Bear With Me...

Dear subscribers, readers, visitors, devoted fans, vocal critics, and barhoppers everywhere: After months of deliberation, hand-wringing, and procrastination, I have decided to give Boston BarHopper an upgrade.

First, the good news – the final product will have a whole new look and feel. The content will be organized differently, there’ll be some cool new features, and overall, I think it will make for an enhanced reading and barhopping experience.

The bad news? I’m the equivalent of an NFL replacement referee when it comes to the technical side of blogging.

So I’ll ask for your patience if you get test posts sent to your e-mail (which happened earlier today…oops), or if you log on and the site is down, or you find the text presented in wingdings. I might also have to skip a week of posting. But whatever the problem is, rest assured that I’ll be taking regular breaks from my fits of pounding the desk and swearing to get it resolved.

My hope is that BBH Mach II will be up and running within the next week or so. In the meantime, thanks for reading!

Cheers,

Matt

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Orinoco

I don’t have much in terms of rigid criteria when it comes to choosing places to write about for this blog. I operate under a few basic guidelines. First, the subject of my review has to have a physical bar that I’d be willing to sit at for an evening of nothing more than drinks. After all, this is Boston BarHopper, not Boston RestaurantReviewer. Second, I prefer to avoid anything resembling a chain; the way I see it, the more locations a bar or restaurant has, the more its overall character diminishes. Of course, there will always be exceptions.

Harvard Square’s Orinoco does not have a bar. It also has two other locations, in the South End and Brookline. But when you invite me to a complimentary party on a picture-perfect evening in September with a roasted pig, mouthwatering Venezuelan hors d’oeuvres, and lots of sangria and beer…well, I suppose I can relax my standards.

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Bringing the culture and cuisine of Latin America – specifically, Venezuela – to Cambridge, Orinoco opened its Harvard Square restaurant in January 2012. After eight months, they decided it was time to host a bonche (party!) for their customers and neighbors on their back patio. The reason? Manager Martha Garcia told me that whenever a new Orinoco opens, the management hosts an open house. “It’s a way to introduce ourselves to the community,” she said.

Quite an introduction.

My friends Mario and Ivys, who always manage to find awesome places like Orinoco and Tres Gatos, had dinner here with Kelly a month or so ago, scored themselves an invitation to the bonche, and passed the offer on to me. Who am I to turn down a party on a weeknight? But this wasn’t any ol’ fiesta. The main attraction? A traditional pig roast.

You know how often I go to pig roasts? About as often as I go to Venezuela. No way I was missing this.

Just approaching Orinoco gives you the feeling that you’re headed to someone’s backyard for a cookout. The restaurant is on JFK Street but is a little set back and out of sight; you walk between a couple of buildings to get there, which gives it kind of a home-y feel. The bonche was held on Orinoco’s gorgeous back patio, which is normally set up with tables for what must be a delightful outdoor dining experience.

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Mario, Ivys, Kelly, Kat, and I arrived around 6 p.m.; the festivities weren’t yet in full swing, but importantly, there was no line at the drink table (yet). The beverage options were ideally suited to a late-summer, Latin American-themed party: mojitos (a treat, since they’re not usually available at Orinoco’s Harvard location), sangria, and a couple of beers – Negra Modelo and Pacifico.

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Even though it was quiet when we arrived, I could sense that a special night of revelry was ahead. Nothing about the atmosphere made me think I was at a bar or restaurant; it truly felt like a casual, well-planned backyard party. The stone floor, lush greenery, a running fountain, and strung lighting gave the patio the look of a grand garden and made me feel like a guest – not a customer.

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As we sipped our drinks, the heavenly smell of charcoal and barbecued pork wafted through the air, equal parts teasing and torture. But good hosts that they are, Orinoco wasn’t going to let us starve, treating us to some of their appetizers.

First up was a spicy ceviche. Even Kelly, who claims to not care for seafood (yet repeatedly gets it while we’re out), could not resist. The ceviche was followed by maracuchitos – queso paisa wrapped in sweet, fried plantains.

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I love plantains on their own. Throw in some cheese? Delicioso.

And it just kept getting better. The non-pork-related highlight of the night was Orinoco’s datiles – bacon-wrapped dates with an almond in the middle. ¡Ay, dios mio!

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Honestly, I’ve never been a huge fan of dates; but the list of things that I won’t eat when wrapped in bacon is very short. (You know what I loathe? Olives. I wonder if I would find bacon-wrapped olives palatable.) The smoky bacon, the nuttiness of the date, the distinctness of the almond…they were packed with flavor and I had to restrain myself from grabbing two handfuls from the serving tray.

The patio began filling up over the next hour or so, with excited guests trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive pig.

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Meanwhile, our hosts kept plying us with apps. Tequenos – guayanes cheese wrapped in a crisp dough, with chipotle ketchup – were like upscale mozzarella sticks. And while I didn’t get the proper Spanish name, chicken salad served on a bread-like cracker was delicious and artfully presented.

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Truth be told, I would have been fine just with the snacks. But that’s not why we were here. No, hors d‘oeuvres alone would not placate the restless masses. The anticipation gradually swelled to a crescendo, and soon a manic chant of “Bring on the pig! Bring on the pig!” broke out (not really).

At last, fashionably late and with great fanfare, the star of the show emerged.

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Look at that bad boy! Has an animal ever looked so happy to be devoured by 200 guests?

El cerdo was greeted with applause, excitement, and a long line. I have to admit – after three weeks of eating and writing about tripe, haggis, and head cheese, it was comforting to be eating a meat that people were actually clamoring for.

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The line stretched throughout the patio, culminating at a table serving yuca, black beans, salad, and of course, the roasted pig. The meat was well worth the wait – tender, juicy, and delicious, and no one could stop talking about how incredibly spiced it was.

By then the sun had gone down, the stars were out, and we had a full-on bonche on our hands. All that was missing from the festive vibe was the steamy South American climate, but I heard no complaints about the perfectly temperate September air. People mingled, chatted, danced to salsa music, talked about how good the food was. I was in no hurry for the night to end, but when it finally did, I felt like I was leaving a big neighborhood party.

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I stopped in on the following night for a quick chat with Martha (who not only remembered me but greeted me like an old friend) and to get a better look at the place. Orinoco’s interior feels small, but it’s actually rather spacious – probably about 20 tables or so. It has an authentic, rustic look, with classic old chairs and family pictures on the wall.

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The dark, candlelit atmosphere could make for an intimate evening of sharing small plates and a bottle of good Spanish wine, but if the previous night was any indication, things could just as easily be festive and lively. And as soon as I walked in, the salsa music that was playing immediately brought back the magic of the bonche.

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Orinoco offers a full, rich menu of traditional Venezuelan cuisine. Several dishes offer the shredded beef and plantains that Venezuelan cuisine is famous for, like Pabellon Criollo, which the menu calls “Venezuela’s most folkloric dish.” I hear the empanadas are a big hit, and there are always some tempting weekend specials.

I opted for a couple of arepas, which are Venezuelan corn pocket sandwiches. “Domino” was made with black beans and Palmizulia cheese, and “Pelua” was made with Edam cheese and that delicious stewed, shredded Venezuelan beef.

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Both were delicious and surprisingly filling. But I have to admit – the accompanying dipping sauce stole the show. Made of cilantro, garlic, parsley, and olive oil, the sauce had a zing that further brought out the flavors of the arepas. I could seriously drink this straight, like out of a shot glass.

Speaking of shots, Orinoco’s alcoholic offerings are limited to beer and wine, though they also serve sangria. (Only the Brookline location has a full liquor license.) Not that I’m complaining – the sangria is full-bodied and refreshing, made with a secret spice (cinnamon?) that gives it a unique character. Aside from that, I never mind a good Negra Modelo, which nicely complemented all the spices in my arepas.

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As if I didn’t already feel like a welcomed guest, Martha generously treated me to quesillo, sort of a Venezuelan version of flan. Topped with strawberries and blackberries, and with hints of coffee, it was sweet conclusion to my meal.

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Last Call

Orinoco seems right at home in an area as rich and diverse as Harvard Square. And what better way to be a good neighbor than to host big, backyard party? The bonche was a swinging success, and a great idea on Orinoco’s part – I’m not sure when or if I would have found the place were it not for their event, but I’ll certainly return.

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I don’t know much about Venezuelan cuisine, so I can’t vouch for the authenticity of the food. But all of Orinoco’s locations are run by native Venezuelans, so that’s got to count for something. I certainly enjoyed the appetizers and my arepas. And they sure know how to roast a pig.

Perhaps best of all, Orinoco is surprisingly affordable. Most of the entrees are around $15, but you can make a pretty satisfying meal out of the empanadas (under $9) and antojitos (little cravings). Those irresistible datiles are $7, and the arepas average about $6. A glass of sangria for $7 isn’t bad, and my Negra Modelo was a very reasonable $4.75.

I don’t know whether Orinoco will ever be hosting another bonche of such grandeur, but I feel fortunate to have been there. On their website, Orinoco says their goal is to effect a “neighborhood-focused dining tradition that is casual, lively and fun.” On at least one night in September, they succeeded in grand fashion.

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Address: 56 JFK Street, Cambridge

Website:http://www.orinocokitchen.com/

Belly Wine Bar

When I think of a wine bar, I envision something dark, stuffy, and deadly serious. A very fru fru bar, maybe in a hotel, with servers dressed to the nines and displaying a thinly veiled air of condescension. I see lush burgundy rugs, table lamps, maybe leather sofas and fancy cocktail tables. It would probably have a French name, like Vin Cache. Maybe that’s an unfair assessment, born out of how infrequently I find myself in wine bars. But let’s face it – wine is sophisticated. If a bar devotes itself to wine, I’d expect something very polished. A small plate of grandiloquence and a full carafe of pretension.

But when a wine bar decides to call itself “Belly,” assumptions are best left at the door.

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“We wanted it to be playful,” said the bartender, of the unusual moniker. “Like the wine list, which is kind of out there.”

Wait – a wine bar wants to be playful? Not highfalutin? And what’s with an off-the-wall wine list – can’t I just come in and order a glass of Merlot?

I imagine you could. Belly has something on the order of 120 wines, so I’m sure they can accommodate your blandness if you insist. But at a bar that strives to be anything other than ordinary, why would you yearn for dullness?

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From the people who brought you the Blue Room (right next door) and Central Bottle (just down the street), Belly Wine Bar opened this week in Kendall Square and is everything you wouldn’t expect a wine bar to be. Forget dark and staid. Belly is a bright room that balances a funky, modern look with a casual, laid-back feel. Of all things, what you’ll probably notice first is the wild black-and-white pattern of the tiled floor.

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Hand-painted by an Italian company that had never before shipped an order to the United States, the tiles would be an assault on the eyes if not offset by a plain, dark brown ceiling with wooden beams, and complemented by the warm, white and light-green color scheme. Cool stonework and exposed brick on the walls contribute to a comfortable, earthy atmosphere.

If the wine bar I envisioned earlier was akin to a fancy den, Belly feels more like a kitchen – it’s small, and in addition to the warmth and brightness, a long, rectangular table with 10 chairs occupies the center of the room, with three smaller tables and few round ones on the far wall.

