reflect modern-day craftsmanship, while aged-looking exposed brick, a bar made with reclaimed wood from the 1700s and 1800s, and Shinto bar stools recall a sense of tradition. High ceilings and hanging caged lights give the entire space something of an industrial feel.

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Painted on the far wall is a mural depicting the journey of the restaurant’s namesake, Shōjō – a Japanese mythical figure, half-man and half-monkey, who scours the world in search of a never-ending river of sake. (I hope he finds it and makes a detailed map.)

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It’s an upscale place that could be very serious in tone, but the atmosphere instead seems relaxed. Shōjō was even decorated for Halloween when I was there, cobwebs and spiders adorning light fixtures and walls, making things feel casual and playful. Plus, when the cornerstone of the décor is a monkey man looking for a river of sake, how uptight could a place like this be?

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decorationscollage

I sought out Shōjō on account of its reputation for well-made cocktails. Again, Chinatown doesn’t come to mind as an obvious destination for drinks, so the idea of a craft cocktail lounge in the neighborhood seemed pretty novel.

I visited on a recent Saturday with fellow barhoppers Kelly, Kat, and Tracy. The bar was full when we arrived at 7 p.m., but only a few of the tables were occupied and we were seated immediately.

We could tell we were in good hands as soon as we sat down. Our waiter, Justin, was one of the friendliest, most helpful servers I’ve had in ages. Whenever we ordered a drink, he inquired as to whether we’d had it before, apprised us of any unusual ingredients, and suggested modifications for us to consider.

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Now I freely admit – despite my having heard good things about Shōjō’s cocktails, I was expecting scorpion bowls and Mai Tais, or at least very upscale tiki drinks. What I found instead was a small, well-conceived cocktail menu that put an Asian twist on classic drinks while offering a few unique creations. There’s also an extensive selection of sake (Shōjō himself would approve), including one brand that comes in a can.

I began the evening with an Aberdeen Swizzle – house citrus-infused gin and coconut crème, beautifully garnished with a basil leaf. It had the dryness you’d expect of gin, but the citrus contributed a natural sweetness; the coconut was subtle but gave the drink a certain smoothness, and the pleasant aroma of basil was evident in every sip.

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Kat’s selection, the Chairman’s Painkiller, was the most visually striking, served in a funky-looking ceramic tiki cup. Made with Chairman’s spiced rum, coconut crème, and orange, it was a creamy concoction with a subdued tropical flair.

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Stoddard’s may make the best Moscow Mule in town, but Shōjō puts its distinct stamp on the drink by swapping vodka for citrus-infused gin and using a house-made ginger beer. The resulting Gin Gin Mule, as Kelly discovered, is a worthy variation on a classic, with the citrus and a little simple syrup mellowing out what could have been a harsh combination of ginger beer and gin.

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ginginmule

Tracy’s drink was probably the most elegant selection of the first round. The Lisboa is made with Oolong-infused gin, Lillet blanc, orange bitters, and grapefruit. At Justin’s suggestion, Tracy swapped out the gin for Oolong-infused vodka and seemed pretty happy with the result.

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As we sipped our drinks, we began perusing the menu. Aside from only serving remarkably fresh, locally sourced food, the chefs clearly aren’t playing by any strict culinary rules. A word like “fusion,” while applicable, doesn’t do Shōjō justice; combining French and Italian techniques with modern Asian cuisine, the menu is constantly in flux, depending on the availability of local ingredients. The results again distinguish Shōjō from so many of its neighbors. How else would you explain their offering turkey meatloaf with miso gravy as one of that evening’s specials?

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Turkey meatloaf? In Chinatown?

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French fries are another item you might not expect to see on a Chinatown menu; and even if they were an option…why would you get them? But as we began ordering appetizers, Shōjō’s duck fat hand-cut fries stood out as an enticing, if offbeat, option. Served with a creamy dipping sauce, they were hard to resist.Next up was barbecue pork rib, topped with a crisp Asian slaw. The meat was tender and fell right off the bone.

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Shrimp fritters were available on special, but they were going fast and Justin had to consult the chef before offering them to us. With a crunchy exterior and accompanied by a tangy chili sauce, I can see why they were in demand.

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With that we moved on to dinner. Tempting as the turkey meatloaf was, I opted for a different special – braised rabbit served with handmade tagliatelle, mustard white wine sauce, and smoked bacon. I don’t have rabbit that often, so I don’t have much to compare my entrée to, but it was tasty and tender (and yeah, pretty much tasted like chicken). But the pasta stole the show. Made on site, these were the thickest, richest noodles I’ve ever had.

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Also on special was a roasted half-chicken with smashed potatoes, smoked bacon, red wine sauce, and beech mushrooms. Tracy went for this and said the chicken pretty much tasted like rabbit.

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Kelly got honey barbecue pork ravioli, another creative combination of disparate elements. The flavor of the meat reminded me of marinated pork right off the grill; wrapped in more of that house-made pasta, it was delicious.

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Kat settled on steamed mussels in lemongrass broth, from the appetizer menu. In hindsight, I’m surprised Kelly didn’t get these, given her professed dislike for seafood and contradictory tendency to order it whenever we go out.

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Needless to say, a second round of Shōjō’s excellent cocktails was in order.

I was most intrigued by the Reiko Greene, made with Hendricks gin, green chartreuse, lime, and – get this – cucumber ice. Justin called it a “two-part drink,” because its complexion gradually changes as the cucumber ice melts. That’s if you sip it slowly, which was a challenge given how good it was even as a one-part drink. Sure enough, the flavor and character evolved as the cucumber slowly permeated the cocktail.

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Kelly got the Ding How cocktail, which is Shōjō’s take on a French 75. Made with Hendricks gin, lillet rose, bitters, simple syrup, and lemon juice, and finished with rose champagne, it was dry and effervescent with just a hint of sweetness.

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We also got to see the Shōjō bartenders shift into improvisational mode when Tracy shifted into diva mode and demanded a special cocktail be made just for her. Undaunted, the bartender crafted Tracy a drink with champagne, ginger, and an orange peel. Simple and refreshing, it calmed Tracy down and made me look forward to coming back and sitting at the bar, trying whatever new cocktails are on the menu, or just telling the bartenders what I like and seeing what they come up with. Judging by what I’ve seen by Shōjō already, I’m sure the results will be impressive.

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As we began wrapping things up, one of the managers, Brendan, came by to ask about our meals and to make sure Tracy didn’t have another “make me a drink” outburst. He told us more about his interesting restaurant, which has only been open since August but appears to be thriving. I sensed he and the staff had a lot of pride in Shōjō, and they should. As a one-of-a-kind bar in Chinatown, I hope it enjoys a bright future.

Last Call

You know what bugs me most about my complete lack of knowledge of where to go in Chinatown? The fact that everyone I talk to knows “some little place” that’s a hidden gem. I always hear “Oooh, I know a place in Chinatown that makes the best dim sum,” or “I know a place there that makes the best Vietnamese sandwiches.”

Well now I can finally chime in – I know a place in Chinatown that makes the best drinks.

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Shōjō not only finds a way to stands out in this busy neighborhood; it stands tall. If you’re looking for traditional Asian cuisine or colorful Polynesian cocktails, you won’t find them here. What you will find is an innovative approach that seamlessly combines elements of Japanese, Korean, and Taiwanese cooking, and doesn’t stop there. Even characterizing the food as Asian seems limiting; the menu might be better described as a collection of thoughtful, creative dishes tied together by a distinct Asian thread.

But more important than the type of the cuisine is how wonderfully fresh it all is. Relying only on locally available ingredients forces the chefs to stay creative, and the results are delicious, beautifully presented, and anything but predictable.

That same sense of freshness and creativity influences the cocktail menu as well. Little things, like infusing their liquors and crafting their own ginger beer, mean Shōjō’s bartenders are working with highly customized ingredients. As a result, even the simplest drink here is unique.

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The prices are totally reasonable. Our drinks were $10 each, which is standard for cocktails of that sort. Entrees ranged from $16 to $18, and the appetizers were between $6 and $8.

And as I mentioned, the service was outstanding. Justin was helpful and good-natured (he confessed to being the artistic force behind the Halloween decorations). Even though most of the tables were full by 8:45, we got the same level of attention as when we arrived at a much quieter hour. That, along with Shōjō’s peaceful ambience, made our evening in Chinatown casual and comfortable.

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And much better sharing a corner with a utility closet.

Address: 9A Tyler Street, Boston

Website:http://Shōjōboston.com/

Stoddard's Fine Food & Ale

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Back when Boston BarHopper was in its infancy, and I’d talk with people about cool bars, craft cocktails, and the reasons why I was writing a blog, the establishment that was most consistently recommended to me was Davis Square’s Saloon. And with good reason – devoted to pre-Prohibition-era America, Saloon transports its customers back to the early 20th century with faithfully re-created drinks, food, and décor. I can understand people’s enthusiasm.

What is less clear is why I so rarely hear people raving about Stoddard’s – a Downtown Crossing bar that also pays homage to the American saloon era. And to great effect.

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Stoddard’s certainly isn’t obscure – on the few occasions I’ve been there, it’s been at least respectably busy, and sometimes totally packed. And Boston Magazine named Stoddard’s’ Moscow Mule one of Boston’s 30 best cocktails last year, so it’s not like the place has somehow gone unnoticed. I just don’t hear about it that often. And I know I’m not the only one – most people I mention Stoddard’s to either haven’t heard of it or are only vaguely familiar with it.

Maybe it’s the location. Nestled away on a Downtown Crossing side street, it’s not terribly visible. Or maybe it’s the name. “Stoddard’s” sounds kind of…stodgy. Old fashioned.

It’s old fashioned, alright. Similar in some respects to Saloon, Stoddard’s vividly recalls an age gone by. But while Saloon is painstakingly crafted to look like a bar from the turn of the century, Stoddard’s has the street cred to back up its historical milieu.

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Stoddard’s is housed in a building that dates back to the late 19th century. It survived the Great Boston Fire of 1872, which wiped out a huge swath of the downtown area, and was the site of various retail shops that sold, among other things, corsets, sewing machines, and cutlery. (In fact, Stoddard’s Cutlery, for which the bar is named, operates to this day in a Boston suburb.)

The people behind Stoddard’s are more than aware of their building’s long, colorful past, and have designed the bar – from the décor to the food to the drinks – with that history in mind. There are vestiges of turn-of-the-century Boston everywhere, along with specific nods to the building’s former tenants – which explains the framed corsets on the wall (originals from the shop that sold them) and the odd sewing machine here and there. Railings from the original Filene’s store in Boston cordon off various areas of the interior, and the foot rail at the bar is supposedly a piece of the original trolley track from Park Street station.

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As I would envision any late 19th century bar or restaurant to be, Stoddard’s is very dimly lit. The only natural light comes from a couple of windows near the front door, and the black wooden floor makes for a decidedly nocturnal atmosphere. Most of the lighting inside comes from, of all things, antique lampposts. Squint a little and you might even mistake them for the gaslight street lamps that illuminated Boston evenings in the 1800s.

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The lampposts aren’t the only remnants of a bygone era. The bartenders are nattily attired with vests and ties, recalling the more formal dress that was once standard. You might imagine the large wooden barrels on the floor to have once held whiskey or beer. And they double as makeshift tables, something you might have seen a few decades later in a speakeasy. The walls of exposed brick contribute to the classic appearance, and candles on the bar and tables evoke a sense of intimacy.

And then there’s the bar.

My friend John put it best: “The first time I came in here, I just stood there for a few minutes, staring at the bar, like a dork.”

Actually, there’s nothing dorky about it. The bar at Stoddard’s is spectacular. A vision. Imported from England, the bar itself is 30 feet long, with about 15 or 16 seats. Evenly spaced along its dark wooden surface are 20 shiny silver taps that hold Stoddard’s’ excellent selection of mostly microbrews.

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Behind it, a 15-foot-high mahogany structure, reaching from the floor to the top of the high tin ceiling, holds a vast array of liquor bottles. It makes for an impressive sight, to say the least. I wasn’t able to get a good picture of it, mainly because Stoddard’s is so dark. Even in good light, though, I doubt I could capture its grandeur; and it’s the sort of thing best experienced in person. In fact, everything about Stoddard’s seems to say “drinking here will be an experience.” And it is.

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John was one of the first people to tell me about Stoddard’s. Homebrewer and co-founder of the wildly successful Brew Dudes blog, John’s a beer aficionado who would be naturally drawn to a place like Stoddard’s, given the caliber of its selection and the beautiful presentation. You might remember him from my post on TRADE, where he closed out our fairly elegant dinner with a can of Pork Slap Ale.

John and I stopped in on an early-September day after work. The bar was pretty quiet when we got there around 5 p.m., but there were about 30 people in the bar area within the hour. As is his custom whenever the situation presents itself, John set his sights on the cask offerings. In addition to its 20 microbrews, Stoddard’s has up to five beers on cask at any given time, which is pretty uncommon around here (it’s generally considered a coup when a place has one cask-conditioned beer available). John went with Haverhill Commuter Ale, a light, crisp beer that set a nice tone for the evening.