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A table in the back artfully displays the cheeses that any good wine bar would offer. The bar itself is square with nine seats and an elegant, white marble top.

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I stopped in on Belly’s opening night at about 5:30 and again the night after. Opening night started off quietly – just one or two customers and me. But you could tell it was something special; I felt like I was sharing in a culminating moment that followed untold hours of preparation and anticipation. I got to meet the owner, Nick, who runs Belly with his wife, Liz. He’s a very nice guy whose enthusiasm was as obvious as it was contagious – there was almost an unbridled glee among the employees. No fancy waiters in dark suits here. Just some casual people who are pretty excited about opening a wine bar.

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The quiet start gave me a chance to talk to the bartender, Fanny, a veteran mixologist and oenophile who was only too happy to expound upon Belly’s wines, cocktails, food, philosophy, and pretty much anything else I asked about. And it’s a good thing, too, because I opened the menu and barely knew where to start. Belly’s menu consists of wine, cheese, salumi, charcuterie, and words that are hard to pronounce. The wines are organized not only by color but under offbeat headings like “Rocks in Your Mouth” and “Size Matters.”

Now I love wine, but I’m no connoisseur, so I asked Fanny to suggest something. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when she opened with a curveball – “Do you want red, white, or orange?”

Orange? Dude, we’re talking about wine, not Crush soda.

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Sure enough, Belly offers a selection of “orange” wines. I learned that orange wines are dry wines made from white wine grape varieties that have spent some time soaking in the grape skins, giving the wine an orange hue and contributing more tannins. The result is a white wine with a bit of red wine character – or, as Fanny said, “white wine for red wine lovers.” Fortunately, I love both. She suggested a Radikon “Slatnick,” 2009; and sure enough, it did almost taste like a white/red hybrid. More body than I’d expect from a white, but less bite than a red.

Accompanying my wine was a small dish of taralli – traditional Italian wine biscuits. Fanny told me they’re prepared similarly to bagels (boiled before baked), which makes them light, buttery, and highly addictive. They made for good munching while I pondered my next wine.

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After my orange wine, it was time for some red. Again relying on Fanny’s good judgment, I got a Joseph Drouhin Brouilly. It was a big tasting wine, with shades of raspberry and blackberry. I also detected the unmistakable hints of a wine buzz.

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Now what would wine be without cheese? (Honestly, I’d have to say it’s pretty good even on its own, but I digress.) From what I’m told, the cheeses are curated by the cheesemonger at Central Bottle to match the wines. The eight cheese varieties are not listed by name, but by “character,” with options like “Fresh,” “Earth,” “the Blues,” and “Funk.”

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Bring on the funk!

In this case, “funk” was a whole milk cow cheese from Connecticut. It was delightfully sharp and perfectly complemented by fresh raw honey, fruity jam, and two types of crostini – one savory, one sweet.

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With red and orange under my belt, it was high time for a white. Fanny asked if I wanted something clean and crisp – qualities one would normally associate with a white wine – or something funky. I’d already gone the funky route with the cheese, and I figured there was no turning back. So I funked it up with Montlouis Sur Loire, Weisskopf “Le Rocher des Violettes,” 2009. I liked it; definitely an unusual flavor and mouthfeel for a white. In place of the oaky flavor you might expect was a certain minerality…which I guess is why it fell under the heading “Rocks in Your Mouth.”

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Now if Belly’s wine options strike you as a little unorthodox, wait until you see their food menu. You can choose from “snacks” like blanquette of rabbit offal (oh hoo hoooo! nice try, but I learned my lesson after the haggis incident, thank you very much), marrow bones, and pate de campagne, to name a few. The “salumi” section offers morcilla fresca, duck breast, and soprasetta, among others. And there’s “charcuterie” like rabbit rillettes and foie gras terrine.

I started with a snack, a word that does little justice to what I chose – lamb bacon and eggs.

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Ever seen bacon and eggs look like that? I didn’t think so. Made from lamb meat and topped with shaved egg yolks, the bacon was crispy, light, and delicious. A red wine would seem to be the best match here, but I was surprised by how much the white I was drinking brought out the flavor.

Admittedly, beyond duck breast and foie gras, I wasn’t all too familiar with the rest of the menu. So I again turned to Fanny (hey, at least I picked out the snack on my own), who suggested something from the charcuterie menu…

Head cheese.

The term alone sounds pretty gross, even if you don’t know what head cheese is. It quickly goes from gross to disgusting once you find out.

Despite what any logical person may deduce from the name, head cheese is not actually cheese. That’s a rather unnerving bit of trivia, is it not? Because let’s face it – when you use the word “cheese” to describe something that is not in fact cheese, you’re usually not talking about something good.

No, head cheese is jellied meat made from the head of a pig or cow. Oh, but it may also contain parts of the animal’s tongue, heart, or feet, so you might get a little variety. (I could explain this in further detail, but I’m afraid you’d stop reading.) Fanny acknowledged “there’s definitely several different textures going on in there,” but reassured me that “it’s not brains or anything.” Yeah, there’s a ringing endorsement.

I’d like to pause here and raise my glass, a bit wistfully, to the good old days of, say, a few months ago, when the raison d’être of this blog was highlighting the better qualities of a given bar and saying a few words about whatever beer and cocktails I had when I was there. I’m now in my third consecutive week of trying meats that society has by and large rejected. I wonder if, somewhere along the line, I got off track. Eating tripe, haggis, and head cheese isn’t winning me any awards or even garnering me any praise. No, all I get is people sucking in their breath, shivering, and scrunching up their faces like an audience watching an incredibly gory slasher film. I suppose it’s a good thing I derive such a deep sense of satisfaction from that reaction; otherwise I might have to get back to basics.

But enough with the melodrama. The head cheese was, believe it or not, really good!

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The exterior was crispy, and as advertised, the meat inside had a varied texture. It was served with crostini and a small bowl of mustard and vegetables, and the flavor reminded me of pork belly.

Of my three recent adventurous meat orders, this is the only one I’d look forward to getting again (the tripe at Tres Gatos would be second, as long as I was splitting it with someone; the haggis would be a very distant third).

Anyway, while awaiting the arrival of the head cheese, I figured I needed a little liquid insurance in case it was as bad as it sounded. Aware that Fanny’s cocktail knowledge probably exceeded even her wine smarts – after all, she personally designed Belly’s cocktail list – I told her I was a Manhattan fan and was looking for something in that neighborhood. She recommended the Vieux Carré, a classic cocktail that originated in New Orleans. Belly’s recipe was traditional and faithful – Old Overholt rye whiskey, Pierre Ferrand Ambre cognac, Cocchi Vermouth di Torino, Bénédictine, Peychaud's bitters, and Angostura bitters.

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Outstanding. This wasn’t the first Vieux Carré I’ve ever had, but it was without question the best. Each sip was packed with flavor, yet it had a very simple, smooth finish.

Belly’s list of specialty cocktails is small but, like everything else here, creative and playful. I couldn’t resist ordering the Silver Bullet. No, not that Silver Bullet. Belly’s Silver Bullet is a simple mix of gin, Kummel, fresh lemon juice, and perfectly crushed ice.

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For so few ingredients, this was intensely flavorful, which was probably the result of the Kummel. I’d never encountered this liqueur before; its caraway/cumin flavor gave the Silver Bullet a truly unique character. It was almost like a very sophisticated lemonade that you had to drink slowly. Very slowly.

Things were picking up when I was leaving, and there was a bigger crowd when I stopped in on the following night. As can be expected of any newly opened bar or restaurant with an unorthodox menu, I saw customers walk in with a sense of quiet curiosity and maybe even hesitation. But on both nights, I noticed that tentativeness gradually giving way to the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses.

Again – not what I’d expect of a wine bar.

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Last Call

Belly aims to be unusual, but it does so with a natural grace. From the décor to the wine to the charcuterie, everything here is deliberate – but none of it feels contrived.

It’s rare that I sit at a bar and rely solely on the bartender’s food and drink suggestions, but I felt completely comfortable doing so. And Fanny, with a genuine enthusiasm for her craft, seemed more than willing to impart her knowledge. I doubt Belly will ever be as quiet as it was in those first few hours, so maybe I won’t get a chance to do that again; but I feel fortunate to have had the experience.

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Belly isn’t cheap, but if you’re going out for an evening of wine and fancy cheeses, you probably weren’t planning on an inexpensive night anyway. The wines vary in price, but you have the option of a two-ounce pour or a five-ounce. The smaller pours range from $3.50 to $14, and most are $5 or $6. The full pours I got were $9, but again, that’s highly variable depending on your selection. The cocktails were $11 apiece, which is fairly typical for drinks of that sort. The snacks, salumi, and charcuterie are anywhere from $5 to $14, so if you are watching your wallet, you’ve got some flexibility.

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Belly is an invitation to adventure, and only a fool would decline. If you’re a wine lover, you’ll probably revel in the unconventional offerings. If you’re more of a casual wine drinker, you’ll likely come out knowing a lot more about wine than you did when you went in. And if you know nothing about wine, or if the food is wholly unfamiliar, then it’s an opportunity to experiment in an environment that is anything but intimidating. The staff are very friendly, happy to explain everything on the menu, and eager for you to try the intriguing options they’ve clearly worked hard to offer you.

Address: One Kendall Square, Cambridge

Website:http://www.bellywinebar.com/

The Haven

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

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/

Outdoor Seating, Part 3 – Up on the Roof

First of the fall and then she gooooes back/Bye, bye, bye bye…

Want to see something depressing? Look at today’s date.

Yeah.

August is nearly over, and summer is hanging by a thread. This pains me. Terribly. Don’t get me wrong – I’m excited for football, crisp autumn days, dark beers, and an abundance of pumpkin-flavored food and beverages. It’s what follows autumn that I abhor.

Anyway, no need to get ahead of ourselves. It’s still summer for a little while, and hopefully we’ll have some pleasant weather as the season shifts. But it’s time to wrap up the Outdoor Seating series while there’s still a month or so to enjoy the simple pleasure of sipping a cocktail in the great urban outdoors. So after a week of drinking on the water, and another hiding out on back decks, we look to the sky for the final installment – rooftop bars.

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You’d think more restaurants in Boston would make use of their rooftops. Space is always at a premium here, and relatively few places have enough room for the secluded patios we looked at last time. Roof decks make efficient use of that limited real estate and offer a surprisingly quiet alternative to bars that are often in very congested city areas. Personally, I appreciate the novelty of the experience – the anticipation of walking up a dark staircase and emerging onto a rooftop patio bathed in afternoon sun or illuminated by soft lighting at night, and undetectable from the street. If nothing else, it’s just cool to think “I’m on a roof!”

Our first stop is Harvard Square. Unlike some areas of town that quiet down when school is out of session, Harvard gets even busier in the summer. It feels like a hastily thrown-together collage of shops, restaurants, bars, street musicians, tourists, and a million cars vying for about 20 parking spots.

If the mere thought of dining alfresco amid such constant activity sounds overwhelming, you’ll be surprised to know that there are actually some really good outdoor options in Harvard Square. But if you need to get even further away from the crowds, Daedalus offers a refuge on its roof deck.