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I had decided on my first drink even before I arrived. As I mentioned earlier, Stoddard’s’ Moscow Mule is lauded as one of the very best in the city. It’s no wonder why. The presentation alone is like a clinic in great cocktail making. The process starts with the bartender chipping away at a house-made ice block – another throwback to the old days. Then comes a classic copper cup, which keeps that hand-crushed ice intact and, of course, your drink nice and cold. Watching the exterior of the metal cup gradually frost over is one of the subtle delights of drinking a good cocktail. And of course, there’s the drink itself. I enjoy Moscow Mules, but I’ve always found that if the mix is even slightly off, the sharpness of the ginger beer can really overpower the flavor. Stoddard’s version was perfectly balanced – Russian Standard vodka, top-quality ginger beer, and just enough lime. Without question, the best I’ve ever had.

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One pleasantly strong round in, and it was time to check out the dinner menu. Not surprisingly, the food menu is stocked with traditional American favorites – chicken pot pie, steak, pork loin, and a few seafood offerings. Out of sheer amusement, we considered ordering the “pot of pickles” on the appetizer menu, and we were intrigued by the ballotine of Vermont rabbit – boneless rabbit stuffed with rabbit mousse and wrapped in house bacon. In the end, we played it fairly safe. John ordered chicken, which he said reminded him of the kind his mom used to make. (With a little prodding, I confirmed that this was a compliment.)

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I went with the Stoddard’s burger. Made with fresh ground Meyer Ranch beef and topped with aged cheddar cheese, it was an excellent, generously sized burger.

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Meanwhile, we kept exploring the extensive cocktail menu. Stoddard’s separates their drinks into three sections – Classics, Contemporaries, and Puritans (nonalcoholic), and each drink has a date to indicate the year or decade in which it was most popular. True to historical form, Stoddard’s draws inspiration for their drinks from the quintessential guide to cocktail making – Jerry Thomas’s “How to Mix Drinks, or The Bon Vivant’s Companion,” first published in 1862. The recipes have been updated a bit, by necessity, but when you look at a cocktail menu and see terms like “slings” and “flips,” it’s clear that someone’s gone to great lengths to ensure that the character and essence of saloon-era mixology is not forgotten.

Good friend of the blog that he is, John went with the most intense drink he could find – the Zombie. It was a potent mix of Appleton rum, Demerera rum, absinthe, 151 proof rum, grapefruit, Falernum, grenadine, “Don’s secret mix,” and Stoddard’s own house-made bitters. Just watching the bartender mix up this concoction was a treat. The result was sweet and strong, with a pleasant spice that we couldn’t quite identify. I’m guessing that had something to do with the aforementioned “secret mix.” We asked our bartender, Dan, if he’d divulge the secret, but he wasn’t having any part of that.

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I opted for a Fogcutter – white rum, gin, brandy, lemon, lime, and simple syrup. A drink that combines gin and brandy might sound pretty intense, but the citrus flavors made it seem surprisingly light. Like the Zombie, the Fogcutter is the sort of drink you’d typically see on the menu at a Chinese restaurant. But John appraised Stoddard’s’ version as “much better than that; it doesn’t have the burn of alcohol,” and I got the sense he was speaking from experience. A painful experience.

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We closed things out with a couple of beers. John ordered one of my all-time favorites – Gritty’s Black Fly Stout. Any bar that has this on draft is a winner in my book, and Stoddard’s serves it on nitro; as if it could get any better. And since I wanted to try one of the cask-conditioned beers, I opted for Harpoon Summer. It was the first time I’d ever had my favorite summer beer on cask. Well balanced and not overly citrusy, I treated it as an unofficial farewell to summer.

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Before we left, Stoddard’s drink coordinator, Jamie, came by to introduce himself. He offered us samples of Founders Breakfast Stout, a keg of which they’d just tapped earlier that day. It’s a rich imperial stout with notes of chocolate and coffee, and Jamie’s exuberance at having it on draft was understandable. He called it “a mouthful of awesomeness”; I might not have phrased it as such, but I wouldn’t disagree.

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Needless to say, any bar with a beer and cocktail selection as extensive as Stoddard’s’ requires a couple of return trips. One thing I learned on my subsequent visits is that for a place I tend not to hear a lot about, Stoddard’s attracts quite a crowd. I’ve been lucky to even find a seat on the couple of times I’ve gone back. Fortunately, it’s a cool experience even if you don’t find yourself sitting at that magnificent bar. Standing beneath a lamppost, resting my beer on a wooden barrel, surrounded by exposed brick, I always get the sensation that I’m drinking outside when I’m here. Looking up at the balconies where they store kegs of beer kind of makes the place feel like an alley (a really nice alley, of course).

I’d love to give you a rundown of all different the beers I’ve tried at Stoddard’s, but I rarely get past the Gritty’s Black Fly Stout on nitro. I make no apologies for that. But I have managed to work my way through some of the cocktails.

As a lover of Mai Tais, I was eager to try Stoddard’s take on this Polynesian-style classic. Served in a tiki glass that gave me visions of Greg Brady falling off a surfboard during an incident-plagued trip to Hawaii, and garnished with a lemon peel and a Luxardo cherry, the Mai Tai was delicious. And that hand-chipped ice just seems to make every drink better.

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Next up was the more serious Savoy Blackthorne, made with John L. Sullivan whiskey, dry vermouth, bitters, absinthe. I was a little skeptical; I have an uneasy relationship with both dry vermouth and absinthe. But the Savoy was a surprisingly smooth, slow-sipping drink that felt well suited to the atmosphere.

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Throwing back weighty cocktails like that calls for a little sustenance. Deviled eggs? Don’t mind if I do! Stoddard’s’ deviled eggs are pretty good and surprisingly numerous; most places just give you three halves, but here you get three full eggs. I held off on the pot of pickles, although I giggle every time I see it on the menu.

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And of course, because I can scarcely resist ordering cocktails with interesting names, I closed out my last visit with a drink called Blood of My Enemies. An appropriately red-hued cocktail that combined Rhum Clément, aperol, grenadine, blood orange, bitters, and lemon peel, it was sweet and sharp with a nice bite.

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As I sipped it, I pictured a mountain, with me on top, lemon yellow sun, arms raised in a V...

Last Call

Stoddard’s has so many of the qualities I love in bars. It’s dark, a little hidden, and steeped in one of my favorite eras of American history. More importantly, their attention to detail is exceeded by an obvious love for top-notch beer and cocktails. The beer selection, which rotates frequently, is clearly chosen by someone with an understanding and appreciation for high-quality microbrews. And with regard to cocktails, the bartenders really know their stuff and clearly enjoy their craft.

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The food prices at Stoddard’s are by no means cheap, but you don’t have to let them break the bank, either. John’s chicken was $19, and most of the other entrees are about $20. My burger was $14; that’s a little high, but I admit it was a pretty big burger and a delicious one. Appetizers are very reasonable, though. I spent $4 for a generous portion of deviled eggs, and there are a couple of other inexpensive bar bites. Most of the other appetizers are $10 or so, and with options as varied as beef tartare and lobster scallion hush puppies, they’re definitely worth a try. If you’re in the mood for something more basic, a dozen wings will run you a very fair $10.

Drink prices are right on the money. Most of the beers are $6, but you can get a PBR for $3 if you’re feeling especially thrifty. Cocktails range from $9 to $12, most averaging about $10.

There’s a lot to discover here. Whether it’s a new craft beer or a very old cocktail, every drink at Stoddard’s is made or poured with tremendous care. And from the opulent bar to the repurposed relics from Boston’s past, a trip to Stoddard’s is almost like a history lesson.

With drinks!

Address: 48 Temple Place, Boston

Website:http://stoddardsfoodandale.com/

The Haven

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I hardly ever go to Jamaica Plain. Prior to my Tres Gatos visit a couple of weeks ago, I think I’d been there maybe two or three times in my entire life. And that’s too bad, because I’m always hearing what an interesting place it is, with its own vibe and some very cool bars and restaurants.

The problem is that JP is a pain in the ass to get to. The center of town is just far enough away from the Orange Line to make me think I should drive if I’m going there; yet it’s just far enough out of the way that driving there feels like a nuisance. As a result, the neighborhood feels somewhat isolated. The only people I know who regularly hang out in JP are those who live there. When you consider the accessibility of, say, Davis Square or anywhere in Cambridge, it’s no surprise that those areas draw locals and people from all over Boston in equal shares. When I walk into a JP bar, I get the feeling that everyone inside has been there a thousand times. The patrons and the staff all seem to know or at least recognize each other. Not that it’s unwelcoming or anything; far from it. JP just feels like its own little world, disconnected from the more familiar regions of the city.

But I think that isolation contributes to a distinct culture and a palpable sense of community in Jamaica Plain. JP is known for its diversity, artists, and musicians, and its businesses seem like a natural extension of its culture. When I stopped into a JP bar that allowed dogs, for instance, I clearly got the sense that, well, that’s just the way it works here. The neighborhood exudes a sense of personality and character that you simply cannot manufacture.

Again, I’m no authority on this, so feel free to take my theory with a grain of salt. But there’s no doubt that Jamaica Plain is known for its quirkiness. When I told my friend Jen about Tres Gatos, selling tapas, books, and music all under one roof, she said “Oh, of course, that’s very JP.” So I suppose it figures that in Boston, a city of countless Irish pubs and plenty of English-style bars, JP would be home to the city’s only Scottish pub – the Haven.

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If you didn’t know the Haven was a Scottish bar before you went, you’d figure it out as soon as you walked in. The kilt-wearing host with the Scottish accent would probably tip you off, but beyond that, there are nods to the mother country everywhere – Scottish flags, pictures of Edinburgh and the Scottish Highlands, a framed photo of Sean Connery as James Bond on the bar, and an old Rod Stewart album cover on the wall (not sure how loudly I’d be boasting about that one, laddies). All that was missing was a set of bagpipes, though I get the feeling that if I asked, the manager would disappear into the back and emerge blowing “Scotland the Brave.”

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All in all, I get the impression that the people behind the Haven are proud of their heritage, but possess a good-natured irreverence.

The décor evokes images of a Scottish farmhouse. Cozy and rustic, it feels comfortably well worn, with old-looking hardwood floors, walls of wood and exposed brick, and chandeliers fashioned out of elk antlers. There’s a small bar with eight stools, along with two long tables in the bar area, one with benches. The main dining space has about 10 wooden tables, all with old-school chairs reminiscent of an elementary school cafeteria. The place is very dark, and candles on the table provide an intimate ambience in an otherwise lively atmosphere.

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But the Haven’s celebration of Scottish culture doesn’t stop at the décor. The menu is highlighted by Scottish cuisine and boasts an incredible array of excellent Scottish craft beer.

I was here at about 7 p.m. on a recent Friday night with my sister Kelly, our cousin Adam, and his girlfriend Danielle (both of whom reside in Jamaica Plain). The bar area was starting to fill up, but we were seated right away. At our table we found a plate of traditional oatcakes with butter waiting for us. I’d say they were like a hybrid of a cracker and an oatmeal cookie and made for a good snack while we pondered our first round.

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Kelly and Danielle opened the proceedings with cocktails. Danielle ordered the Olympian, a sweet and fruity concoction with a heavy kick. Served in a Mason jar, the Olympian is made with Citron vodka, lemon juice, pomegranate liqueur, and Irn Bru – an orange-colored soft drink often referred to as “Scotland’s other national drink” (Scottish whisky, of course, being the first). I assume the name is an ironic nod to Scotland’s lack of an Olympic team, which is apparently a sore subject.

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Kelly went with the Braveheart, a bold mix of honey bourbon, whisky barrel bitters, and fresh lemon juice. As the drink menu said, “We’re claiming the title back from that Aussie psycho.” (Remember when Mel Gibson was awesome? Sigh…) The lemon interacting with honey made for a sweet, sharp cocktail.

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The mixed drinks were all well and good, but when a bar specializes in Scottish beer, that’s what I’m there for.

I’d venture that, as beer goes, Belhaven Scottish Ale is Scotland’s most famous export. That said, it’s not the easiest beer to find on draft around here. And that’s a sin, because it’s a well-balanced, easy-drinking brew, served on nitro, with a rich caramel color.

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I knew I could count on finding Belhaven here, but I didn’t realize that Belhaven came in multiple varieties, including an IPA and a stout. Just one of the great things about drinking in a Scottish bar, I suppose. Adam wisely chose Belhaven Stout for his first beer, and it was phenomenal. Smoky and creamy, with a mild and unexpected sweetness.