Daedalus

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Indoors or outdoors, this was my first trip to Daedalus. It’s is a short walk out of Harvard Square proper (sort of on the way to Central), so it’s already a little bit removed from the heaviest foot traffic.

I stopped by at about 6:15 on a Friday evening with Kelly and Ivys, prior to meeting up with the rest of the barhopping crew. At the time I was a little concerned as to whether a roof deck was a good idea; the day had been, by all accounts, a steamah. But the Daedalus roof deck is well equipped to handle even the quirkiest New England summer days, whether it be searing heat or the out-of-nowhere thunderstorms we’ve had all season (not that I think they’d let you out there during a thunderstorm). Large red umbrellas on most of the 15 or so tables keep the sun from baking you, and there’s a covered section with ceiling fans to cool things down.

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The roof scene was fairly quiet when we arrived; maybe a dozen people there. By 7 p.m., the whole deck was filling up fast. And despite the scorching heat, the sun was fading and a nice breeze was kicking up.

Since there’s no bar on the Daedalus roof deck, and you must order food in order to drink up there, we grabbed a corner table and began perusing the menu.

Daedalus has a respectable beer list, but if ever there was a time for a cold, fruity cocktail, it was a warm August night like this one. Kelly got things under way with a Caipirinha. Daedalus’s take on the national drink of Brazil was made with Leblon cachaca, fresh limes, and sugar, on the rocks.

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I opted for a coconut Mai Tai, which swaps out regular rum for Malibu and throws in a little dark rum for good measure.

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After snacking on hummus and pita, we moved onto dinner. Ivys went with the evening’s special – risotto with steak and scallops. It was a delicious combination, kind of like an Italian surf and turf, and was beautifully presented.

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Kelly was pleased with her crab cake sandwich, topped with avocado and a spicy chipotle aioli.

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I got the Cuban sandwich, which I would characterize as acceptable (and given that the best Cuban money can buy is just a little further up Mass Ave at Chez Henri, I’m being generous).

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The Daedalus roof deck is spacious and uncluttered, the wooden tables nicely spread out. Flower beds add color and create the impression of being on a secluded rooftop garden. Cool-looking rectangular lanterns come to life as twilight falls, and the whole deck takes on a peaceful ambience.

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Try to hold onto that peaceful feeling when they bring you the check. Daedalus is a lovely environment, no doubt; but the food is seriously overpriced. I’ll give them a pass on the crab cake, which, at $13.95, is comparable to what you’d pay elsewhere. But my Cuban was the same price, and the sandwich was disappointing. Ivys’ risotto was a staggering $21.95. Granted, it was a special, and quite good, but for that price I’d expect more than two steak tips and a few scallops.

Kelly’s Caipirinha (I’ll be glad when I’m done with this section of the post so I can stop looking up how to spell that) was $9, and my coconut Mai Tai was $10. On the one hand, that’s what nicer drinks tend to cost around here; on the other, these weren’t exactly craft cocktails. Pretty good, but nothing special. We’ll call it a draw.

But as I observed in my visits to Alley Bar and RumBa, sometimes you have to pay a little more if you want a certain atmosphere. Prices aside, we had a really nice experience at Daedalus. It’s a beautiful, quiet environment that’s well suited to a summer evening and warrants at least one visit.

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While Daedalus creates some secluded rooftop space in busy Harvard Square, the Rattlesnake Bar and Grill does the same thing in Back Bay. Before executive chef Brian Poe put Shangri-La out of its misery and made it the Tip Tap Room, he gave a stunning culinary makeover to the Rattlesnake, a bar that was never exactly renowned for its food. Now it’s a destination, and the highlight is the roof deck.

The Rattlesnake

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The Rattlesnake roof deck is somewhat sparse in terms of its décor, yet it’s also visually striking (kind of like the Tip Tap Room, now that I think of it). While the walls are painted bright red, the bar and the wooden floor are black, providing a nice contrast. The whole area has a nice glow when the lights come on. And if it’s too hot, the Rattlesnake now employs misting machines to keep you cool.

I was here at about 6:30 on a Monday night, and the roof deck was hoppin’. Unlike Daedalus, the Rattlesnake roof deck has its own bar. That made the scene a lot more lively, as it attracts more of an after-work crowd. There are about 15 tables, which were filling up when I got there.

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Rattlesnake offers a handful of cocktails, along with a separate list of margaritas (which was their hallmark before the menu got its upgrade a few years ago). The draft beers on the roof deck are limited – Sam Summer, Harpoon, and Blue Moon, but the bottle and can selection is much more expansive.

I started with a glass of sangria, which has been my warm-weather standby cocktail this year. Refreshing, not too sweet, and perfect for yet another sizzling August evening.

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The advantage of having a bar up here means you can stop in just for drinks, but you’d be foolish to skip the food. The menu is pretty extensive, and as with any Brian Poe creation, very little of it is conventional. Take the corn bread, which I got as an appetizer. As awesomely delicious as corn bread is, it’s a pretty simple, consistent formula. Rattlesnake, by contrast, makes a grilled corn bread and jazzes it up with chiles and Guadalajara butter. The result was rich, dense, and smoky, like Southwestern cuisine colliding with Southern BBQ.

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I probably could have stopped right there, but the undisputed highlight of Rattlesnake’s menu is “Tacos a la Poe,” and I wasn’t skipping that. Forget your typical taco fillings like chicken, beef, or carnitas. Rattlesnake’s tacos are upscale and innovative, and you can choose from fillings such as fish, duck, lamb, and scallops, among others. I got the Spicy Cubano tacos – chipotle- and lime-marinated smoked pork loin, pickles (normally unacceptable on my plate but essential for a Cuban), Swiss cheese, jalapeno pickled red onion, and habanero saffron slaw.

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If I were less vain, I would have taken a picture of my face while I was eating this, since it probably matched the bright red walls. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson after the Toro Furioso episode at Five Horses.

Intense as they were, the tacos were fantastic. Very tender, thinly sliced pork. My mouth aflame, I left the cocktails behind and went for a Blue Moon.

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Prices here are higher than at your typical bar; but then again, this is anything but typical bar food. The corn bread was $8.25, and my tacos were $12.75. Pretty good deal for innovative recipes that you wouldn’t find just anywhere.

The beers are kind of pricey. My Blue Moon was an absurd $6.50 (but after the heat of those tacos, I would have spent $20 for it). The sangria, on the other hand, was $8, which is eminently reasonable.

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For our final destination, we head to one of the most densely packed areas in Boston. The North End crams what feels like 5,000 or so Italian eateries into approximately two city blocks. And summer is probably this neighborhood’s busiest and most popular season; locals and tourists alike hit the North End in full force, clogging its narrow, winding streets, standing in long lines at the pastry shops, and creating interminable waits at many of the small, quaint restaurants. Needless to say, there’s no shortage of options for Italian food here. Yet as far as I know, only Ristorante Fiore has a roof deck – and I can’t think of a better way to escape the chaos.

Ristorante Fiori

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And what a roof deck it is. Large and spacious, enclosed by white garden walls and exposed brick, Fiore’s rooftop is comfortable, casual, and impressive. The roof deck has its own bar, with a marble top and a dozen seats. There’s a TV behind the bar and a couple of ceiling fans to keep the air moving on those stifling summer days. The seven tables in the immediate vicinity make for a good apps-and-drinks atmosphere, and there’s a separate dining area with lights strung above it, creating a romantic scene when the sun goes down. A mural painted on the back wall evokes the Italian countryside.

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I arrived at 5:30 on a beautiful Monday evening and was surprised to find not another soul at the bar. Both the dining area and the bar started filling up about an hour later, though it never got terribly crowded while I was there.

A summer evening on the roof deck of an Italian restaurant put me in the mood for a glass of white wine. I began with a crisp, refreshing Sauvignon Blanc.

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As enjoyable as the wine was, I wished I’d taken a closer look at my surroundings. In front of me was a jug of pineapple-infused vodka. Now that’s not a big deal; plenty of bars infuse their own vodka. Then I noticed a jug of another clear liquid – but with large chunks of coconut. This was unusual. The bartender told me it was coconut-infused rum. What’s more, the two infusions combine to create the Fiore martini, a seasonal specialty that I promptly ordered. Sophisticated tropical perfection.

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That seasonal martini is only one option on what is an extensive cocktail list, highlighted by summery selections like a blood orange mojito and a cucumber cooler. And like any Italian restaurant worth its salt, there’s a wine list a mile long.

I wasn’t planning on eating, but I wasn’t planning on ordering a potent martini on top of my wine, either. I got an appetizer of calamari that wasn’t spectacular, but kept me upright.

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Fiore’s prices are pretty standard for the North End. My wine was $8, which is reasonable. The cocktails range from $10 to $14, and the calamari was $12. Entrée prices are a little up there, but again, comparable for the area.

What’s incomparable is the experience. There are plenty of restaurants in the North End with huge windows that open onto the street, giving you the comforts of indoor dining with outdoor air and a view of the always bustling Italian neighborhood. But for me, nothing beats a secluded rooftop, far above the crowds, with only the night sky and soft lighting above.

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Last Call

As I said when I began this series, finding quality outdoor seating can be a challenge in Boston. Of course, the same could be said for any major city. Gray buildings, loud cars, busy streets, crowded sidewalks – most people don’t relish these sights and sounds when they’re in the mood for a quiet dinner or a few drinks.

In some cases, you might find yourself paying a little more for your relative seclusion; it’s up to you whether the scenery is worth a $7 beer. But there are plenty of places that are affordable and still give you a chance to enjoy the weather.

That said, any bar or restaurant can just stick a few tables and chairs on the sidewalk. But the places that get it right are the ones that find a way to transport you. Whether it’s cocktails by the water, beers on a back deck, or dinner on a rooftop, the best-conceived outdoor seating areas constitute something of a sanctuary – no matter how congested the surrounding area.

Daedalus: 45½ Mount Auburn Street, Cambridge

Website: http://www.daedalusharvardsquare.com/

Rattlesnake Bar and Grill: 384 Boylston Street, Boston

Website: http://www.rattlesnakebar.com/

Ristorante Fiore: 250 Hanover Street, Boston

Website: http://www.ristorantefiore.com/

Meadhall

Cambridge’s Kendall Square is, in a word, disappointing. I mean, it’s not a dump, not a bad area of town. It’s not even a bad place; it could just be so much better. In Kendall’s endlessly long, empty streets, I see unlimited potential. Like that other square in Cambridge that houses a world-renowned university, I want it to be the kind of neighborhood that both locals and tourists flock to. I expect it to be thriving, full of activity, populated by dozens of cool bars, restaurants, interesting shops, and more. Full of popular attractions as well as hidden gems.

It’s not.

Every time I step off the Kendall T stop, I have no idea where I am (even when I’m with people who frequent Kendall, they tend to take a minute to get their bearings). Maybe because everything looks the same. Lots of drab office buildings. And anywhere you’re going in Kendall, regardless of where you are, is at least a 10-minute walk (with directions that usually involve cutting through a hotel lobby).

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Which is not to say there’s no reason to go to Kendall. There’s plenty to do, in fact; it’s just all spread out and makes you feel like you’re in the middle of nowhere. The Kendall Square Cinema is a very nice theater showing independent films. Flat Top Johnny’s is a really cool pool hall. And if you’re looking for adult beverages, a trip to Kendall is certainly worth your while. Cambridge Brewing Company brews their own excellent beer. Lord Hobo has an impressive beer list, a respectable menu of cocktails, and an always intriguing music selection. Then there is the subject of this week’s post: a two-floor tribute to European drinking culture, with a selection of draft microbrews that makes it a true standout in the Boston area and a bona fide destination in Kendall Square – Meadhall.

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Stepping into Meadhall is like stepping into a Bavarian beer hall. It’s a vast, open space with high ceilings, a massive bar in the center of the room, two floors, and a stunning 100 beers on draft. All that’s missing are big-bosomed women slinging beer steins and a bunch of red-faced old men singing bawdy drinking songs.

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Although it’s only been open a little over a year, Meadhall has a classic, timeless look that might make you think it’s been there forever. The décor is minimal, with a few large brewery banners serving as the only ornamental touches of color. Old-school chandeliers and cracks in the stone floor contribute to an “aged” appearance. There are no TVs on the main floor, which makes it the second bar I’ve been to in the past couple of months that thoughtfully forgoes such modern amenities (the other being Saloon). Floor-to-ceiling windows open in the nice weather and offer a view of Kendall’s wide open spaces.

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The bar itself is impressive. It’s oval-shaped and surrounded by 40 comfortable chairs. The warm, handsome-looking wood, with desk lamps that illuminate the bar surface, give you the feeling of sitting at a great, big desk. And right in the middle is a glorious, wraparound bank of 100 beer taps.

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Anyone could be forgiven for being momentarily overwhelmed by the beer selection here. It’s not exactly the kind of bar where you can glance at a few tap handles and make a quick decision. Meadhall’s draft offerings are listed on an enormous chalkboard high up on the wall, presumably attended to by someone who has exceptional handwriting skills and no fear of heights.

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Here the beers are helpfully delineated by style – Amber, Saison, Porter, Stout, and on and on. If you’re still unsure about what you want, don't fret. The bartenders on the occasions I’ve been here have been quite knowledgeable about each beer – no small feat with that many offerings – and they’re quick to offer you a sample of anything you want.

And chances are, you’ll find a beer you’ll like, unless you’re looking for something like Bud Light. Meadhall is all about craft beers and microbrews, with an emphasis on Belgian-style beers and local and regional breweries. Without doubt, Meadhall caters to the discerning beer drinker.

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Interestingly, it was not beer but cider that led me to Meadhall on a recent Saturday night. It was a warm evening, and in a quest to get material for my Outdoor Seating extravaganza, I’d been hitting roof decks and patios all day with a fever pitch. That brought me to the outdoor patio at The Field in Central Square, with Jen, Kelly, and Kat.

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As we plotted our next move, Jen suggested Meadhall, because she thought they had a roof deck (which they do not). And, whether we ended up drinking outside or inside, we wanted to go somewhere kind of close by; Jen again offered Meadhall, even though it required a cab ride or a trip on the T. We kept throwing around various options, and Jen kept throwing around Meadhall.

And it wasn’t even because she really loves the place or had a hankering for craft beer – rather, she kept going on about a cider that she’d had the last time she was there and wanted to have again. (For me, this was not a reason to trek all the way to Meadhall, or any bar.)

Unsurprisingly, we settled on Meadhall.

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We arrived around 8:30 and were joined by the elusive Dolan (she has a first name, but nobody uses it; at this point, I’m not 100 percent sure I even remember it). There was a good Saturday night crowd, but it wasn’t packed yet. The five of us were able to commandeer a few seats on one end of the bar, and there were also still tables available. Half an hour later, nearly all the bar seats were taken, most of the tables were filling up, and the upstairs was full too.

We’d barely gotten settled in our seats before Jen was pounding the bar and calling for her cider. When it finally came, she downed it in one gulp, demanded another, and finally mellowed out a bit.

I started the evening with a newish favorite – Victory Prima Pils. Solid, crisp, and clean…and look at that glass!

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One of the things that’s most interesting about this place, and nearly everyone remarks on it, is that they go out of their way to serve each beer (or cider) in its matching glassware. You know, I’d never think less of a bar for serving a Blue Moon in a Newcastle glass, because frankly, why would you care? Yet Meadhall’s insistence on matching beers with the appropriate glasses is not only charming but also feels, somehow, like the right way to do it. (Or maybe the owner’s just really anal.)

I only recently tried Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale, during my trip to the Tip Tap Room, but Kat’s been drinking it by the gallon for years. Her glass was even cooler than mine, and her beer more complex.

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By this point Dolan, a hard cider aficionado, had joined Jen’s chorus about this cider they were drinking. Needless to say, I had to see what all the fuss was about. Now, I’m not a big cider guy; I order one now and again – usually Magners or, if I can find it on tap, Harpoon. The problem for me is that my personal gold standard for hard cider is one that my friend John, of Brew Dudes fame, made last Thanksgiving. It was rich, potent, smooth, and thick – like actual apple cider. I only had John’s brew one time, but every cider I’ve had since then has been embarrassingly inferior.

Until I had Downeast Cider. And suddenly, Jen’s exuberance was understandable.

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Downeast Cider is a craft cider made in Maine with locally grown and freshly pressed apples. I raised this unfiltered brew to my lips and was greeted by the pure aroma of apples – as opposed to something that’s supposed to taste like apples. It looks like that thick, brown cider you have on Thanksgiving. Someone at the bar said it reminded her of “rural Virginia.” For me it recalled the homebrewed version that John made (and hopefully will make again) and pretty much ensured that I’ll never order another brand.

I stuck with Downeast the rest of the night. Jen or Kelly ordered the other cider on tap, Fatty Bampkins. We all diplomatically agreed it was “pretty good.”

Since my Saturday night visit to Meadhall was so dominated by the cider (and I swear, I’m not on Downeast’s payroll), I figured I’d better make a follow-up trip and discuss a little more beer. So I stopped in on a Sunday afternoon around 2, and promptly ordered a cider.

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But after that, I figured I’d try one of the two flights of Belgian beers that Meadhall offers. I’ve never really acquired a taste for Belgian-style beers, but I decided to take a chance. I got the Ommegang Flight – Ommegang Witte, Ommegang Belgian Pale Ale, Rare Vos, Hennepon, and Ommegang Abbey Ale. I enjoyed all five, and if I were better versed in Belgian beer nomenclature, I’d describe each one in excruciating detail. But what I will say is that they were all a little milder than your typical Belgian beer (and I know there are some beer connoisseurs out there cringing at my lumping Belgian beers together and calling them “typical”). The flight is especially good if you’re feeling indecisive; you don’t get to choose your beers, but the ones they give you are carefully thought out and arranged.

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A little food was in order. Meadhall offers a “weekend menu,” an abbreviated version of their regular dinner menu. I went with Bourbon Barrel pork sliders, made with the Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale barbecue sauce. The sliders were good, but were befouled by pickles. (I disdain pickles on sandwiches – except Cuban sandwiches, but that’s another story.)

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There’s a small cocktail list if you neither like nor are in the mood for beer. I tried the iced toddy, which is like a hot toddy, but…well, you get it. It was a refreshing drink for a hot day – tea, Apple Jack brandy, ginger liqueur, lemon, and honey syrup, topped deliciously with ground clove, which just put it right over the top.

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Cocktails and ciders aside, Meadhall is clearly about the beer. So it wasn’t until I started writing this post that it dawned on me – does Meadhall serve mead? I mean, it’s called Meadhall – not Beerhall. This necessitated yet another visit.

I stopped in around 5:30 on a Thursday and found the bar nearly full with after-work imbibers. Sure enough, Meadhall serves mead. There are three “meaderies” represented – Honeymaker, out of Maine, and Moonlight and Sap House, both in New Hampshire – and each have several styles represented on the menu. It’s pretty rare that I drink mead; then again, who does drink mead on a regular basis? I don’t mind it, but as you may know, it’s incredibly sweet. So I opted for a Honeymaker mead described as “dry.” As meads go, it was pretty good; ironically, I would have liked it to be sweeter (look, I’m a complicated individual, OK?).

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I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that the mead was served in a matching Honeymaker glass. The woman next to me, noting the dainty glass and the honey wine it held, remarked “It’s hard to imagine Vikings drinking that.” Fair point, but we agreed that the Viking version was probably very primitive and attracted bugs, so this was a step up. I switched to a Peak Organic Summer Session, a crisp, American wheat beer, and called it a night.

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Last Call

Every time I come to Meadhall, my appreciation of it grows. It’s popular after work and fills up quickly, but with 40 seats at the bar and plenty of space to stand, the crowd never feels too dense. It’s attractive during the day, when the big windows let in an abundance of natural light. But it’s even better at night, when the interior is illuminated almost solely by the chandeliers and desk lamps. The upstairs area, which is sometimes rented out for private functions, offers cushy leather chairs and couches and has a smaller bar.

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Prices here are pretty standard. Most beers are around $5, but there are some fancy ones that’ll cost you a little more. My beer flight was $10. The Downeast Cider was $7, and cocktails are $10. The food’s a little pricey, but there are snacks and small plates that are pretty reasonable. The pulled pork sliders I had were $12, which I think is a little high (but when it comes to pork sliders, I’ve been spoiled by the $5 happy hour special at the Corner Tavern).

As Cambridge “squares” go, Kendall may lack the vibrancy of Harvard or Central; but those other places lack anything resembling Meadhall. In a city that boasts many bars specializing in microwbrews, Meadhall is a true destination for any beer drinker.

Even if you prefer cider.

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Address: 4 Cambridge Center, Cambridge

Website: The website is “coming soon,” but you can check out the placeholder here: http://themeadhall.com/. I imagine they’re too busy sampling their beers to finish the website, and I can’t say that I blame them.

Outdoor Seating, Part 2 – Back Decks and Patios

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The first installment of the Outdoor Seating series was all about the view. From the upscale, open-air patio at RumBa to the casual, spacious roof deck at Whiskey Priest, there’s more than one way to enjoy drinks and sweeping water views, whatever your mood or budget. And it’s not just about staring at a body of water while you imbibe. It’s about doing so in a place that feels far removed from the city with its attendant noise, traffic, and crowds. Fresh air and nice weather don’t hurt, either. But waterfront bars aren’t the only way to drink alfresco and still escape the commotion of the city; you can find more than one outdoor respite even in the busiest areas of Boston. Those alternatives may be a little difficult to find – in fact, with regard to each bar in this week’s post, at least one person I talked with said, “I didn’t even know that place had outdoor seating.” With that in mind, we move further inland this week and check out a few bars with back decks and patios – some in places you’d least expect.

Central Square in Cambridge is about as far as you can get from the waterfront, and I don’t mean geographically. Central’s an interesting place. There’s a lot of shops, a lot of restaurants, a lot of bars, a lot of things to do – but mostly, there’s just a lot of stuff there. The area is very dense; picture an endless stretch of tightly packed store fronts and a constant stream of traffic (not that the latter should distinguish it from most places in the Boston area). Don’t get me wrong, Central’s a cool, hip area, but in terms of Cambridge neighborhoods, it lacks the color and richness of, say Harvard Square.