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Another good thing about drinking at the Haven is that you find out how many other great Scottish beers there are. (You also find out splendidly high in alcohol content they are, but that’s another matter.) And thus my next choice was the rotating tap – McNeil’s Scotch Ale, a reddish beer with a fruity malt flavor.

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The Haven also offers a broad selection of bottled beers, divided into three sections: “Around the Isle,” “Historic Ale Series,” and “Connoisseurs’ Choice.”

Kelly and I delved into the bottle selection, and it was in the “Around the Isle” category that I found my beer of the night. No offense to Belhaven, but Innis & Gunn’s Rum Cask just floored me with its texture and flavor. The beer is aged in rum casks, giving it an unmistakable rum essence. The result was a sweet, rich, smoky beer, dark copper in color, and all too drinkable.

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Cider fan Kelly went with Thistly Cross farmhouse Scottish cider. She’s been banging the Downeast drum since we had it at Meadhall, but Thistly Cross didn’t disappoint. It reminded us of sparkling cider – sweet, but crisp.

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Danielle stuck with cocktails and got the Maggie May, which also arrived in a Mason jar. It was an interesting mix of pineapple- and lavender-infused gin with grapefruit, honey, and ginger ale. The gin and ginger ale could have made for a harsh combination, but the pineapple and honey flavors smoothed it out, and the lavender gave it a distinct floral aroma.

Adam opted for another Belhaven variety, this time their Twisted Thistle IPA. The beer was crisp and hoppy with an aftertaste I wouldn’t typically attribute to an IPA.

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Even if all the Haven did was specialize in Scottish craft beer, it would be a bar worth visiting. But they also offer a menu packed with Scottish favorites. White pudding with sassitch and mash, anyone?

If Scottish cuisine isn’t your speed, no worries. Kelly went with the Haven burger, topped with bacon-onion marmalade, which was incredible. Adam got the bacon potato salad, which was just as good as it sounds (really, how could you go wrong with that?).

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Danielle and I stayed true to the theme with a few traditional Scottish favorites. She got vegetable bridies, which are kind of like vegetable-stuffed pastries. Bridies are traditionally served at Scottish weddings; the bride (hence the name) eats one first, for good luck. Inside are spring onions, potatoes, and cheese, cooked in a croissant-like exterior. These babies were light, tasty, and surprisingly filling.

I made a meal out of two appetizers, and the first was the undisputed hit of the night – Scotch deviled eggs. The Haven’s version of a Scotch egg is a deviled egg encased in sausage and deep fried. I’m not sure I can adequately do justice to the brilliance of the idea or the excellence of its execution.

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My love of deviled eggs is fairly well chronicled throughout this blog. I’d heard of Scotch eggs before and was always intrigued – and the Haven’s more than exceeded my expectations. The exterior was crispy, the meat was tender, and the deviled egg filling was perfectly spiced. If I’m ever in the unfortunate position of being asked what I’d like for my last meal, I will direct my inquisitor to the Haven and tell him to grab me a dozen (which, ironically, would probably kill me).

So by 8 p.m. or so, the Haven was in full swing. We were all having a grand old time, loving the Scotch eggs, sampling liberally from the drink menu, and laughin’ our arses off.

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And then came the haggis.

Haggis is the most traditional of Scottish meals, so it only makes sense that the Haven would serve it. Yet it probably competes with tripe for the title of World’s Most Reviled Meat Dish. The Haven’s menu describes it as “Haggis and Neeps – house-made lamb haggis, truffle honey mashed rutabaga, Drambuie butter, haggis neeps, and tatties.” Hmmm…lots of talk about “haggis” but no real explanation as to what it is. But! There’s a glossary on the menu that elaborates: “Haggis – the national dish of Scotland – minced lamb offal with oats, onion, and spices.”

How benign it sounds. Appetizing, even. Note how subtly they slip “offal” in there, presumably hoping you’ll either miss it or don’t know what it means. Anyway, haggis is some combination of a lamb’s heart, liver, and lungs, seasoned with the aforementioned spices, encased in the animal’s stomach lining, and simmered for a few hours.

Only a true Scot would read that and say “Mmmmmm!”

I’m only a quarter Scottish, but I’m fully devoted to entertaining you with my exploits, so I went in knowing I had a date with the haggis. (My determination did not exactly inspire my fellow barhoppers; as Danielle said to me prior to our visit, “I just looked it up and almost threw up reading the description.”) Plus, I’d tried tripe just a week or so earlier, and that wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Bring on the haggis!!

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Eating the haggis gave me a lot to think about. Like, how I’d laughed off Danielle’s disgust just hours earlier; how deeply envious I was as I looked across the table at Kelly’s burger; and whether Adam was going to finish his beer.

The haggis was, as I told our waitress…interesting. Everyone tried it, Danielle included, but Adam described it most succinctly – if you converted “new car smell” into a flavor, this is it. (New car smell in a car is pleasant; I’m not sure I’d want to eat it.)

I don’t mean to be hard on the Haven – given how amazing the rest of their food is, I can only assume that, as haggis goes, this particular recipe is superior. The meat wasn’t even that bad, but whatever “flavor” the casing contributed…no thanks. I’ll call haggis an acquired taste. One I probably won’t be acquiring.

They passed around a dessert menu after that, the centerpiece of which was a deep-fried Mars bar served with maple whipped cream. As sweet an addition as it would have been to this post, we were all waaaay past full, and if I’d eaten any more food, I’d have split my pants and needed to borrow a kilt. Although if you wear a kilt on “kilt night,” you apparently get a free Mars bar dessert.

As if anyone would need more incentive to wear a kilt.

Last Call

I don’t know what I find more surprising – the fact that there’s a Scottish bar in Boston, or the fact that there’s only one. I’d venture to guess that, after Dunkin Donuts, there is no institution more prevalent in the Boston area than the Irish pub. Yet only one Scottish bar. Why is that? Scotland’s drinking culture is similar to that of its neighbors, and its beers are no less impressive. Then again, even if there were more Scottish bars around, I doubt any would exceed the charm of the Haven.

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And I don’t know whether there’s such a thing about Scottish hospitality, but the service I’ve had here has been fantastic. From the waitress who took good care of us to the bartender, Will, who was only too happy to talk about the bar, the beers, and anything else, I got the sense that these are friendly people who have an equal fondness for their bar and Scottish culture.

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The prices aren’t too bad. Most of the beers were $6 of $7, which is pretty standard, especially considering that nearly all of them are imports. The cocktails were very reasonable at $8 a pop. Kelly’s burger was a wee bit high at $14, but it was a pretty top-notch burger. The rest of us stuck to appetizers and side dishes, which ranged from about $5 to $9.

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The Haven happily celebrates all things Scottish. In addition to the food and drink, they regularly devote a night to showing James Bond movies (only Sean Connery, I presume), sponsor kilt nights, have live music, and show soccer football games on TV. It's a casual, unique, animated bar that seems right at home in Jamaica Plain.Address: 2 Perkins Street, Jamaica Plain

Website:http://thehavenjp.com/

Tres Gatos

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Some bars choose to focus on one thing, stick with it, and excel at it. Church and Marliave come to mind as bars that specialize in cocktails while offering a more limited selection of beer and wine. By contrast, places like Meadhall and Five Horses ply their trade on beer, with an impressive number of taps and even more bottled options, and considerably less attention paid to mixed drinks.

Other places skillfully do it all. Like Scholars, which couples a top-notch beer selection with an extensive, well-conceived menu of craft cocktails (and good food to boot).

Then there’s Tres Gatos – a tapas bar that refuses to simply be a tapas bar. Yes, it serves excellent tapas, along with the solid selection of Spanish wine you’d expect at a tapas bar. But they also have an intriguing beer selection. And, of course, a book store and music shop.

Wait, what?

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Tres Gatos in Jamaica Plain is, first and foremost, a place that serves tapas. Beyond that, it resists any sort of categorization. I’m hesitant to even call it a restaurant or a bar; labels don’t seem to stick very well here. Not when a bar/restaurant has a separate room from which it sells books, CDs, and new and used vinyl.

Tres Gatos is a small, cozy place. Its main room consists of a square bar with a black, wooden top, surrounded by a dozen or so wooden stools. There are only six small tables, but there’s a separate room with one large table, as well as an outdoor patio for the more temperate months. The main room itself is dark, but windows let in shafts of warm sunlight at odd angles (a nightmare if you’re trying to take pictures). Between the worn, hardwood floor that creaks a little when you walk, and the book shelves that surround the interior, Tres Gatos feels more like someone’s home than a restaurant.

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I first visited Tres Gatos on a Sunday evening at about 6:30 with Mario, Ivys, Kelly, and Kat (Melissa’s taking a BBH sabbatical, for those who have inquired). We made a reservation, which was a wise move, given this place’s size and popularity. We had the separate room all to ourselves for an evening of refreshing drinks, excellent food, and the pleasant experience of sharing interesting dishes with good friends.

The first order of business, as always, was ordering drinks. Now there’s probably no beverage better suited to a long, leisurely evening of tapas than sangria. Unfortunately, Tres Gatos is only licensed to sell beer and wine, and since the best sangria usually gets a healthy shot of brandy, it’s not available here. But Tres Gatos more than makes up for this licensing gap by serving Tinto de Naranja – a “summer red wine” made with a splash of juice, sparkling water, and finished with an orange.

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The result tastes an awful lot like sangria anyway. A little drier, but no less refreshing. If white sangria is your thing, then the Blanca de Naranja, with lemon, is a more than adequate stand-in.

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Drinks in hand, we then faced the daunting challenge of not ordering everything on the menu. Nearly every entry looked mouthwatering, and between the five of us, we were able to sample a satisfyingly wide variety. The tapas proceedings began with Patatas Bravas. These fried potatoes were a perfectly light first course. They were served with a spicy salsa brava and a creamy aioli that was so good, I could have eaten it with a spoon, potatoes or no.

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We followed that with Lamb Bocadillo, which was probably the hit of the night. Smaller than burgers but a little bigger than sliders, these juicy bad boys were topped with crispy onions and a delicious chimichurri sauce. ¡Ay, dios mio!

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At that point, having downed a few drinks and devoured a couple of exquisite courses, we began planning our next move. That’s when the conversation moved to a dish I’d never ordered and never wanted to. A dish that, even presented in its smaller tapas form, challenged my “anything for the blog” mantra.

Tripe.

Just so we’re all on the same page here, tripe is the stomach lining of a cow or other animal. In terms of edible animal products, its popularity is somewhere in the vicinity of pigs’ feet and beef tongue. The only time I even use the word tripe is when I’m expressing disgust. Like if I’m in the car and, say, a Maroon 5 song comes on the radio, I might exclaim, “What is this tripe?” Yet here it was, on the Tres Gatos menu. And lying next to the menu was my notebook and camera, issuing me a silent challenge, reminding me that a good anecdote is sometimes worth an unexpected trip to the restroom.

So, with a level of enthusiasm normally reserved for having blood drawn or doing my taxes, I ordered the tripe, and only Ivys was bold enough to share it (truth be told, she was oddly excited about it). The verdict? Actually not bad! It was charred and served with pasilla negro chilis and aged provolone mandarone. The exterior was crisp, and the peppers and cheese contributed their own rich flavor. Maybe it was just very well prepared, but I couldn’t honestly say the meat had any noticeably unusual taste or texture (OK…maybe it was a little chewy).

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The rest of our orders were less daring, but no less interesting. Next up were Albondigas – chorizo meatballs that elicited a rare, high-pitched “Oh my god…oh my god” from Mario. They were spicy and tender and topped with the same delicious chimichurri we’d had earlier, served with a sinfully tasty saffron cream.

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We closed out the dinner portion of our evening with Tortilla Española. This Spanish omelet of potato and egg was kicked up with a pimento aioli, but otherwise served as a pleasantly simple conclusion to an evening of so many richly spiced dishes.

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I probably could have gone for a siesta at that point, but at Tres Gatos, there’s a much more interesting way to relax and digest.

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I’m not exactly sure why there’s a book and music store here, although, if my research is correct, the previous tenants were a music store and a book store, respectively. (This is only one reason why I’ll never be an entrepreneur of any sort. If I opened a bar in a place that used to be, say, a butcher shop, I’d never think “Hey, I’ve got the infrastructure, maybe I should sell raw meat to people when they come in for a beer.” But I bet somebody would. And they’d probably have me sitting in their bar, writing a review, getting tipsy, leaving with pork chops and strip steak, and thinking “Wow, what a great idea!”)

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Anyway, it doesn’t matter why Tres Gatos sells book, CDs, and vinyl – it’s just pretty awesome that they do. The book and music shop is just beyond the dining area, and the brightness is a sudden contrast to the dark colors of the restaurant. I was greeted by the warm sounds of soul and R&B when I stepped in.

Like the restaurant, the back room is small, cozy, and deeply interesting. You can’t miss the vinyl selection when you walk in. It’s chock full of new releases, reissued classics, used gems, and as of just this past week, a stack of rarities that were once promotional items issued to radio stations. The clerk excitedly told me about some of their recent acquisitions and offered to play any albums that were already open.