That’s what makes the back patio at The Field such a find (though ask our friend Kayti what a “find” it is, since she had so much trouble finding it). Tucked down a side street, The Field is just far enough from Mass Ave. that it feels a little out of the way, and the inside is comfortably well-worn, homey, and familiar. You probably wouldn’t even think to go through the black exit door at the back of the bar unless it was already open. But when you do, you find yourself in an unexpected oasis in an otherwise busy area.

The Field

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The back patio at The Field offers a surprising dose of fresh air and a sense of distance from the noise of Central. Enclosed by adjacent brick buildings and red garden walls, sitting back here allows you to forget about the cars and the foot traffic for a little while. Plants and flowerbeds offer a hint of nature and a marked contrast to Central’s gray, urban landscape. The patio is a relatively small area, but it’s not jam-packed with tables, and it seems larger because of the open space. There’s also a good-size TV if you need to keep up with the Sox or whatever else is going on.

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I stopped in on a Saturday night with a few fellow barhoppers – my sister Kelly and our friends Kat, Jen, and, once she found the place, Kayti (in The Field’s defense, I’d attribute this more to user error than the actual hiddenness of the bar). There were about 20 people outside at 7:30, but we had no problem getting one of the 9 or 10 tables.

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The Field sports a pretty respectable list of draft beers. They call their Guinness “the best in town,” though I have no idea what would distinguish it as such. We started off with a few Blue Moons, which has become my unofficial beer of summer 2012 (I switched to Magners later just to shake things up).

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Kayti got a glass of wine, the stem of which she later broke under circumstances I can only describe as mysterious. Add in a plate of chili cheese fries, and our night was in full swing. We enjoyed drinks and good conversation as darkness slowly crept in and the lights surrounding the patio clicked on, setting a perfect summer night mood.

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While Central has a very busy feel all year round, summer in Kenmore Square is hectic for a different reason...

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So if you find yourself in Kenmore on game day, and you need a break from the crowds, you might head over to the patio at Audubon Circle.

Audubon Circle

When I first came to Audubon Circle in April, a couple of things really stood out to me. First, despite its proximity to Fenway Park, it eschewed the sports bar trappings that characterize so many of the bars in this area. Second, I was impressed by its unique ambience – it exudes a refreshing, Zen-like minimalism that I haven’t encountered in many bars in the city.

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It should come as no surprise, then, that Audubon Circle’s back patio is also unlike any other in Boston. It reflects the same simple, calm atmosphere that defines the bar. Granted, given Audubon’s general vibe, I wasn’t exactly expecting loud music, plastic tables with colorful umbrellas, and a menu of sugary margaritas. But I was impressed by the degree to which, even on a sunny August day, the essence of the bar’s dark, calm interior seemed to extend to the back patio.

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Audubon’s patio is a small area, enclosed by dark brown wooden fencing, similar in color to the hardwood inside the bar. What’s most striking, though, are the tall bamboo plants that surround the patio, giving the area an unusually serene look. There are six small tables and one large one, with concrete tops that add a stone-like earthiness to the picture.

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I stopped in for lunch on a scorching Saturday afternoon. The Sox were playing later that night, so Kenmore was relatively quiet at that point, and Audubon was sparsely populated. The heat and humidity might not have made sitting outside an obvious choice, but I was undaunted (anything for the blog).

A cold Sam Summer provided a much-needed antidote from the heat.

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And while I sipped my beer and contemplated my surroundings, I noticed that the bamboo plants did more than just offer a unique outdoor décor – in place of table umbrellas, they kept the afternoon sun mostly at bay. Add in a soft summer breeze and a Kobe beef hot dog, and my trip to Audubon made for one pleasant afternoon.

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From Kenmore we head down Commonwealth Ave. to Allston. Yes, Allston. It might not be the most obvious destination for outdoor seating; like Central, the sprawling urban terrain won’t prompt you to say, “Ahhhh, what a great place to experience a little fresh air and bask in some lush scenery.” Then there’s the small matter of the billion or so college students who reside there, making you feel elderly every time you step into an area bar.

But don’t be so quick to dismiss Allston – especially in the summer, when school’s out and the student population is thus greatly diminished. And while, students or no, the prospect of eating and drinking outdoors in this gritty neighborhood might not seem overly appealing, there are a couple of places worth checking out.

Deep Ellum

We start with Deep Ellum. It’s a small, dark bar that attracts a customer base with an elevated palate for beer. And while Deep Ellum is known far and wide for its top-notch selection of craft brews, surprisingly few people know about its comfortable back deck.

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Enclosed by dark wood and brick, Deep Ellum’s outdoor area echoes its interior’s aesthetics but not necessarily its atmosphere. For all the good things I can say about drinking indoors at Deep Ellum, it also tends to get very loud in there, even when it’s not crowded – which it usually is. And when it’s a full house, just moving around can be a challenge.

The back deck stands in stark contrast. It’s not a large space, but it feels very open. There are 15 to 17 small tables with metal chairs, and a wooden bench running around the perimeter. Flowers and plants, along with vines crawling up the brick walls of the adjacent buildings, give it a garden feel. Large orange umbrellas cut down on the sun, and a few surprisingly powerful fans keep the space pretty cool.

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Kelly graciously offered to accompany on my recent Allston tour, and we stopped by on a Saturday afternoon. There was a surprising number of people inside, but only a few on the back deck. We grabbed a corner table and began perusing the extensive beer selection.

Deep Ellum’s draft beer list is second to none; this is not the kind of place you come to for a Bud Light. The beer menu is heavy on Belgian offerings, half of which I wouldn’t even know how to pronounce, like Brouwerij Van Honsebrouck (I could handle the “Van” part). I opted for a Mayflower Summer Rye, Mayflower having become one of my favorite breweries in recent years.

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Light, crisp, and refreshing – not a bad choice for a hot summer day.

While I’ve always thought of Deep Ellum as a destination for great beer, I recently learned that their cocktails aren’t too shabby either. Kelly went with one called Summer in Sao Paulo – Germana aged cachaca (a liquor made from fermented sugar cane, popular in Brazil), honey ginger syrup, mint, and lime. It was reminiscent of a mojito, but cachaca in place of rum gave it a noticeably different flavor. Sweet, cold, and ideally suited to the sweltering weather.

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Deep Ellum would thrive even if they didn’t serve food; the fact that they offer an excellent menu is just a splendid bonus. I’ll speak more to that in a future review, but on this trip, Kelly and I got deviled eggs. They come four to a plate and incorporate a little variety – two are Deep Ellum’s standard recipe, and two are part of a rotating daily special, which in this case was truffle oil and garlic. (This makes Deep Ellum the only place I know of that has a daily deviled egg special.) Once a summer picnic staple, they were well suited to our garden-like surroundings.

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My last selection is probably going to make you laugh. Like me, you’ll probably be astonished to learn that Allston’s White Horse Tavern, a quintessential “college” bar, actually has outdoor seating. Well, they do. And I have to admit…in terms of patios and back decks in Boston, it’s one of the best I’ve been to.

White Horse Tavern

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When I mentioned that I was headed to White Horse Tavern for a review, most people giggled and said, “Wow, I haven’t been there since…” If you’re past the age of, say, 25, White Horse feels like the last page of a chapter long closed. And your memories – however fuzzy – are probably something like this: a dark, somewhat dingy room; burgers, nachos, and cheap beer; a big group of friends; and a rowdy night climaxing in a round or two of shots. Sound about right?

I certainly have no issue with White Horse Tavern, but I can’t say I would have paid them a visit had I not heard about the back patio. And my expectations weren’t terribly high. I figured, “Well, I’m going to Deep Ellum anyway, I’ll walk up Brighton Ave. and have a look; what have I got to lose?” I wasn’t even sure White Horse truly had outdoor seating. Apart from my general incredulity, I found no mention of this on their website, and it wasn’t until set foot out the back door that I was truly convinced – and pleasantly surprised.

The back patio has its own bar, covered by an enormous, retractable awning that suitably blocks out the sun. There are about 15 wicker chairs, and two large TVs that were showing the Olympics when Kelly and I were there. Aside from the immediate bar area, there are 10 to 15 tables of varying size, most protected by blue Sam Adams umbrellas.

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There are two beers on draft – Sam Summer and Harpoon Red Paint, which is a British IPA brewed exclusively for the owner of White Horse and his other bars. There’s also a full liquor offering, along with the regular food menu from indoors and a separate “patio menu” of mostly extended appetizers – tater tots, that sort of thing. Exactly what you’d want to snack on while sipping drinks on a summer afternoon.

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Enclosed by wooden fencing with hanging flower baskets, this is an attractive setup. And I’m told it looks really cool at night, when the lights come on.

I have to say…this is not the White Horse I remember.

I made a beeline for the Harpoon Red Paint, which is poured via a neat paintbrush tap handle, while Kelly went for Sam Summer. The bartender, Jessie, took great care of us, and when I explained my purpose in being there, happily told us all about the bar, the patio, the food specials, the nightly events, you name it.

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As I looked around the patio, perused the extensive menu, and chatted with Jessie, I started to get the impression that the reputation of being “just a college bar” rankles the staff somewhat – and I think they’re attempting to broaden White Horse’s appeal. Just investing in this patio (which has apparently been open for a few years) shows a willingness to upgrade a place that could easily thrive year-round as a simple dive bar.

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But it’s not just the back patio that make me think White Horse would like to shed its old identity as a burger-and-cheap-beer hangout. For starters, having a beer brewed exclusively for your establishment by Harpoon tends to set you apart from other Allston bars. What really sealed the deal, though, was when Jessie persuaded us to visit the “Lemonade Stand” section of the drink menu. It’s a selection of alcoholic lemonade cocktails that Jessie exuberantly insisted we try. Since she came up with one of the recipes herself, and because it was a perfect day for a cold lemonade, how could we say no?

Now, when a bar that traditionally caters to the college crowd offers a “lemonade drink,” what do you figure it will be? Some artificial, sugary mix thrown in a blender with ice and cheap vodka. Gut rot and the promise of a wicked hangover.

But at the White Horse back patio, the surprises just keep on coming.

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I watched Jessie whip up a strawberry lemonade the likes of which I’d never before encountered. Freshly squeezed lemons, muddled fresh fruit, served in a Mason jar – a Mason jar! The drink was phenomenal – wonderfully fresh, with a natural sweetness and a rich, thick texture. It felt like there was fruit in every sip, and it was dangerously smooth! I could have sat there for hours with one (or two).

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Given its proximity to Boston University, White Horse will always be a “college bar.” But that doesn’t mean it can’t try to be more, and from what I’ve seen, the effort pays off. The strawberry lemonade prompted Kelly to remark that their other drinks might be worth a try sometime. Likewise, the experience as a whole made me think…I should really come back here.

Last Call

Sipping cocktails at an outdoor bar on the waterfront makes all kinds of sense. But right smack dab in a busy city? That can be more challenging. As I said earlier, most people I talked with were surprised that the four bars in this week’s post even had outdoor areas. What’s more surprising is how well they work – especially in some of the last places you’d imagine.

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Of course, that might be because each of these patios or back decks takes you out of your urban environment and offers in its place a peaceful and detached atmosphere. I’m not going to try to say that each one transports you to a whole other place – just peer over the fences and you’ll remember you’re in the city. But when you’re surrounded by tall, green bamboo plants at Audubon Circle or lounging beneath the big canopy at White Horse, it’s hard not feel a sense of relief from crowds, cars, and pavement.

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Drink prices at all the bars I went to were very typical for the city – $5 to $6 for the beers, $10 for Kelly’s cocktail at Deep Ellum, $9 for the strawberry lemonade at White Horse (and worth every cent). The snacks are reasonably priced, too – $4 for the hot dogs at Audubon, $6 for the deviled eggs at Deep Ellum.

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Even on the hottest days, all four bars offer some kind of protection from the sun. But twilight is an even better time to visit, when the air cools down, the lights come on, and you can sip a drink and soak up summer while it lasts.

The Field: 20 Prospect Street, Cambridge

Website: http://thefieldpub.com/

Audubon Circle: 838 Beacon Street, Boston

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

Deep Ellum: 477 Cambridge Street, Allston

Website: http://www.deepellum-boston.com/

White Horse Tavern: 116 Brighton Avenue, Allston

Website: http://www.whitehorseboston.com/

The Tip Tap Room

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/

Outdoor Seating, Part 1 – On the Waterfront

Summertiiiiiiiime, and the livin’ is easy… As I mentioned in my Montreal post, sometimes there’s nothing better than sitting outside on a summer evening and enjoying a cold brew or a refreshing cocktail. Maybe you’re unwinding after a long day, having glanced often and longingly out of your office window, wishing you were enjoying the weather. Or if you’re lucky, you’ve got the day off and are just enjoying the city, not adhering to a strict schedule or agenda. Whatever your purpose, sipping a cold one outside is a nice way to kill an hour or spend an evening.

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But I’ve found that drinking outside in a busy city like Boston can be a mixed bag. A lot of outdoor seating areas tend to be small and cramped, a few tables squeezed onto the sidewalk outside a restaurant. Some places can’t serve you alcohol if you aren’t also buying food. And when the seating area is adjacent to a loud street, conversation can be a struggle.

Maybe I’m just being whiny. Or…selective. Regardless, when it comes to imbibing outdoors, I’m always on the hunt for bars that get it right.

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With that in mind, I’ve been wanting to do a series of posts on bars with outdoor seating – where to find them, which bars do it really well, and so on. I figure I’ll do a few installments as the summer winds down (it pains me to type that, but the calendar doesn’t lie), focusing not just on specific bars but different neighborhoods in and around the city. I don’t intend for these posts to be full reviews of the bars themselves – just a few thoughts on the outdoor sections.

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Now, when it comes to eating and drinking outside, I think ambience is key. If traffic, trolley bells, and honking horns are your thing, maybe you’ll enjoy a bar that overlooks Commonwealth Avenue or Huntington. If you’re in a people-watching mood, maybe something on Newbury Street. Myself, I can’t think of anything better than enjoying a beverage while looking out on the water. So in our first week, we’ll look at handful of waterfront bars.

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RumBa

First up is the outdoor patio at RumBa, the swanky bar at the swanky Intercontinental Hotel. I hear it’s quite an experience inside, but the outside is certainly spectacular in its own right. Situated on the Fort Point Channel, the patio offers a gorgeous view while you sip your drink. And a historical one, as it overlooks the site of the Boston Tea Party.

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Facing the water, surrounded by plush grasses and planters filled with palms, RumBa feels like a patio at a tropical resort, thousands of miles from the hustle and bustle and noise of Boston. There’s an octagon-shaped bar in the center with a dozen seats, surrounded by about 10 tables and a few areas of couch-like seating beneath giant umbrellas. The bar’s name is not an ode to the Afro-Cuban dance but instead a play on the Boston accent – rum bahhhhhhh. Sure enough, the extensive selection of rum they offer can probably rival the wares of any Caribbean island. Peruse the cocktail list, gaze out at the harbor for a while, and you might even forget where you are.

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You’ll remember when you get the check, though. The Intercontinental is a highly upscale hotel, and you’ll pay accordingly. My Captain and Coke ran me $10; last I checked, that’s just a shot of rum and some Coke.

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But if you’re on a budget, and still want a buzz by the water, you can always go with beer. At $6, a Harpoon Summer is just a little higher than you’d pay at most area bars, though inexplicably, a Bud Light is also $6. For reasons I can’t wrap my head around, a Stella Artois will run you $7.

In case you thought you read that wrong, let me state it again: $7 for a Stella.

To be fair, though, you don’t come to a place like this just for a drink – you’re here for a drink and a view you can’t get at most bars in the city. And RumBa feels surprisingly secluded, which is a rare sensation in Boston. The clientele when I visited on a Saturday afternoon seemed mostly to be out-of-town hotel guests and a few locals who can afford to pay $7 for a Stella (I really needed to work that in there one more time).

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From RumBa, a 5-minute walk along the harbor will bring you to the Alley Bar at Rowes Wharf, part of the Boston Harbor Hotel. Alley Bar doesn’t offer the same sweeping views of the water that RumBa does, given that it’s situated in an alley (hence the name) between the harbor and Atlantic Avenue. But you can still look up and see boats at dock, and detect the salty scent of the ocean that wafts by in the breezy alley.

Alley Bar

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Surrounded by brick walls and the pinkish-red sandstone of nearby buildings, Alley Bar feels like an enormous hotel lobby with no roof. There are about 30 two-person tables with comfortable, high-backed wicker chairs, and a bar in the center of the area with five or six seats. The fire from heat lamps will keep you warm when the summer air carries a chill.

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I arrived at 5:30 on a Wednesday and found about 20 people there, a mix of hotel guests and guys in suits having after-work drinks. I was greeted by a most pleasant hostess, who told me they were offering samples of Solerno blood orange liqueur. Bittersweet, potent, and tasty, the Solerno was featured in a couple of that evening’s specialty cocktails.

Beautiful, dry weather, a free drink sample, and a complimentary oriental mix, complete with wasabi peas. My evening was off to a decent start.

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Intriguing as the liqueur was, I opted for sangria – a simple but satisfying choice for an early summer night.

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Made with Cointreau, brandy, red wine, and fruit juice, and topped with raspberries,

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blackberries, and blueberries, my drink was refreshing and not too sweet, as sangria often tends to be. Delicious as it was, I’m spoiled when it comes to sangria. My friend and fellow barhopper, Ivys, makes the very best I’ve ever had, so I’m not even sure why I order it when I’m out.

Like RumBa, Alley Bar is the outdoor portion of an upscale hotel bar, with prices to match. Stella will again run you $7 (I…I just don’t get it), Harpoon Summer and Bud Light $6. My sangria was $13, like the majority of their cocktails, but it was an admittedly generous pour.

Again, you’re paying in large part for the atmosphere, and Alley Bar’s couldn’t be more relaxed. In a relatively quiet area of the city, and just removed enough from the street so that the sound of cars isn’t a problem, Alley Bar strikes me as the sort of place I’d stop into for an hour on a summer afternoon when it’s a bit too early for dinner.

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A short walk across the bridge over the Fort Point Channel will bring you to a couple of places that are a little more down to earth. First up is the very popular Atlantic Beer Garden. It’s a favorite stop for people leaving Harpoon brewery tours, and in general, it’s probably one of the first bars that comes to mind when people around here think about having a few beers on the water.

Atlantic Beer Garden

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And why not? As outdoor seating goes, Atlantic Beer Garden gives you a few different options on its two floors. There’s a decent-size dining area in the front of the bar, along with a deck that runs around the back of the first floor overlooking the seaport.

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But what most people probably think of is Atlantic Beer Garden’s roof deck. If RumBa conjures up visions of a tropical resort, Atlantic Beer Garden, with its red umbrellas and plastic cups, feels more like a party on a friend’s porch (a friend who lives by the water). Very casual.

Also very popular – I don’t think I’ve ever been here and not found it completely crowded. You might find yourself waiting a bit for one of the 15 to 20 tables, and there’s really no place to stand around outside. It would be helpful if there were a bar on the deck, though there is one right inside where you can bide your time.

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My only other qualm might be one of those “this only happens to me” things, or it could be a peculiarity of the way Atlantic Beer Garden is positioned, but I always feel like I get stuck with a seat where the sun is blazing right in my face. Maybe that’s one of the occupational hazards that accompanies outdoor seating, or it might be because the seaport is a comparatively desolate area, with nothing to block out the sun (though I suppose that makes for some good views). The best way around that would be to visit in the evening; no one ever complains that the moon is too bright. Except burglars. But I digress.

Prices are a bit more reasonable here than at RumBa and Alley Bar. You can get a pitcher of something like Blue Moon for about $20, and you’d be wise to do so – again, it’s always packed, so the wait staff is usually in high demand.

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Right next door is a similar bar called Whiskey Priest. Like Atlantic Beer Garden, it occupies two floors and offers a splendid view. Whiskey Priest’s roof deck is a bit larger and more spread out, though, and it seems a bit less congested than its neighbor’s. There’s more room to walk around, and maybe because of that, it feels a little more laid back.

Whiskey Priest

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One big advantage at Whiskey Priest is that its roof deck actually does have a bar. This is valuable, because it gives you somewhere to stand and mill about if you’re waiting for a table or simply don’t want one. There are also TVs over the bar, an added bonus you wouldn’t expect to find when you’re outdoors.

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The beer selection is broad and reasonably priced; I paid $5.50 for a Harpoon Summer, which is standard just about anywhere in the city.

Last Call

Four bars, two on either side of the harbor. They all provide beautiful views while you imbibe, but each has something different to offer. RumBa can transport you to a tropical resort, while Alley Bar still feels like the city but with a sense of waterfront sophistication. I could see stopping by either one for some refreshment on a summer day. They each get their share of tourists, given that they’re hotel bars, and both have a fairly quiet ambience.

Atlantic Beer Garden and Whiskey Priest, by contrast, are more your typical Boston bar environment. I can spend (and have spent) entire nights at either place. Atlantic Beer Garden gives you multiple options for outside drinking and dining, while the roof deck at Whiskey Priest feels truly like an outdoor “bar” on account of its…well, bar.

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But regardless of which of these four most suits your purpose, you’ll be enjoying salty air, warm weather, and a refreshing drink. That makes any of them worth a visit.

RumBa: Intercontinental Hotel – 510 Atlantic Avenue, Boston

Website: http://www.intercontinentalboston.com/html/boston-bars.asp

Alley Bar at Rowes Wharf: Boston Harbor Hotel – Rowes Wharf, Boston

Website: http://www.bhh.com/

Atlantic Beer Garden: 146 Seaport Boulevard, Boston

Website: http://www.atlanticbeergarden.com/

Whiskey Priest: 150 Northern Avenue, Boston

Website: http://whiskey-priest.com/

Saloon

At this point it’s an understatement to say that Boston’s become a craft cocktail kind of town. I’ve already talked about Scholars, Church, Marliave, Emerald, Russell House Tavern, and a few other places that make wonderfully innovative drinks.

Then there are heavy hitters like Drink, Brick & Mortar, Eastern Standard, and many others that I either haven’t been to yet or haven’t had a chance to write about. And I can’t even begin to count the bars, well-renowned or not, that proudly display impressive menus devoted to superior concoctions or have highly skilled bartenders who can craft you a customized drink on the spot.