For me, looking at records is pretty much just window shopping. I mean, sometimes I wish I had a turntable (plus an additional turntable, and perhaps a microphone). And I can certainly see the throwback appeal of vinyl – after all, how valuable is the convenience of carrying around 10,000 digitally remastered songs in your pocket compared to getting up to flip a record after the first side is done, being careful not to jostle the player in any way so the record won’t skip, hoping it never gets ruined with a scratch, and knowing that if you really love your LP and listen to it all the time, it will eventually wear out? Yeah, let’s not let that medium die.

I know, heresy. Truth be told, there is something special about vinyl, and I do wish I was cool enough to have a record player at home and a carefully chosen selection of favorites to admire and show off to my friends. Like one of my all-time favorite jazz albums…

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If you’re not in the market for vinyl, there’s an excellent CD selection. The selection runs the gamut from new releases to obscure jazz, punk, classic rock, soul, and world music. In other words, pretty much everything. And what I love is that the CDs aren’t separated by genre – they’re just alphabetical. Which, in my opinion, is the way it should be – no boundaries, just music, all part of the same big family. That also seems to be in line with Tres Gatos itself. Sure, we sell tapas, wine, microbrews, books, vinyl, and CDs; what of it? Why should we only stick to one thing?

In the same room are shelves full of books, and the selection is impressive and varied for such a small space.

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Fiction, nonfiction, philosophy, bestsellers, classics, Game of Thrones audiobooks, classic editions of Ian Fleming’s James Bond series…you could easily spend a solid hour or two back here.

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And the best part? You can peruse all these gems with a drink in hand. If you’ve ever spent an evening at home, having mixed up a strong cocktail and put on your favorite CD (or LP) and gotten lost in a good book, I don’t think I need to explain the appeal of this to you. And if you haven’t? Please do.

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Mario and I emerged from our book-music-drink reverie to find that the ladies had ordered some dessert, which we were totally in the mood for at that point. First up was Roasted Peach Cake with wood sorrel (it’s an edible plant; I had to look that up), sherry, and peach ice cream.

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Since tapas is not the kind of meal you’d end with apple pie and vanilla ice cream, this seemed like a wonderfully sweet and well-chosen encore.

But wait, there’s more! What kind of tapas meal would be complete without churros? Served with a hot, spiced chocolate dipping sauce, these little Spanish doughnuts were a decadent way to close out the night.

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Mario and I returned one night after work to check out the bar area, where the bossa nova stylings of Jo ão Gilberto provided an appropriate soundtrack for our evening. For all its top-notch dishes and tasty pseudo-sangria, Tres Gatos also sports a pretty respectable beer selection. The focus here is on microbrews, which is probably no surprise. They only have a few beers on draft, but they’ll please any beer lover with above-average taste. Clown Shoes and Jack’s Abby are the local draft selections.

The bottled selection is a little broader, but sticks to craft beer theme. My first choice was Full Sail Session Lager, a great beer that looks like it recycled some old Red Stripe bottles and slapped a new label on them.

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Sails full, I switched to a High and Mighty Beer of the Gods. I find it hard to resist ordering this whenever I’m in a bar, mainly because I like saying “I’ll have the High and Mighty Beer of the Gods!” in the best Zeus-like tone I can muster. Thankfully, it’s a pretty good beer, too.

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Mario, meanwhile, was completely impressed with a Spanish wine he ordered. Before we left, the awesome and friendly bartender (Myra?) was kind enough to jot down for him the name of the wine, the vineyard, and the year. As we were leaving, two of the six tables were being rearranged to accommodate a “gypsy jazz” band that would be playing later that night. Live music in a space this small would appear to make little sense. But like everything else at Tres Gatos, I have a feeling it works just fine.

Last Call

I don’t go out for tapas often, so I’m not really in a position to say how Tres Gatos’s food measures up to that of other restaurants, nor can I judge its authenticity. (Maybe at some point I’ll have the opportunity to share with you the tale of the most horrid tapas I ever had, the experience of which constitutes one movement of the epic tragicomedy known as “The Worst Vacation I Ever Took.” Another time, perhaps.) What I can say is that the food was fresh and delicious, and I enjoyed every dish we ordered.

But what truly distinguishes Tres Gatos, of course, is that it offers something broader than just drinks and tapas. It may seem strange to have a section of your restaurant devoted to selling books and music; what’s stranger, though, is that none of it feels out of place. Instead, everything here seems to spring from a singular source – a celebration of good taste, in whatever form it appears.

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There’s also a certain consistency to it all. You could describe the food menu the same way you’d describe the beer list and the book and music selection: small, but eclectic; unusual, but not unfamiliar; conceived and executed with great care and a sense of artistry.

Some people, when I’ve told them that the whole books/music thing, say “Oh good idea; they get you drunk, and then you’re more apt to buy something.” Not really. To me, nothing here feels gimmicky or contrived. Just like the experience of sharing interesting dishes with good friends, an evening at Tres Gatos feels like being a guest in the home of a worldly acquaintance who is only too happy to share their passions with you.

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Address: 470 Centre Street, Jamaica Plain

Website:http://tresgatosjp.com/

The Tip Tap Room

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This always happens to me, so I’m sure it happens to you, too: you’ve got a friend visiting from out of town, and you want show him or her a good time in Boston. You’ve got Boston BarHopper fired up on your computer and an evening of good and plentiful beer on your mind. Then your friend throws you a curveball – you ask what they want to do for dinner, and of course, they say, “I could really go for some yak or some emu.” They see your face darken and quickly add “but kangaroo or boar would be fine, too.” Suddenly you’re in a real pickle. You know plenty of places that serve draft microbrews, craft cocktails, and good eats. Yet you struggle to remember the last time you went out for emu or kangaroo. And then it hits you – “Oh, right, that was never, because who the hell serves emu or kangaroo?”

What now?

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Well worry no more! The next time you or your hypothetical out-of-town friend are craving a good beer and, say, antelope, executive chef Brian Poe and his new Tip Tap Room have got you covered. This Beacon Hill establishment specializes in “tips” of every variety – steak tips, turkey tips, chicken tips, and lamb tips for carnivores, swordfish tips for fish lovers, and even tofu tips for the veggie crowd. But the kicker is the wild game tips, a daily special that rotates among unconventional fare such as elk, antelope, rabbit, goat, buffalo, and more.

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But tips are only half the story at the Tip Tap Room – there are 36 taps covering an impressively broad swath of beers.

Wild game. Craft beer. Dear reader, you are in for an outstanding evening.

The Tip Tap Room opened a little more than a month ago, replacing the old Shangri-La Chinese restaurant – and if you ever had the misfortune of eating or drinking there, you’ll be relieved to know that Tip Tap bears no resemblance whatsoever to the previous tenant. (Just walking by Shangri-La gave me a dirty feeling.) Completely renovated and refurbished, Tip Tap is modern, minimalist, and positively gleaming.

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The colors grab you as soon as you walk in. Bright, shiny hardwood floors are echoed in blonde wood table tops and shingles on the walls, complemented by black chairs, a black bar, a black ceiling, and black-clad wait staff. Muted orange paint on the walls, peppered with intriguing artwork, and marbled blue wood beneath the bar give the room a subdued but striking look.

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Several huge chalkboards behind the bar colorfully display the daily specials and contribute to a pretty casual feel. There are 15 or so seats at the L-shaped bar, six to eight tables opposite that, and a separate dining area with about 20 tables.  Best of all, large, retractable windows, like garage doors, open onto the street when the weather’s nice.

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I first stopped by Tip Tap on the Friday of its opening week, and it was so packed you couldn’t move. Undaunted, I stood by the bar contemplating the splendid draft selection. I eventually settled on San Francisco’s other treat, Anchor Steam. It’s one of my favorites, and not too many bars have it on draft around here.

The taps are arranged on a long wall behind the bar and offer a good mix of familiar favorites like Blue Moon, Sam Adams, and Guinness, to choicer selections such as Long Trail and Boddington’s, along with some higher-end stuff for the beer aficionado. Should you prefer something more basic, they have PBR, Amstel Light, and Heineken.

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If, remarkably, you can’t find a suitable draft option, you can peruse a lengthy menu of bottled and canned beer that ranges from Coors Light and Miller to Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout and Chimay.

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I could come here just for the beer (and since it’s footsteps from my office, that’ll be a regular temptation), but I’d been drooling over the food menu since I first laid eyes on it. So a few weeks after the initial buzz died down, my sister Kelly and I came in on a Saturday night at 8, for dinner. It was busy but much calmer than on my first couple of visits; about 40 people, all told, and we were seated immediately. Forty minutes later the bar area was pretty full, with plenty of standees.

After ordering a couple of beers – Dale’s Pale Ale for me, Seadog Blue Paw for Kelly – we began considering our dining options.

Tip Tap’s entrées understandably get all the attention, but the appetizer menu offers its share of intriguing pre-dinner bites. Kelly and I started with cheese and cracklin’s – fried goat cheese balls, duck fat fried prosciutto “cracklin’s,” and grilled asparagus tips (more tips!), accompanied by a chilled carrot ginger dipping sauce. What a combination of flavors! Needless to say, they disappeared quickly.

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They were replaced by what I’d characterize as highly upscale potato skins. Simply called “potato” on the menu, these babies are served with seven (7!!) types of bacon, including boar, and topped with fried oysters, pickled peppers, and a beer cheese sauce.

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Pardon me a moment. I’m gettin’ all misty eyed!

And then...the main event. Kelly debated between steak tips and swordfish tips, but my mind was made up as soon as I walked in and saw that night’s special on the chalkboard – chimichurri-marinated ostrich tips with smoked tomato cilantro potatoes and Bresaola chive salsa.

With only a once-ordered ostrich burger from Fuddrucker’s to use as a point of reference, I find myself at a disadvantage in attempting to describe my entrée. I do wish I had enough past experience with wild game to say “Hmmm, the ostrich is more tender than bear, but not as succulent as elk,” but I’m just not there yet. The ostrich tips looked like steak tips, but the flavor was clearly different. It was a lean red meat, smokey and rich, and apparently very low in cholesterol. Overall? Outstanding.

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Kelly, the same person who only a few weeks ago, nonchalantly ordered a drink containing tequila and grappa, is not so daring in her food choices. She went with the steak tips, which garnered high praise. The Tip Tap Room’s more conventional offerings are prepared with the same skill and care as the wilder options, so you don’t need exotic tastes to enjoy a great meal here.

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I, on the other hand, will probably try every weird meat that Tip Tap grills up. That said, sometimes there’s a non-wild-game special, like scallops or sea bass. And the specials appear on pretty short notice, so if you have your heart set on elk tips, don’t be disappointed if they only have buffalo.

But cut Tip Tap a little slack. After all, Brian Poe has to make frequent trips to the woods of northern New England, not to mention his travels to south Central Asia, Africa, and the Australian Outback, to hunt these animals down, which he does using only a crossbow or, if he’s craving a challenge, his bare hands. (I have not confirmed this.) That sounds like a lot of work, and between Tip Tap Room, Poe’s Kitchen at Rattlesnake, and another new restaurant in the works, the man can’t be everywhere at once.

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Nevertheless, you can always check the website or call ahead to see what that day’s special is.

And if you find yourself with the “same old” wild game offering on subsequent visits, don’t despair – even if it’s the same meat, it may be prepared quite differently. Ostrich, for instance, was back on the menu about a week after I ate there, but this time it was marinated in basil and Malbec, with coriander grilled peaches, roasted red jalapeno, and blue cheese vinaigrette on Dale’s Ale polenta.

I could talk ad nauseum about the food, but this is a bar blog, after all. And since no post would be complete without a cocktail, I had to make one last trip to Tip Tap. I went in with a few simple, blog-related objectives: order my obligatory mixed drink; maybe try one more interesting beer on draft, and an appetizer if I’m feeling peckish; get a few last pictures to round out the post. In and out in 30 minutes.

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Thirty-six taps aside, Tip Tap sports a very respectable list of bourbon, scotch, and whiskey, and it’s the first place I’ve been to since Five Horses that has moonshine on the drink menu.  Bottles of liquor arranged in a gorgeous ceiling-high display behind the bar are enough to put anyone in a cocktail mood.

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The bartender told me they’re still working on the drink list, which should be ready in a week or so, but that she’d be happy to make me whatever I liked. I opted for my old standby, a Manhattan. It might not be the most original choice, but on a day that was dark and humid, punctuated by torrential rain, it seemed like the right drink. The bartender placed in front of me a perfectly and fully frosted glass; I watched the frost slowly dissipate with anticipation as she mixed up my drink.

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While sipping my cool, well-made cocktail, I had a brief chat with the man himself, Brian Poe, who recognized me from my last visit and asked how the blogging was going. When I mentioned the many glowing reviews I’d seen of his restaurant, he called it “humbling.” Seems like a nice guy, and down to earth. Just like his restaurant.