It seems fitting, then, that at a time when cocktails have experienced such a resurgence in the Boston area, we have a place like Davis Square’s Saloon – lovingly devoted to an era when cocktails were something special and required a particular skill to create.

Saloon is a well-conceived and beautifully executed tribute to pre-Prohibition American drinking establishments. From the cocktails, to the décor, to the food, to the snazzy outfits worn by the bartenders, walking into Saloon is like slipping into an early 20th century period piece – a time when, as Saloon’s website says, drinks were “serious and uncomplicated.”

Saloon captures one of the golden ages of cocktail making. Drinks may have been fairly simple back then, from the perspective of having fairly basic ingredients, but there was still a level of artistry involved in their composition.

That nuanced approach was greatly diminished with the onset of Prohibition. When the foolish Volstead Act outlawed the purchase and sale of intoxicating liquors, those who plied their trade on making drinks left for places like Paris and London, where their skills were still appreciated and, more importantly, legal. Or they stayed in America and were reduced to working illegally in shabby, makeshift “bars,” with far inferior ingredients.

Saloon hearkens back to those pre-Prohibition days, serving the sort of drinks that went out of style but shouldn’t have. True to the era they aim to emulate, Saloon’s signature cocktails are built on the basics – whiskey and gin. They’re not advertising chocolate martinis or colorful cosmopolitans, though I imagine they’ll make you whatever you want.

It is doubtless for all these reasons that, on a near-weekly basis since I started this blog, people have asked me “Have you been to Saloon yet?”

Yes, I’ve been; and there’s plenty to say. So toss a few ice cubes in a glass, pour yourself a generous serving of bourbon, and join me for a trip to a time when drinking was an art form, jazz was still young, and a night out was a formal affair.

Even though Saloon pays tribute to the days before Prohibition, it possesses elements of the speakeasies that started popping up when serving alcohol became a crime.

For starters, just finding Saloon can be a bit of a challenge. The first time I went, I walked right past it, even though I knew exactly where it was supposed to be. My sister Kelly, with whom I went most recently, had a similar experience, as have others. Saloon’s presence is indicated only by a small, illuminated globe bearing its name, and its nondescript, unmarked door tends to blend in with its surroundings.

Once you’ve located the door, you descend a long flight of stairs into a dark, subterranean bar with no windows, almost giving it an air of the secrecy that marked illegal drinking establishments back in the 1920s.

But any similarity to a sawdust-on-the-floor speakeasy falls away with one look at the subdued opulence of Saloon.

Kelly said it made her think of a library in a mansion; her imagination is expensive but accurate. Saloon’s interior has a very distinguished, elegant, old-money appearance. Exposed brick walls with cherry wood accents, dark-paneled wood on the ceiling, and worn-looking stone floors covered with Oriental rugs contribute to an atmosphere of reserve and maturity.

Dark red leather seating in the booths and well-stocked liquor cabinets on the walls paint a portrait of turn-of-the-century high society.

Chandeliers, wall sconces, and floor lamps make the good-size room feel cozy and intimate. The luxurious bar seats about 20 people, and there are maybe 30 tables or so for dining. Fresh ingredients adorn the bar, so you know you’re getting a quality cocktail.

Stepping into Saloon makes me feel like I’ve been invited into the den of some titan of industry for a snifter of brandy while we negotiate some back-room deal that will net us both millions. If only...

The owners of Saloon left few stones unturned in their efforts to evoke a classic American early 20th century mood. Big-band jazz plays at a comfortable level that doesn’t inhibit conversation. At times, it almost sounded like a band was tuning up in the next room; whether that’s because of the acoustics, or whether I was just swept up by the atmosphere, I’m not entirely sure.

The bar staff is decked out in spiffy duds with suspenders, providing an air of formality. The menus are printed on crinkly paper and affixed to clipboards (I don’t know what menus looked like a century ago, but since I’m guessing they weren’t all glossy and laminated, this is probably a faithful re-creation).

And there are no TVs. When’s the last time you were in a bar that had no TV?

That’s all well and good, but this is a bar, not a museum. So with that, we turn to the cocktails, the real star of this historical fantasy.

A cocktail was originally defined by just a few ingredients – spirits, bitters, water, sugar. Saloon’s drinks aren’t so severe, but they also don’t stray far from that formula. Their cocktail menu is divided into three sections – Bespoke (“mixed expressly for this establishment”), Strained, and Cubed. Whiskey and gin dominate, as they did back in the day, but Saloon offers a stunning array of spirits if you don’t feel like fully immersing yourself in tradition.

On my first visit I started right at the top of the drink list, ordering an Americana – bourbon, brown sugar, J. Thomas bitters (don’t ask, I have no idea), and sparkling wine. The sweetness of the sugar tamed the bite of the bourbon, and the sparkling wine gave the drink a pleasant, lively effervescence. A fine start to the evening, and a worthy introduction to Saloon.

Of course I had to try my favorite cocktail – a Manhattan. I figured that this most traditional of drinks would be handled deftly by a place so steeped in tradition, and I wasn’t disappointed. Bourbon, sweet vermouth, a dash of bitters, and a maraschino cherry. No more, no less.

Yet Saloon managed to surprise me. As I sipped it, I thought…what the hell kind of bourbon is this? So I asked the bartender “What the hell kind of bourbon is this?” He told me it was made, much to my surprise, with Old Granddad – the source of a long-running joke between my brother and me, and as bourbons go, not what you’d call top-shelf.

But then again, it’s exactly the sort of brand they’d have used back in the day, before there were so many domestic and imported options at our disposal. The drink was excellent, and once again, I was impressed with Saloon’s attention to detail.

On my second visit to Saloon, Kelly and I arrived around 5:30 to find about 15 patrons, mostly at the bar. I began my night with a Hamilton Daiquiri, a refreshing mix of rum, maraschino liqueur, lime, mint simple syrup, and tiki bitters.

With plenty of ice and garnished with a mint leaf, it was a delightful summertime drink.

Kelly opted for the descriptively titled “Vodka Drink” – vodka, sage simple syrup, limoncello, and soda. Clearly her favorite selection of the night, Kelly said the Vodka Drink was like gulping sipping a lemonade and couldn’t get over how simple it was (I guess the name was well chosen). Both that and the Hamilton Daiquiri provided much-needed relief after coming in from the broiling July heat.

Kelly’s next move was the Repo Man. I’m glad she got that one, because any drink that combines tequila and grappa isn’t high on my must-try list. She said it was intense (no kidding) but refreshing in its own way – I suppose the yellow chartreuse, St. Germain, lemon, and grapefruit bitters kept things in line. “This one has to go down more slowly,” she wisely added.

Since Kelly took a risk with the Repo Man, I couldn’t allow myself to be outdone. That said, a Gibson (a martini with a cocktail onion in place of an olive) might not sound terribly adventurous, but since I rarely order martinis on account of my dislike for dry vermouth, it at least qualifies as moderately bold. I was intrigued by Saloon’s “Another Gibson,” served with house-brined cocktail onions.

As I debated its merits, Kelly pointed out that it was also made with chive-infused gin…the novelty of which, I quickly decided, easily outweighed my disdain for dry vermouth. It was excellent – crisp and dry, with an understated sweetness that I attributed to the delicious onions. This was, hands down, my favorite drink of the night.

Two serious drinks in, it was time for some food. While we perused our dinner options, we settled on a couple of appetizers. First up was my favorite – deviled eggs, served on top of a spicy Russian dressing.

Alongside that we got beer-battered pickled peppers, stuffed with Boursin cheese and accompanied by a Ranch dipping sauce.

With a little food to even things out, we moved onto the house punch – a “Kentucky punch” for two, served in a flask. It seemed fitting to follow up my savory Gibson with something sweet, and the fruity taste paired nicely with our spicy appetizers.

I’m not exactly sure why they serve it in a flask, though I suppose it’s a nod to the days of Prohibition that would follow. But on behalf of Saloon and all those who appreciate the novelty of being served a cocktail in such a manner, please…don’t steal the flask. The bartender, Mona, mentioned that they had stopped serving the punch via flask (for a while, anyway) because people were stealing them. A fine flask like that will run you about $5 at the Container Store; if you need one that badly, please make a trip there and leave poor Saloon alone.

Unsurprisingly, Saloon’s dinner menu also pays homage to a bygone era. Among its old-time options are Bubble & Squeak (roasted sausage, mashed root vegetables, shaved Brussels sprouts, winter leeks, and onion gravy), Ploughman’s Platter (mustard and brown sugar roasted ham, cheddar, pickled onions, a hardboiled egg, a Branston pickle, and crusty bread), and cottage pie. Kelly and I played it a little conservatively.

I opted for maple-braised pork belly with baked beans and toasted brown bread, while Kelly went with fish and chips, served in a brown paper bag. The pork belly was deliciously tender, and the baked beans were rich and thick. Kelly enjoyed her crispy fish and chips, but found the bag to be cumbersome.

The food here is a lot like the drinks – simple and traditional, with a modern twist, and prepared with great care.

Sufficiently full and looking to close the night out with one more round, Kelly moved onto a Scaflaw Hiball – rye, vermouth, lemon, grenadine, bitters, ginger ale. She was unsure whether she’d like the rye (this is the same girl who earlier didn’t bat an eyelash at tequila and grappa), but she happily pronounced it “nice and light, not overly sweet.”

I saw that on the bottom of their drink menu, Saloon notes “We are always serving whiskey drinks – Manhattans, old fashioneds, sazeracs.” I really love that this is what they consider their baseline, their signature. Since I’d already tried their Manhattan, I figured I’d check out that other venerable cocktail, the New Orleans original, a sazerac.

Mona asked if I was looking for any particular ingredients. I said I wanted something very traditional, and she told me that sazeracs, while commonly made with rye, were originally made with cognac. So I went the cognac route and was pleased; it was a very slow-sipping drink, perfect for rounding out the night.

On both occasions I’ve been here, Mona’s taken good care of me. From providing a little history with my order (like that nugget about cognac in a sazerac), to staging cool pictures for me, to, you know, making awesome drinks…Mona clearly knows her stuff.

Not only that, but clearly she wants her customers to enjoy their experience. Case in point: a woman next to me ordered an old-fashioned. Mona not only asked if she wanted a particular kind of whiskey (she didn’t) but also whether she was looking for a drink in a particular price range. Liquor options and price options? Nice.

Basking in the luxury of Saloon, Kelly and I closed out our night with strawberry rhubarb shortcake, served on an almond biscuit. Light, sweet, and delicious, it was an elegant conclusion to an evening of indulgence.

Last Call

The Saloon experience was pretty incredible on my first visit. As I was headed over for the second time, I thought, As much as I like the place, I wonder whether it’s the kind of bar I’d frequent if I lived in Davis. Since the concept sets such a specific tone, I thought it might be somewhere you’d only go when you’re in a certain mood.

How many times can you appreciate the novelty of it? After a while, wouldn’t you feel like you were just watching the same theatrical performance over and over again?

Absolutely not.

If Saloon was all scenery and no substance, it would be the Rainforest Café of bars. They could sell themselves primarily on the décor, have a menu of four or five cocktails with gimmicky names that fit the pre-Prohibition theme, and serve some below-average, overpriced food.