I then moved on to a Kona Fire Rock; two sips in, I felt like I’d found a new favorite. I’ve had this Hawaiian beer it in bottles, but never on draft. Full-bodied flavor, not bitter.

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Then it happened. As I nursed my beer and soaked up the ambience, I saw on the chalkboard that that night’s game burger special was a yak burger. With bacon. And just like that, my plan to make this a brief visit went right out the retractable window.

A yak burger. A yak burger. It’s topped with a beer cheese sauce, because let’s face it – you don’t make something as unusual as a yak burger and then just throw a piece of Swiss on it. And if you think Tip Tap uses any old bacon, think again. One of the bartenders, Steve, told me that their “Beacon Hill Bacon” is cured right there on the premises and is made with spices used in Boston baked beans (he actually described the process in great detail, but at some point my mind went to a happy place and I missed out on some of the specifics).

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The burger itself was absolutely delicious, and tasted like no other I’ve ever had. The yak meat had an unexpected sweetness, and the sauce and bacon were excellent complements.

Considering all the work that goes into one of these wild game entrées, all the new and interesting flavors, all the thought behind how to best prepare it and complement it with toppings and sides…it would make sense to match the tip with the appropriate tap. Of course, if you’re like me, you might not know exactly what beer pairs well with a yak burger, or, say, marinated rabbit. But Steve helpfully discussed several options with me, and gave me a couple of samples. One of his suggestions was a beer I’d actually been curious about for some time – Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale.It’s aged for 6 weeks in a bourbon barrel, resulting in a smooth, strong beer with hints of oak and vanilla. Phenomenal and unique.

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And yes, it worked perfectly with my burger.

Last Call

You can get burgers and beer at almost any bar. You can get a fantastic steak and an expensive bottle of Cabernet at a fancy steak house like Abe and Louie’s. The Tip Tap Room comfortably and creatively fills the space between. Casual, but not like a pub; upscale, but not fancy.

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One of the things that really impresses me most about this place is that it could get by solely on the basis of novelty. Put some kitschy animal heads on the walls, grill up a few unusual meats, snag some curious customers. Instead, the chefs prepare this stuff as if they’ve been eating elk and antelope all their lives. I’ve had venison before; it was served with mint jelly. Very exciting. Yet when venison was on the menu at Tip Tap this past week, it was peppercorn-rubbed and served with parsnip puree, jalapeno jelly, and truffled pommes frites. I’d say that takes some serious culinary know-how.

My point is, plenty of people will order something like goat or rabbit simply because it’s different, and it’s to Tip Tap’s credit that their wild game tips aren’t just different – they’re extraordinary. I mean, even their bacon takes weeks to prepare.

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But again…the food, however unique, is only one reason to come here. It’s an attractive bar with an impressive beer list, and you could just as easily come here for nothing more than a few drinks with your coworkers. It holds great appeal for beer lovers, and the staff really know their products. Both Steve, who offered such great advice on food and beer pairing, and Kristen, another bartender who cheerfully answered my many questions, seemed genuinely excited to talk about the beer list and the food menu. I didn’t get the name of the woman who skillfully prepared my Manhattan, but it was top-notch. And considering the beer options and the uniqueness of the food menu, I can’t wait to see what they come up with for a cocktail list.

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The prices are pretty fair. Most of the craft beer is about $5.60, and you can get a PBR for $3.75. Some specialty beers will run you more, like my Kentucky Bourbon Barrel ($7.50) or La Chouffe for $12.85, but that’s to be expected. My Maker’s Mark Manhattan was $11.50 (ouch).

If you’re going with the wild game special, expect to pay about $20 (and if you don’t like that price, just go to some other place that serves ostrich or antelope tips), while more ordinary tips average about $13 or $14. My yak burger was $11.95, which is only slightly higher than the average price of a “normal” burger in the area.

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Above all – this place is fun. I get the feeling that Brian Poe and the whole staff really enjoy working here, and that makes for a convivial atmosphere. And it’s not often in Boston that you find a menu that offers such unusual options and gives you the opportunity to try something new, bold, and daring.

Address: 138 Cambridge Street, Boston

Website:http://thetiptaproom.com/

Corner Tavern

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“You need to blog about this place and I want to come with you when you do.” That was Text #1, from my friend Mario.

“You will love it here!”

Text #2, also from Mario, moments later.

“‘Back in the High Life’ is playing at the bar!!!!”

Text #3 came from my sister Kelly, who was with Mario and considers it pure serendipity when she hears “Back in the High Life” by Steve Winwood while drinking Miller High Life.

Now in the ideal world, when I was so clearly needed at a bar, I’d be able to drop whatever I was doing, grab my camera and notebook, and head over posthaste. Sadly, the ideal world has not yet revealed itself to me. Until it does, let me tell you about the Corner Tavern, the establishment from which Mario and Kelly were so enthusiastically texting.

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Needless to say, I had to see what all the fuss was about. I’d never even heard of the Corner Tavern, but by the way they were carrying on, I figured it must be a gleaming, two-story palace with the bartenders greeting you like an old friend as you walked in, giving you a free round of drinks, and handing you a gourmet menu where everything’s always half off.

So I was surprised when, just a week after all the frantic texts, Mario led me to a small, unassuming, downstairs bar in the Back Bay. With a nondescript concrete exterior, in the basement level of what I think is an apartment building, the place practically blends right into its surroundings.

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I took one look and figured “standard dive bar, probably three beers on draft (two of which will be Bud Light and Stella), a typical menu of burgers and wings, indifferent staff. And since the Sox were in town and the Celtics were in a Game 7 showdown against the Philadelphia 76ers, I assumed the bar would be jam-packed and we’d be standing all night. I wasn’t apprehensive, but I wondered why Mario and Kelly were so adamant that I come here. Maybe they were just hammered at the time.

I was wrong about pretty much all of that.

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DSC06683

For starters, the bar was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night; maybe 8 to 10 people. Mario and I got there around 7, which is a little early, but such high-stakes sports nights in the city usually result in the masses all trying to cram into their favorite tavern. Not that either of us were complaining about not having to jockey for space.

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And even if it had been packed, this cozy place is actually fairly spacious. The surrounding exposed brick and stonework on the walls give it something of a cave-like feel, but it’s far from gloomy; large windows in the front of the bar offer a view of the classic Boston brownstones, and before night falls, they let in plenty of sunlight. A cherry and white color scheme rounds out the warm feel, and the mirrors behind the bar and on the walls maximize the depth.

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There are about 10 to 12 seats at the bar, a few tables in the vicinity, and a rounded seating area looking out onto Marlborough street. There’s a long shelf on the wall opposite the bar with a few stools and plenty of standing room, and a small dining area in the back, illuminated by cool hanging red lights.

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Settling in for a leisurely evening, Mario and I began with a couple of cocktails – a gin and tonic for me and a mojito for him, before shifting to Captain and Coke. (It’s an old standby, but the Captain never really lets you down.)

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The Corner Tavern has five beers on draft, a couple of which rotate, and the selections were a pleasant surprise – Harpoon IPA, Guinness, Allagash White, Lost Abbey, and Penn Pilsner. They also have a decent bottled beer menu, along with PBR tallboys if that’s more your speed.

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One look at the food menu, and any preconceived notions I still had about a tucked-away downstairs bar went out the window. The appetizer list really dresses up the typical pub fare, with choices such as slow-roasted chicken wings, pulled pork sliders, and a couple varieties of hummus. Mario and I went with the homemade queso dip with chorizo and lots of Sriracha sauce, and we devoured it handily.

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While watching the Sox and waiting for the Celtics game to start, I headed over to the jukebox to inject a little life into the otherwise quiet environment. As I scrolled through my options, the bartender politely let me know that, once the Celtics got going, he’d have to turn on the audio, so I should be careful about how many songs I picked. You know, it’s one thing to be waited on by a friendly bartender; it’s another to feel like the bartender’s looking out for you, in some small way.

When the Celtics game got under way around 8 p.m., there were about 12 to 15 people in the bar and the dining area was full. Before things got into full swing, the bartender came by and, believe it or not, asked me if I’d heard all my jukebox selections before he put the sound on. That’s a first.

As my awesome musical selections faded out and the Celtics got rolling, we moved on to the dinner menu. Again, the Corner Tavern goes above and beyond with their dinner options. They offer a creative variety of flatbread pizzas, and Mario went with that evening’s pizza special, which was topped with braised pork and shaved jacima.

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The sandwiches are just as impressive. Mixed in with pub standards like a buffalo chicken wrap and a pastrami reuben are intriguing options such as a shortrib sandwich with goat cheese and a crab cake BLT with a spicy remoulade sauce and bacon. I got the meatloaf burger, which was essentially a meatloaf sandwich in the shape of a burger, topped with chipotle ketchup, cheddar cheese, and applewood bacon.

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By 10 p.m., as the Celtics were closing in on their victory, there were about 20 people, nicely spread out and not making the bar feel too crowded. There were a couple of diehard fans there, cheering along and shouting dutifully at the TV, but for the most part, it struck me as a good spot to watch a game when you’re looking for a quieter atmosphere.

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redlights

I stopped in again around 6 p.m. this past Thursday to see what the after-work crowd was like. Things were fairly lively but not terribly crowded – about 15 customers when I got there. The Sox were playing at home, but still, the bar didn’t draw a lot of pre-game revelers.

There were a couple of new draft beer options – a delicious Summer Solstice Cream Ale, which was creamy (imagine that) and had hints of vanilla, and 21st Amendment Bitter American. And if this place hadn’t already won me over, I saw that they had Abita, one of my favorites, in bottles.

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When I was there, I noticed a couple of well-worn newspapers on the bar, and it made me think, this is a neighborhood bar if ever there was one. It would be the perfect place to stop in on an afternoon, read the paper, and drink a few pints of craft beer.

And maybe even text a friend to join you.

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Last Call

Located on the corner of Mass Ave and Marlborough Street (hence the name), the Corner Tavern is one of those places you might not even see unless you’re looking for it. But if I lived in the area, I’d totally be a regular.

The beer selection and the food menu are enough to satisfy most tastes. The prices are pretty fair – mixed drinks are about $7 or $8, craft beers $5.50 or so; and if you’re on a budget, a $3.50 PBR is reasonable. Pair those PBRs with the $2 tacos that are offered on Thursdays, and you’re in business. Most flatbreads are $8 or $9, and my excellent meatloaf burger was $10.

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I’m especially fond of the location. If you’re looking for a laid-back place to grab a quality bite before a Red Sox game, this place is a hidden gem. It’s about a 10-minute walk from Kenmore, which puts it outside the radius of bars that draw huge pre-game crowds, but not far enough to warrant a ride on the T. It doesn’t have enormous flat-screen TVs, but the seven or eight small TVs they do have are more than ample if you’re looking to watch a game. As an added bonus, there are outlets beneath the bar if you need to charge your phone or plug in your iPad.

I think Mario summed it up best: “I could come here, order a bottle of wine, and just write.”

Not a bad idea.

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Address: 421 Marlborough Street, Boston

Website:http://thecornerboston.com/

Emerald Lounge

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A few months ago, I got wind of a Boston cocktail competition called Movers & Shakers, and I thought it would make for an interesting blog post. But I couldn’t make it. Last Friday, the local Bully Boy Distillers held a speakeasy party to celebrate their first anniversary. That sounded like a cool event and the basis of a good story. But I was previously engaged and could not attend.

I was honored to be invited to the Marie Brizard USA Cocktail Challenge Boston Semifinal this past Monday. The winner would have the chance to compete for a national title in New Orleans. Which local mixologist won? I don’t know…because the competition was during work hours and I couldn’t go.

I could almost hear voices from the blogosphere cackling at me: “Keep skipping all those fun events! Stick with your oh-so-important previous engagements! It’ll catch up with you, Matt...and your little blog, too!”

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And that’s when a chance at redemption presented itself via my Twitter feed. Emerald, a sleek new bar in the Theater District’s recently opened Revere Hotel, was hosting a social media event in advance of its public debut…and I was not going to pass this up. I was short on time – had to pack for a trip to Florida – so my visit was brief, and this post will in no way do Emerald justice. But it’s probably a good thing I had a commitment – otherwise I think I would have tried every intriguing cocktail on the menu and ended up paying for a room upstairs.

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Walking into this upscale cocktail lounge, you might be forgiven for momentarily thinking you’d just been swept away to a land beyond the rainbow. Which makes sense – Emerald’s theme is based on the Wizard of Oz. You definitely won’t feel like you’re in Boston anymore – I’ve never seen a bar like this, here or anywhere else.

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This place is absolutely beautiful. It’s a large, spacious cocktail lounge with two bars on two floors. The bar on the lower level seats about 15, and there’s a central area with comfortable couches and lounge-type seating.

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True to its name, Emerald is illuminated mostly by emerald green lighting, with splashes of red here and there. Large mirrors on the walls and cool mirrored tables reflect the colors and give the space incredible depth. Modern sculptures of tornadoes contribute to an already fascinating décor, and while they aren’t exactly ruby slippers, waitresses sport red high heels.

The drink menu is divided into two sections – Craft Cocktails and Wicked Libations. Tyrese, the bartender who took great care of me, told me that the Craft Cocktails were designed by Emerald’s bartenders over the course of several months and vetted by “corporate.” These are original cocktails or highly innovative twists on classics. The Wicked Libations are your standards – Manhattans, Mojitos, Cosmos, things of that nature, but with some modest customizations.

Already feeling like I was in Oz, I had to start with the Emerald Punch – Stoli Orange vodka, Hennessey VS Cognac, Blue Curacao, ginger beer, orange juice, simple syrup, and if that wasn’t already over the top…fresh grated ginger.

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I could drink this baby all night (and at some point would imagine I saw flying monkeys). The coloring would lead you to think that all sorts of overly sugary liqueurs were thrown in to make it green, but the cocktail was nicely balanced and just sweet enough. And it did taste like punch, but a mature, refined punch.

Next up was the Boston Shandy – Buffalo Trace whiskey, honey syrup, apple cider, and Shipyard Export, topped with a shaved apple chip that had been dried for two days and cured slightly with brown sugar.

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They could have just given me the apple chip and I probably would’ve been content. But what a blend of ingredients! The sweetness of the honey and the cider worked surprisingly well with the whiskey.

Watching Tyrese whip up his concoctions was an experience.

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A cocktail wizard, he was obviously excited about the drinks he was making, and about the bar itself. In fact, there was a palpable sense of enthusiasm from the entire staff. It seems like they’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.

And why wouldn’t they? This place looks phenomenal, and with its unique theme, Emerald will undoubtedly attract a curious crowd. Fortunately, this place offers much more than just a clever motif. Emerald joins a distinguished group of Boston bars that offer well-conceived, inventive cocktails. It will be an excellent late-night destination with friends when you want a fancier evening while maintaining a degree of intimacy.

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As thrilled as I was to be here, I had to make my visit a short one. But I will most certainly return, because Emerald deserves a much more detailed post. I’ve only tried a couple of the specialty cocktails, and there’s a mouthwatering menu of small plates to complement those exquisite drinks. I’m also dying to see this place later in the evening, when the lights are low and the green glow permeates the whole space.

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Until then, I’m off to the Florida Keys for a much-needed long weekend (because, you know, Memorial Day weekend was just so long ago). Hopefully I’ll have a colorful, tropical-themed post for you when I get back, with some semi-coherent Facebook updates and tweets in the meantime.

Address: 200 Stuart Street (in the swanky Revere Hotel), Boston

Website:http://www.reverehotel.com/#emerald

Whitney's

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There are three things I can comfortably rely on when I go to Whitney’s in Harvard Square. First, some staple of classic rock will be booming from the jukebox as soon as I walk in. Second, I’ll encounter at least one person who looks like they’ve been sitting at the bar since noon. Third, I will end up having a conversation that runs the gamut from interesting to bizarre with a complete stranger – usually the guy who’s been there since noon.

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And it’s easy to see why someone would set up shop here for the day. Whitney’s is a classic, cozy dive with a blue-collar feel to it. Its clientele varies widely, from an older, grittier sect that seems to prefer this low-key atmosphere over some of Harvard Square’s trendier options, to local students taking advantage of cheap(er) beer.

And me, of course.

Aside from a dartboard, a fancy digital jukebox, and Big Buck Hunter, this is a decidedly “no frills” bar. It’s a small place, but with dozen chairs at the marble-tiled bar and maybe 10 stools on the opposite wall, finding a seat is rarely a problem.

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My friend Brian once said that Whitney’s reminds him of “a cross between my uncle’s house and a really nice place.” I can’t think of a more fitting tribute to this bar. There’s something honest about it. I get the sense that blood, sweat, and tears went into building this establishment. If you converted part of your basement into a bar, you probably wouldn’t be designing some lavish showpiece – it would be more like a man-cave. A comfortable room where you could drink a few beers with your friends and watch the game, the walls adorned with quintessential bar décor – neon Bud signs, framed Guinness posters, and a dartboard.

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That’s Whitney’s. Simple, unpretentious. What you see is what you get.

Brian and I stopped in about a month or so ago at about 7 p.m., following dinner and drinks at nearby Russell House Tavern. There were maybe 10 or 12 people there, which seems pretty typical for a weeknight.

“Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin was playing when we arrived, satisfying the classic rock component of the evening. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time in places like TRADE and Marliave, but it’s been so long since I walked into a bar and was greeted by the iconic guitar riffs of Jimmy Page and the banshee-like vocals of Robert Plant. It was refreshing. When the song was over, it was followed by…”Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin. Again. Not as refreshing the second time around.

Maybe it’s “when in Rome” syndrome, maybe it’s the $3.25 price tag, but Brian and I always get the same thing when we’re here – Pabst Blue Ribbon on draft.

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If you’re not a PBR fan, Guinness, Bass, Bud, Stella, Sam Adams, and Magner’s cider round out the draft options. If you’re looking for a designer cocktail list or an array of microbrews, you’re in the wrong bar.

I find that a night at Whitney’s truly relies on conversation. They don’t serve food here, so unless you’re a connoisseur of potato chips, there will be no conversations about the cuisine. No menu to look over, no discussion about whether you want to split nachos. Maybe that’s why the patrons here, whether they know each other or not, tend to be so gregarious. And that can be a mixed blessing, as Brian and I were about to discover.

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As we sipped our PBRs, a couple of Queen songs came on the jukebox – “We Will Rock You” and “Another One Bites the Dust.” I would have paid them no notice, except the guy who played them, an older gent who reminded me in voice and demeanor, if not appearance, of Barry Weiss, “The Collector,” from the show Storage Wars, apologized to Brian and me for choosing old tunes that might not appeal to us whippersnappers.

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Maybe I just needed the unique ego boost that you get when you’re in your 30s and someone calls you a whippersnapper, but I found it absurdly flattering that someone would think those particular songs would be too far before our time for us to recognize. And pretty amusing, too – as Queen songs go, they aren’t exactly lost tracks.

I sensed the “interesting conversation” quotient of the night shaping up when Barry (I’m just going to call him Barry) explained to us that, earlier in the day, he’d been playing some Frank Sinatra songs on said jukebox, and “the ladies loved it.” I took that at face value. Only later did I begin to wonder what “ladies” were hanging out at Whitney’s in the middle of the day. And how long he’d been there.

In hindsight, that might have been the first red flag; but Brian and I love Ol’ Blue Eyes, so we applauded Barry’s good taste and talked Sinatra for a bit.

His next selections were “Rhiannon” and “Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac.

OK. Not the songs I would have chosen, but hey…I have no beef with Fleetwood Mac, and I’ve heard much worse in bars before. Like, for instance, a song from the Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack.

Which is what followed.

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DSC05578

By that time, our missteps were all too apparent. We had accepted an invitation to dinner at the home of a madman, and by the time we realized the food was poisoned, the doors were locked and the windows barred.

Our polite conversation about music gave way to an animated lecture on Franklin D. Roosevelt, about whom Barry had been reading while sitting at the bar. Brian got the worst of it, since he was next to the guy (and it suddenly became very important for me to start taking some pictures of Whitney’s for the blog). Facts, rumors, anecdotes, quotes, statistics, you name it. The alleged conspiracy surrounding Pearl Harbor. Hiding a crippling disability while in the public eye. The unprecedented third and fourth terms. It was a verbal celebration of all things FDR. On the plus side, Brian will never have to buy the book.

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book-edit2

Having had his fill of presidential history for one evening, Brian headed out. I discreetly slid down a few seats and found myself next to a guy who was there with his wife; I’d put them in their mid-40s. In between smoking breaks, they’d stop into the bar, have a few drinks, talk to me, and buy lottery tickets. Apparently, the guy was something of an amateur lottery historian. Whitney’s sells old-fashioned lottery tickets with a pull-tab you peel back to reveal a window that shows you what, if anything, you won.

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As he explained to me, in a very thick Boston accent, this was the type of lottery ticket that used to be played in gentlemen’s clubs in the late 19th century. I have no way to confirm this, but he seemed like the sort of guy who’d know that sort of thing. He also claimed to have won the lottery multiple times. Despite the lack of any discernible evidence, it seemed oddly plausible.

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DSC05891

It was then that I realized that while Whitney’s is a great place to hang out with a friend and spend the night chewing the fat, it’s also not a bad bar if you happen to be on your own. Even if you don’t strike up a random conversation, you can’t help but soak up the atmosphere.

I was in the neighborhood with an hour to kill by myself on a Friday after work, and it gave me a chance to do just that. I found the usual mishmash of patrons – some much older guys hanging around, a couple of biker-looking dudes, plus an incongruously well-dressed guy who, I later learned, runs another very popular bar in Harvard Square.

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DSC06380

Behind me, there was a serious game of darts going on. This marks the first time I’ve witnessed a serious game of darts (maybe because my own attempts to play are just so comical), and it was made all the more intense by virtue of the player who brought his own darts! I’ve seen people bring their own pool cues to play billiards, but your own darts? That’s a first for me.

Next to me was a guy sipping Jagermeister like it was single malt scotch. Hey, to each his own, but…ewwwww. Maybe I’m the weird one, but I’ve always thought of Jager as something you do shots of at a party (a college party), trying to keep a straight face while your buds cheer you on. It never occurred to me that someone would, you know…just drink it.

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I also had a chance to talk with Scott, one of the bartenders, who’s a really nice guy and clearly enjoys his job. Among the more interesting things I learned is that Whitney’s entered a contest not long ago sponsored by Maker’s Mark in which it competed with four other Harvard Square bars to devise an original cocktail. The winner? Whitney’s! Scott’s own “Maker’s Mocha,” a combination of Maker’s Mark, Kahlua, and cream, scored the bar some major local bragging rights.

I admit – I wouldn’t have expected this. But just because Whitney’s doesn’t have a fancy cocktail list doesn’t mean their bartenders can’t whip you up something special – something award-winning, even! (I ordered the prize-winner, but they were out of cream, and Scott acknowledged it was more of a holiday drink anyway.)

As usual, the jukebox was the life of the party. Incredibly, someone made me rethink the Jesus Christ Superstar song as the oddest jukebox selection I’d ever heard when they chose “The End” by the Doors. Talk about a grim, trippy 12 minutes. Thankfully, it was followed by “The Joker” by Steve Miller, which had most of the bar – biker dudes, dart players, bar owners, and me – all singing along.

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Last Call

Given the diversity of bars in Harvard Square, I think it’s really important to have a place like Whitney’s. There are bars in the area that brew their own beer, make specialty cocktails, and offer upscale food menus, but they aren’t for everyone. Some people want nothing more than what Whitney’s offers, and make no mistake – it offers something unique.

Some bars manufacture an atmosphere via their design and décor. In others, like Whitney’s, the personality of the patrons contributes to a unique vibe. No doubt, this is a bar with character – and a few characters.

When you venture into a typical dive bar, you often get the feeling that you’re invading someone’s space. Like there’s a bunch of regulars who take up residence in a tucked-away, hole-in-the-wall bar, and they all know the bartender, and they don’t know you. Whitney’s, by contrast, is warm and approachable.

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What’s more, it’s refreshingly straightforward. I’ve spent a lot of time so far talking about bars like Scholars that serve craft cocktails with exotic ingredients. I love those places, but I also like asking for a gin and tonic and getting a plain ol’ gin and tonic. Paying $5.50 for it (instead of $10 or $11) isn’t bad, either. And while I get excited about having 150 beers to choose from at a bar like Five Horses, there are times when deciding between Sam Adams and PBR is all the energy I want to expend.

I’m not a regular at Whitney’s. For me, it’s a place I swing by when I’m already in Harvard, and maybe looking for a change of scenery or just to close out the night. But whenever I go, and regardless of how long it’s been, I usually know what to expect from Whitney’s.

And that’s pretty good.

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Address: 37 John F. Kennedy Street, Cambridge

Website: None. What did you expect?

TRADE

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After living in the Boston area for nearly my entire life, I’m amazed at how much I’ve failed to discover.

Call me a creature of habit, but the routine of my daily commute tends to reduce my Boston bubble to the downtown area, the Financial District, and parts of Cambridge. Don’t get me wrong – that gives me a plethora of fine bars and restaurants to choose from, but there are some areas outside of that radius that just seem completely foreign and distant to me.

Case in point: the Waterfront District.

Sad but true – I barely even know what’s over there. I just tend to think…the waterfront, the World Trade Center, the train station…and um…some other stuff? Maybe it’s because I never have a reason to be in that part of town, but right or wrong, my impression has always been that it’s kind of a no-man’s land.

It turns out, I should get over there more often.

My friend John and I recently braved those daunting two stops on the Red Line, from Park Street to South Station, and went to TRADE. Situated in the bottom floor of the Atlantic Wharf building and overlooking the Rose Kennedy Greenway, TRADE is a mere two blocks from the South Station T stop. The immediate vicinity is a little sparse, populated mostly by office buildings, making TRADE a warm and welcome sight by contrast.

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Walking up the steps to the restaurant, we found ourselves faced with two mammoth wooden doors that made us feel rather hobbit-esque.

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The interior is open and quite spacious, with vaulted ceilings, a long marble bar that stretches the length of the room and wraps around the corners, and a good-sized dining area off to one side.

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TRADE is engulfed by massive windows stretching from floor to ceiling, letting in tons of natural light and giving patrons a fantastic view of the street from pretty much anywhere in the bar. The light from outside, reflected by the mostly white décor, makes for a bright, pristine appearance.

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As night falls, the scene becomes darker and more intimate, softly lit by subtle bulbs above the bar and a few huge, bell-like hanging lamps.

It has what I’d call a chic industrial look – exposed bricks on the walls and ceiling, large steel beams here and there. The dining area has a darker décor, providing a nice contrast to the brightness of the bar.

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Upon walking in, the first thing I noticed was that every seat at the bar was marked with a “Reserved” sign. My first thought was that someone had rented the whole place, but as it turns out, the staff seats you at the bar. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered this – a bar in which you can’t simply walk up and grab an open seat.

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At first I found it a little off-putting. Then I realized it’s actually a pretty good idea. How many times do you walk into a bar with one or two other people and, even if there are five open seats, find that they’re scattered all over? You end up gathering around one and hoping a sympathetic stranger in the seat next to you will slide down and free up a spot. But here, even though there were at least 20 open seats at the bar at 5:15, the host sat us in a deliberate, calculated manner, which kept things organized and comfortable as more people trickled in.

Once we got our bearings – and really, it’s odd to walk into a bar and not know how things work – we began perusing the cocktail and beer menu. I’d love to describe in mouthwatering detail all the cocktails that TRADE offers, but the waiters seemed obsessed with taking the food and drink menus from us as soon as we weren’t looking directly at them. I had to ask a couple of times whether I could see the menu again, and the concept of leaving a menu with us seemed foreign to them. At one point it nearly came to blows. (They were just doing their job and being pretty attentive, but don’t they know I have a blog to write?)

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That aside, the bartenders here make some exquisite drinks and offer an eclectic set of draft and bottle beers. Eager to try their cocktails, I went with the intriguingly titled “Man With No Name,” a potent mixture of Lunazul tequila, grapefruit juice, agave, soda, and lime. Not a bad way to begin the evening, but if I were to give the Man With No Name a moniker, it would be “margarita.”

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John reveled in the draft beer selections, which included such craft options as Julius Echter Hefe-Weissbier and Delirium Tremens, along with more common offerings like Harpoon and Stella. He opted for Pretty Things Fluffy White Rabbit, replete with fancy glass, and seemed pleased with his decision.

John is not simply a discerning beer drinker – in fact, he brews his own. And his beer is gooooood. He’s also the co-owner of the excellent homebrewing blog, Brew Dudes, which makes for entertaining reading even if you aren’t a homebrewer. Anyway, John very clearly instructed me to describe Pretty Things’ beers as “Belgian style using American hops.” (Did I get that right?)

Drinks in hand, we turned to the dinner menu before it was whisked away. TRADE’s dinner options are creative and a little unusual, to say the least. They offer a variety of “small plates,” great for yourself or for sharing; flatbread pizzas, made right in the brick oven behind the bar; and succulent entrees like seared half chicken with burnt orange, dates, pistachios, and quinoa.

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I stuck with the small plates. First up was avocado with green mango-tamarind-peanut chutney. Talk about a brilliant combination of flavors – the sweetness of the mango, the earthiness of the cilantro, the creaminess of the chutney and avocado, and the saltiness of the peanuts...it was like listening to a jazz band at the height of its powers. A week and a half later, I’m still thinking about this culinary work of art.

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I followed the avocado dish with what sounded like one of the more amusing selections: fried dough with parmesan, prosciutto, and anchovies. Needless to say, this marks the first time I’ve ever ordered fried dough at a restaurant. But this wasn’t your typical carnival fare – it was thin, crispy, and airy, almost the consistency of a flatbread pizza crust. And the toppings imparted so much flavor, the saltiness of the prosciutto and the anchovies playing nicely with the sweetness of the dough.

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John ordered a flatbread pizza topped with mushrooms, figs, gorgonzola, sage pesto, and walnuts. He deemed it fantastic, and while I have my issues with mushrooms and am not a lover of figs (as a child, I loathed Fig Newtons; as an adult, I also loathe Fig Newtons), even I was truly impressed with the flavors. On the side he got a dish of roasted cauliflower, richly spiced with curry and accompanied by an unidentified but delicious dipping sauce.

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pizza-edit

After the Man With No Name, I opted for a beer with a name I knew well – a bottle of Lagunitas Sumpin Sumpin Ale. TRADE’s bottled selection is as intriguing and varied as its draft offerings. There are notable craft options like Lagunitas and Left Hand Milk Stout, oddball varieties like Porkslap Ale, and for reasons I’ll never comprehend, Colt 45. John considers the latter to be an appeal to the hipster crowd. As for my Lagunitas, I’m sure John could give you a detailed rundown of its malt and hop varieties, but you’ll have to settle for my less specific appraisal: it was really good!

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John shifted into cocktail mode and got a drink called the Russia Wharf – Ketel 1 vodka, Luxardo cherries (which, I suspect, are the same ones I loved so much at Marliave), amaretto, and lime. The cherries provided an earthy, natural sweetness that complemented the amaretto, and the citrus from the lime gave the drink an unexpected zing.

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After very little debate, we decided on one more round. Agreeing to “take one for the blog,” John ordered the bizarre Porkslap Ale, which, of course, comes in a can. The sight of the waiter elegantly pouring the can of Porkslap into a classic pilsner glass was ironic and comical.

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I took the more conservative route and went with a bottle of Radeberger Pilsner. You might think I got the better end of that deal, but I didn’t. The Porkslap was actually pretty good. The Radeberger, which I’ve had plenty of times on draft and enjoyed as a basic, dry pilsner, seemed a little off. (John helpfully detected “notes of urine” in the beer’s aroma. It was real fun to drink after that.) I suppose it serves me right for ordering something that conventional when there were so many more compelling options.

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At that point we were offered a dessert menu. I very rarely get dessert when I’m out, but frankly, I was just so stunned that the waiter was willingly giving us a menu instead of taking one away, I had to at least take a look. And that’s when I saw that TRADE offers one of the most notoriously difficult to make desserts in the pantheon of decadent after-dinner treats – Baked Alaska.

Hikers have Everest. Golfers have a hole in one. Bakers have Baked Alaska, and it brings even accomplished chefs to their knees. If you don’t know, it essentially involves wrapping ice cream in meringue, putting it on sponge cake, and baking it in a very hot oven so that the exterior gets crispy while the ice cream inside remains frozen.

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As if I could resist.

I watched as they slid my frozen concoction into the same brick oven they use for their flatbreads, wondering how anyone could really pull this off. The result was perfection. The meringue had hardened outside but was creamy just beneath, and the ice cream that had just been baked in an oven may as well have come straight out of the freezer.

Occasionally looking up from my heavenly confection, I took some time to appreciate the uniqueness of TRADE. It’s a crisp, refined, but fairly casual establishment, and something about those big windows makes it feel very warm and refreshing. I saw lots of guys in suits and women dressed to the nines, so I assume most of the clientele drifts over from the nearby Financial District. And there I was, having come all the way from downtown…

I guess my Boston bubble just expanded a bit.

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Last Call

TRADE is phenomenal. Incredible food, excellent cocktails, and a solid beer list.

That said, I don’t think I’d come here just to drink. Maybe it was the host seating us at the bar, and the fact that a waiter, not a bartender, takes your drink order, but it made the evening seem a bit more formal. Not that the place is stuffy or anything; it actually has a pretty relaxed feel. As John said, it’s kind of like an upscale neighborhood place.

But I digress. As good as the drink options are, you’d be a fool to come here and not try the food.

The entrees are a little pricey, averaging around $25. That’s certainly not terrible, and if the entrees are as satisfying as the small plates, they’re worth every penny. Still, the small plates are more affordable, mostly around $9. The avocado plate I got probably would have been filling enough on its own (but I couldn’t ignore the fried dough). And if you can share a couple of those small plates with a friend, you’re in business. Prices for the craft beers and cocktails were typical for the area – $6 and $7 for the beers, $10 and $11 for the drinks.

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For John and me, this was an unforgettable drinking and dining experience. And whether it’s a simply chance to check out an area of Boston you don’t go to very often, or an opportunity to be adventurous with your palate, TRADE offers a refreshing and rewarding change of pace.

Address: 540 Atlantic Avenue, Boston

Website:http://trade-boston.com/

Scholars -- An Update

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If I had a nickel for every time I ordered a particular beer and was told that the bar had just run out of it, I could buy a round for everyone reading this blog (and since there are only 15 registered followers at the time of this writing, myself included, we could probably get a round of shots, too). Now, if I had a nickel for every time I was declined a drink because the bar was out of kumquat, I would have exactly $0.05. Thus begins the tale of my most recent stop by Scholars.

Last week, I read that two of Scholars’ bartenders, Amber and John, were entered in Movers & Shakers, a cocktail competition at the Boston Center for the Arts. I gained a deep appreciation for Amber’s cocktail-making skills during my last visit to Scholars and, while I wish I could have made it to the event, I had a previous commitment. Still, I made a mental note to stop in and check out their entry, which, if I understand correctly, was a combination of Bully Boy Whiskey (made right here in Boston), ataulfo mango, black pepper, and somehow, bruleed kumquat.

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Later that same week, I discovered that, completely unbeknownst to me, Scholars had reposted the blog entry I wrote about them on their Facebook page. Thank you, Scholars! I am truly honored.

So to show my appreciation for the shout-out and to inquire about this intriguing cocktail, I stopped in Friday after work. I sought out Amber and expressed my interest in her and John’s creation, but she couldn’t make it for me…because the bar was out of kumquat.

You just don’t hear a bartender – or anyone, for that matter – speak these words very often.

I got over the lack of kumquat pretty quickly, though, when she offered me in its place a drink that hasn’t yet made it onto the Scholars menu – the Cubano Nuevo, an update of the classic Old Cuban. An Old Cuban is typically made with rum, lime simple syrup, Angostura bitters, a mint leaf, and a splash of champagne. Amber spices up this fine drink with such imaginative additions as ginger simple syrup, tiki bitters, and basil. There are a few other intriguing twists she puts in there, but I really don’t know whether she wants me broadcasting her recipe.

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When I think of Carribean-themed rum drinks, I tend to think of light, sweet drinks like mojitos, Cuba Libres, daiquiris, that sort of thing. Scholars’ Cubano Nuevo was far more elegant and sophisticated. If a daiquiri is what you’d drink at a bar by the beach, the Cubano Nuevo is what you’d drink on the rooftop lounge of a 5-star resort. It was a lively combination of flavors, each ingredient working off of another. Amber apologized for it looking like a girly drink; maybe she read about the relentless teasing I endured at Marliave.

What really impresses me is how much work goes into devising a cocktail of this caliber. It’s pretty clear to me that this drink – probably like every other one on the Scholars menu – was the culmination of a process, and the artists take pride in their accomplishment.

And I don’t think it’s an overstatement to call this artistry.

Places like Scholars, Drink, Eastern Standard, and others elevate the process of making cocktails. When you get a mixed drink at a typical bar, what do you tend to say about it? “Oh wow, this is really strong!” or “I don’t think there’s any Captain in this.” It’s rarer to find yourself noticing, say, how the basil interacts with the lime and the ginger, each flavor enhancing the other.

But I’m beginning to experience it more often. After all, just the mere fact that there is a cocktail-making event in Boston shows how many exciting opportunities there are to partake in this intoxicating art.

Audubon Circle

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What comes to mind when you think of having drinks in Kenmore Square? Sports bahhhhs!!

You know as well as I do – all things in Kenmore seem to revolve around the Red Sox in some manner or other. Bars in particular. Some of these places seem to owe their very existence to the presence of Fenway Park – Game On, Baseball Tavern, Remy’s, Bleacher Bar, and of course the venerable Cask & Flagon.

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These are very casual places with lots of huge TVs, neon beer signs, and menus composed mainly of burgers, sandwiches, and fried goodies. They’re designed to accommodate tons of people squeezing in and standing around before, during, or after a Sox game. The atmosphere is characterized by a high-energy wait staff, loud music, or booming game-day audio.

This isn’t a bad thing.

But if you’re looking for an alternative to the typical bars in this area, take a quick jaunt down Beacon Street and over the Mass Pike. Audubon Circle is a unique, quiet bar that probably doesn’t rely quite as much on Fenway foot traffic. And while it’s only a five-minute walk from Kenmore, it feels like it’s a thousand miles away – in terms of both location and style.

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exterior--edit

Audubon Circle exudes an air of calm that stands in sharp contrast to the hustle and bustle of Kenmore Square. It is a dark, quiet bar with a strikingly minimalist décor – one long, open room; a lengthy, curving bar with about 30 stools; and maybe 15 small tables lining the walls. And there’s one odd triangle-shaped table, not quite in the center of the room, with a vicious-looking pointed edge.

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You walk in and find yourself surrounded by cool, dark wood – wood paneling on the walls, hardwood flooring, wooden barstools, even hardwood in the bathroom (though the important parts are still porcelain). It gives the room a very serious tone, but also a very peaceful one. The floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the bar and a skylight in the center of the ceiling let in enough natural light to keep the place from feeling somber. Plus, friendly service and a steady soundtrack of jazz, Motown, and R&B help liven the mood.

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There’s a certain comfort to be found in a bar with no flash, no blinking signs, no memorabilia on the walls. Even the liquors and the beer taps are kept beneath the bar or hidden away in cabinets, giving the space a very neat, clean look. It’s almost kind of…Zen.

And thus, the antithesis of a Fenway sports bar.

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I stopped in here with Mario on a Monday night in March. It was pretty empty – no more than 10 customers. Granted, it was a Monday, but this strikes me as the kind of place that, even when crowded, never feels too busy.

We started off with a couple of beers, and while there’s only a handful of draft options, they’re good ones – Notch Session Pils, Fisherman’s Ale, Harpoon UFO, Dogfish, and Guinness. The bottled beer selection is more expansive and no less interesting, with microbrews like Pretty Things, Grey Lady Ale, and BBC Steel Rail Ale, to name a few. And there are some conventional standbys, such as Bud and High Life (in a can!).

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I with a Notch Pils and Mario with a Sam Light, we took a look at Audubon’s small but eclectic menu. It’s an unusual mishmash of choices borrowing from all manner of international cuisines. There are appetizers like a potsticker box, steamed veggie dumplings, a white bean puree with grilled bread, and New England-style crabcakes with chipotle aioli. Pork schnitzel and a porcini-rubbed ribeye highlight the entrees, and a handful of artisan sandwiches round things out.

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Impressive as the menu is, Mario and I knew what we were ordering even before we walked through the door: Kobe beef hot dogs. Yeah, you read that right. It’s the best beef money can buy in what is probably considered the worst possible form. A delicious contradiction in a toasted bun, served with packets of mustard and hot sauce – and at $4, a better deal than what you’d get at Fenway.

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Ordinarily, a couple of beers and a hot dog would have been more than enough, but we were headed to see Band of Skulls at the Paradise later that night, which somehow justified our ordering more food (remind me of this logic a year from now when I give up the bar blog in favor of a weight loss blog).

Mario got a pressed turkey sandwich with bacon, Swiss, and Asian slaw. To quote the man himself: “It’s good!”

I went for the burger with bleu cheese and bacon. And I realize, if you’re a regular reader of this blog, you might be thinking “Jeez, all he ever gets at these places is a burger!” That’s not true; sometimes I skip food altogether and just have drinks.

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Anyway, it was a great burger on a buttery, crispy bun accompanied by roasted potatoes with a deceptively spicy chipotle ketchup. In terms of how it stacks up to the others I’ve mentioned, I’d put it just behind the one I get at Scholars but ahead of the decadent one at Intermission Tavern.

The same inventiveness that permeates the dinner menu can be found in Audubon’s short list of signature cocktails. There are old-time classics like a Pimm’s Cup, and a summery sounding “Tea Party” made with tea-infused vodka, mint, lemonade, and lime. While I was tempted by the Spicy Margarita (made with habanero-infused tequila), I remembered my last encounter with a spicy drink, the Pissed-Off Pirate at the Barracuda Tavern, and thought better of it. I settled instead on the Kiwi-Cucumber Gimlet – Hendricks gin, kiwi, cucumber, and lime. A very refreshing drink with a surprisingly strong cucumber essence. It reminded me a bit of the Tres Curieux at Marliave, but the kiwi really sets it apart.

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drink1-edit

Mario and I headed off to our show after that, but I returned later that week with Melissa to check out the Friday scene. It was certainly busier than it was on Monday, but even with twice the number of customers, there were still open tables and plenty of room at the bar.

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Mel got a house-made bean burger with chili mayo while I continued exploring the cocktail list, opting for the Vanilla Eight Ball – Stoli Vanilla, pineapple and lemon juices, and a lemon twist. I’d call it tropical sophistication. And it went down waaaaaay too easy.

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Although Audubon Circle has been open since 1996, I’d only heard about it for the first time fairly recently. Seems its reputation is as quiet as its décor. Our waitress told me that they have a solid group of regulars, don’t do much in terms of marketing, and rely on word of mouth for new customers. “So spread the word,” she added.

Consider it done.

Last Call

It’s only three blocks from the Kenmore T station, but this is no Fenway bar. Just one TV. Open parking meters nearby. A quiet, Zen-like ambience. No one chanting “Yankees suck!”

Audubon Circle is a unique alternative to the bars typical of Kenmore Square. The menu is innovative and well executed, the bartenders put great care into making cocktails, and the beer options are more than admirable. Prices are probably a little higher than what you’d pay in one of the many sports bars in the area, but are far from prohibitive – $10 or $11 for a burger or sandwich, $10 for one of the exquisite cocktails, beers for $5 or $6. If you’re eating on a budget, there are appetizers to share, and the Kobe beef hot dogs are pretty cheap.

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The minimalist décor of Audubon Circle is uncommon in Boston and unheard of in Kenmore. I enjoyed the cool, clean look of it, but it might not be everyone’s speed. The bartender told me some people love it, and others say “You really gotta do something with this place.” To each his or her own, I suppose.

One caveat – I was here before baseball season started. I have no idea what this place is like when the Sox are in town, and while it doesn’t seem like the sort of place fans would descend upon before a game, you can at least forget what I said about plentiful street parking on game day. But even with a game-day crowd, I think Audubon Circle would maintain its peaceful, refined character.

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Address: 838 Beacon Street, Boston

Website:http://www.auduboncircle.us/

Barracuda Tavern

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Just up the alley from Marliave is a much different, lesser-known establishment. In fact, if you weren’t specifically looking for the Barracuda Tavern, you probably wouldn’t find it. Nor is it the sort of bar you’d necessarily stumble upon; with a discreet sign, nondescript door, off of a sidewalk filled with overflowing trash cans, it might not even be the kind of place you’d walk into even if you did realize it was a bar… But actually, it’s a pretty good one.

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Just beyond the narrow black door off the dark alley that is Bosworth Street is a staircase leading to what almost feels like a private party that you weren’t supposed to know about. Up those stairs is a bright, unusual bar with a good menu, plenty of beer and cocktail options, and a small crowd of after-work patrons.

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The Barracuda Tavern revels in a nautical theme – from its name, to its décor, to its food and drink offerings. There are ship wheels, large and small, everywhere; a full-size rowboat right in the middle of the room; kitschy crustaceans on the wall; fish-themed art for sale; and a jukebox that only plays songs like “Beyond the Sea,” “The Ocean,” “Under the Sea,” “Blow the Man Down,” and other seaworthy songs (kidding about that last part).

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Having only opened in 2010, Barracuda still feels very new. It’s a small, attractive space, with hardwood flooring, an entire wall of exposed brick, and large windows that look out onto the street. Red lights hang over a modest, L-shaped bar that only sports about five or six seats. Still, there are plenty of tables to sit and stand around, giving the room a cozy but open feel.

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When I arrived around 5 p.m. on a Tuesday, there were about a dozen people, and maybe half that when I left a couple hours later. I’ve heard it can get packed on occasion, but it’s always been pretty quiet and comfortable whenever I’ve been here.

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I first heard about Barracuda shortly after it opened. It was right near my office, and since my work friends and I were wearying of the local options, I was thrilled to have a new place to try. So I mentioned it to my good friend and coworker, Jen, who heartily agreed that we should check it out sometime. She then went without me and reported back about how cool it was.

Poor form, Jen. Poor form.

I finally scoped the bar out for myself not long afterward, and it became a regular haunt of ours for a while. I even made Jen’s ringtone on my phone “Barracuda” by Heart, given her fondness for the place (I’ve since changed it to “Jenny” by Tommy Tutone, but she doesn’t need to know that).

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Jen accompanied me on this particular occasion and, as usual, Barracuda didn’t disappoint.

Barracuda offers a fun cocktail menu that sticks to the seafaring theme, with names like Gilligan’s Fog, the Nor’easter, the Irish Fisherman, and the Skipper, among others. My evening began with what seems to be the signature drink here – the Cuda Runner. It’s a tropical concoction of vanilla, coconut, and spiced rum, with a splash of cranberry juice and lemonade. A perfect drink for this summery weather we’ve been having here in Boston (in March!).

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I guess you could say I was taking one for the blog with my next move – a dubious sounding mix of Grand Marnier, Southern Comfort Fiery Pepper, and cranberry juice. But with a name like the Pissed-Off Pirate (yarrrr), how could I not try it? I’d call this a novelty cocktail; the kick from the spice made for a fairly unique drink, but I doubt I’d get it again. (Jen’s assessment: “Not bad…I don’t know, though.”)

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The food menu favors seafood (who would’ve guessed?). The entrees include the usual staples, like fish and chips, scallops, a grilled catch of the day, that sort of thing. There’s a sandwich menu that caters more to land lubbers, with an impressive-sounding steak sandwich and a Cuban sandwich that, for reasons I can’t begin to explain, I have yet to try (I could start a whole separate blog about my love of Cuban sandwiches and my quest to find the best around).

I confess I’ve never gotten past the appetizers, which are plenty pleasing. Jen and I went straight for our old standby – fish tacos. Usually you get a satisfying plate of three for $8; not a bad deal if you don’t feel like shelling out your hard-earned doubloons for an entrée. But to our delight we discovered that Tuesday was $2 Taco Night, so we got two apiece and split an order of calamari. Oh, and if you love tacos but hate fish, you’re in luck – chicken or beef tacos are available as well and, if you’re feeling indecisive, you can mix and match to your heart’s content.

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Covered with jalapenos and a spicy chipotle sauce, these bad boys had a major kick to them. The calamari was topped with spicy cherry peppers and a Cajun aioli, which just added to the heat. Our mouths aflame, it was time for a couple of beers.

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Barracuda’s draft selection is small but respectable. Amid the usual suspects like Guinness, Stella, and Bud Light are slightly less common offerings like Drifter Pale Ale, Leffe Brown, and Pilsner Urquell. Barracuda either no longer carries (or was simply out of) Shipyard, which was a little disappointing; this used to be one of the only bars in Boston that consistently had Shipyard on draft. Plus, for a bar with a nautical theme and a huge Shipyard sign in the middle of the room…I mean, come on!

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The selection of bottled beer, on the other hand, is stellar. The Barracuda Tavern boasts one of the better selections of microbrews in the city. The beer menu even has a separate section of porters, stouts, and dessert beers, with such options as Maine’s Coal Porter and the rich Young’s Double Chocolate Stout.

Jen opted for a Leffe Blonde, and I rounded out the night with a refreshing Cisco Whale’s Tale. Sufficiently full from appetizers, that Cuban sandwich would have to wait for another visit.

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As Jen and I sipped our suds and commiserated about discussed our shared appreciation for our jobs, I began to wonder why I don’t stop in here more often. It’s a really charming bar, never crowded but never dead, with consistently friendly service and good beer. It’s not the highest-profile option in the area, but something about the cozy atmosphere makes me hope it stays that way.

Anchors Aweigh

The Barracuda Tavern is an unusual, underrated bar worth seeking out. The cocktails are a little on the pricey side; I’m not sure a Dark & Stormy needs to go for $10. Lower-end beers, like PBR, Narragansett, and Schlitz (!) are $4 – a little excessive for mildly alcoholic water, especially since those beers can be found more cheaply elsewhere in the vicinity. But the microbrews are priced just right, and if $2 Taco Tuesday isn’t enough of a bargain for you, Wednesday is $0.25 Wing Night.

The best thing about the Barracuda is that it’s a quiet refuge hidden away in the heart of the Financial District. Stopping in is especially refreshing on a raw, rainy day in Boston, when you can slip down an obscure alley, ascend a flight of stairs, and step into a laid-back bar that makes you feel, even just for a while, like you’re vacationing on the seaside.

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Address: 15 Bosworth Street, Boston

Website:http://www.barracudatavern.com/