Instead, Saloon goes all out.

Someone not only did their homework, finding cocktails that recall the spirit of early 20th century America, but made sure they were good drinks, too, crafted on a nightly basis by highly skilled mixologists. The drink menu isn’t rigid – it changes seasonally, and the recipes are far from inflexible.

Plus, the bartenders are doing more than just following directions; they ask what kind of liquor you want in your drink and even, if you’re unsure, how much you’d like to pay for it. And while I haven’t directly tested their cocktail knowledge, my understanding is that they can make you pretty much anything you ask for, no matter how obscure.

What’s more, with the fancy drink and upscale food menu, Saloon could easily be pretentious. The sort of trendy place where the staff acts like it’s your privilege to be there. Instead, the bar has a casual, friendly, and vibrant feel. Kelly and I were greeted warmly by the hostess upon our arrival, and on both occasions I’ve been here, I’ve found the bartenders to be very friendly and helpful – always conducive to a good drinking experience.

For a place that’s oddly difficult to find, Saloon is also pretty popular. Kelly and I were there on a Tuesday, and by 6:30, the bar was fully occupied; by 6:45, the entire place was rapidly filling up. I haven’t been on a weekend night, but I’ve heard it gets packed.

The prices are a little on the high side, but not outrageous for the quality and novelty of the food and drink. (After all, where else can you find Bubble & Squeak?) If you’re on a budget, you can get some mileage out of the appetizers. Most of the cocktails are $10, give or take a couple bucks and depending on your choice of liquor. The flask of punch is $15, but that’s for two.

If cocktails aren’t your thing, Saloon has an extensive selection of draft, bottled, and canned beer – one departure from the pre-Prohibition theme that I doubt anyone would complain about.

Speaking of which, a guy showed up as we were getting ready to leave and ordered an Amstel Light. Kelly quietly groaned and muttered, “Why not just go to Sligo [the dive bar down the street]?” I concurred; why would you come to a place like this and order something like that?

But it also challenged my notion about whether this is the kind of bar I’d just pop into for a casual drink. No, you don’t have to be into old-fashioned cocktails or have an appreciation for the historically accurate décor to enjoy Saloon. At the end of the day, it’s still just a bar.

And thus, probably not bad place to stop in for a beer.

Address: 255 Elm Street, Somerville

Website: saloondavis.com

One for the Road – Festival International de Jazz de Montreal

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I’m going to be completely honest: there is no event I look forward to more than the Montreal Jazz Festival. It trumps Christmas, Thanksgiving, loved ones’ weddings, detested foes’ funerals, a Patriots Super Bowl, Flag Day, you name it. When I’m walking to the train on a bitterly cold day in January, I fantasize about steaming hot days in early July, sitting outside, listening to jazz. On a steaming hot day in late June, for that matter, I fantasize about steaming hot days in early July, sitting outside, listening to jazz. I once said to my friend Brian, with whom I’ve attended the festival for the past 14 years, “My life can be divided into two unequal portions – being at jazzfest, and waiting for jazzfest.” He readily agreed. So, I hope you’ll indulge me a bit this week. It’s another non-Boston post, and while we’ll take a look at a couple of Montreal bars, I’d be lying if I said this was anything other than a tribute to my favorite annual vacation with one of my very best friends.

But don’t worry – there’s still plenty of drinking involved.

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Our first encounter with the Jazz Festival was merely a coincidence. Neither Brian nor I had ever been to Canada and, craving a road trip, we figured Montreal would be a good place to visit. This was sort of a spur of the moment idea, and the first weekend we both had available was around the Fourth of July. We were both amused by the thought of “celebrating our independence by leaving the country.”

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The day before we left, a coworker of mine mentioned that “some jazz festival” would be going on while we were there. I passed the news on to Brian. We were both casual jazz fans at the time, and since we had no agenda for the trip (other than Brian wanting to look at a car dashboard to confirm that odometers in Canada were printed with kilometers), we figured, hey, maybe we’ll check that out.

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It would be hard not to check it out – after all, the Festival International de Jazz de Montreal is the biggest jazz festival in the world. Jazz fans, casual and diehard, and artists, famous and unknown, flock to Montreal in droves for this event. The city blocks off the core of its downtown area to traffic, sets up stages in the middle of streets, and has jazz playing from noon until midnight (picture all of Copley Square with no cars, like during the Boston Marathon, but with a huge stage in the middle of Boylston Street).

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That’s 12 hours of jazz a day…for 10 days. And the best part? Of the 1,000 concerts that make up the fest, two-thirds of them take place outdoors and are free.

I still remember our first impression. Is this real? They seriously shut down roads for this? There’s music…all day and night? We don’t have to pay for it? We can walk around with beer? It seemed that the city had come to a standstill for the event, and our being there was an incredible stroke of luck.

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Fourteen years later, I don’t think either of us would skip it under pain of death.

That’s a long time, 14 years. I think about all the people who’ve come into or left our lives in those years. Where we were that first year, where we are now. It’s a period marked by weddings, funerals, new jobs, changing careers, new homes, and countless other twists, turns, successes, disappointments, and major life changes.

And part of what makes this trip special and unique for us is that while life has changed a lot in that time, the substance of this 4-day weekend has hardly changed at all. Brian and I have got this Jazz Festival thing down to a science. Sure, we’ve refined it, made some improvements along the way; but the formula from trip #1 is intact. And it goes a little something like this…

We leave Boston bright and early in the middle of the week. On the years I’m driving, I pick up Brian promptly at 5:30 a.m. On the years Brian’s driving, he texts me promptly at 5:30 a.m. to tell me he’s running late.

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Some people are stunned that we willingly make a 6-hour drive, but half the fun of a road trip is being on the road. Plus, when the majority of your journey is through the lush, green mountains of Vermont, you have the road to yourself, and you’ve got lengthy playlists to keep you occupied…well, I can think of worse ways to spend a morning.

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By the time we arrive, park, and check in, it’s just about noon…and time for the music to begin. After a yearlong wait, there is nothing more stirring than walking down Rue St. Catherine and seeing the festival banner on the horizon, welcoming us back.

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There are 10 outdoor stages, along with bands roaming around and playing in the streets, so we try to set up shop in a central area.  Sometimes we’ll move around if we’re looking for a particular band, but most of the time we just stay in one spot and enjoy the music floating toward us from all directions.

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Every year, our first lunch is something from Boston – Anna’s Taqueria chicken burritos. But aside from that, there is little we require that the fest does not provide. From healthy food to numerous beer vendors, we rarely have to leave the vicinity.

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Of course, even jazz lovers need a few things to keep themselves occupied during a long day. So we bring books, checkers, playing cards, that sort of thing.

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After 5 or 6 hours sitting around in the sun doing pretty much nothing, it’s time for our intermission. We pack up camp, head back to our room, and prepare for the evening’s festivities. Our strenuous day has left us with quite an appetite, and there’s no better way to satisfy that than with a true staple of Canadian cuisine – a smoked meat sandwich. Brian’s and my preferred destination is Reuben’s. I’m sure native Montrealers would scoff at our choice; the most famous place to get a smoked meat sandwich in Montreal is Schwartz’s deli. But Reuben’s is closer to the bar we’ll be going to later, and we don’t want to overexert ourselves.

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Regardless of who makes your smoked meat sandwich, the composition is pretty much the same. You’ll get an astonishing mound of salted, cured, wonderfully spiced, smoked brisket, placed precariously on – for reasons that have always eluded me – the very smallest sandwich bread that can be found. The result is a delicious but comically unmanageable sandwich. If you pause and put the sandwich down, it will fall apart on your plate. If you hold it too long, it will fall apart in your hands. So however you choose to eat it, make sure you’re sitting down and have a fork at the ready. And there’s always a thin layer of yellow mustard, just to make things a little tastier and, of course, messier.

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Smoked meat is everywhere up here. They serve it on pizza, in pasta, in omelets, you name it. Why they haven’t thought to put it on bigger slices of bread, or even in a wrap, I don’t know. But then again, who am I to argue with tradition?

After dinner, it’s on to some well-deserved libations. The first time Brian and I came to Montreal and were looking for a place to have a few drinks, we found a humble but happening downstairs bar called the Peel Pub. It has since become a nightly stop for drinks on every trip.

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Named for the street on which it resides (Rue Peel), the Peel Pub moved down the street a number of years back. No longer housed in a basement, it now occupies two floors (both above ground). The décor has been spruced up, too. Yet despite these upgrades, this place has lost almost nothing of its divey, well-worn character.

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The Peel Pub is a sports bar, its walls adorned with memorabilia of Montreal’s football team, the Alouettes, and the local hockey club, which shall remain nameless. Plenty of TVs ensure you’ll see whatever sport you’re there to watch. There’s only a tiny bar, which hardly anyone ever sits at, but there are 35 or so small tables on each floor.

The Peel Pub offers plenty of bargain-level drink specials, like $0.99 shots on Thursdays and absurdly large pitchers of beer. On our first ever visit, a waitress who strongly resembled Kate Winslet (Brian wrongly disputes this) recommended we try a pitcher of Rhum Punch.

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And thus, yet another ritual was born. Over the course of 4 evenings, depending on the nightly special, we’ll get a pitcher of the punch, a pitcher of sangria, and a pitcher of Long Island iced tea. Because really – when you’re on vacation and in a bar that has the audacity to serve it, why wouldn’t you get a pitcher of Long Island?

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The food isn’t anything to write home about, unless you’re writing to say how much you miss the food at home. Yet, slaves to tradition that we are, Brian and I used to make a point of ordering chicken fingers and chicken quesadillas – both appetizers, not full plates, which was at one point probably a budgetary decision. After 14 years of diminishing quality, we’ve decided that as of 2012, these orders have been retired. Change comes slowly.

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The Peel Pub is essentially a college bar, attracting young customers with daily food and drink specials. It’s the kind of place I’d bring a date…if I was 18 and the extent of my logic was “Well, maybe we’ll just get drunk and see what happens.”

But this place isn’t populated just by students; when I’m there during the summer, the clientele is diverse. Plenty of locals come to watch soccer or the Alouettes (Canadian football starts in July), and patrons range from young Americans taking advantage of Canada’s lower drinking age to people in their 60s who look like they once came here for the very same reason – and like Brian and I, fell in love with the place.

From there we head up Rue St. Catherine to an equally fine establishment – the Mad Hatter. Another bar that occupies two floors, the Mad Hatter doesn’t look like it’s changed much (or been cleaned much) in the past 50 years or so. And while the interior exudes a classic dive bar charm, the real gem of the place is its roof deck.

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If there were ever such a thing as a roof-deck dive bar, the Mad Hatter’s got it. From the 1970s classic poster of Farrah Fawcett to the ubercasual atmosphere, this place feels less like a bar and more like a friend’s porch. We’ve always found the bartenders and waitstaff to be relaxed and chatty, both among themselves and with us.

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The beer options are pretty basic, stocked with Canadian classics like Molson, Moosehead, and Rickard’s (if Molson and Moosehead are Bud and Miller, Rickard’s is Sam Adams).

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There are few things more pleasant than enjoying a beer outside on a summer night, when the sun has set, the heat of the day has begun subsiding, and you’ve got nowhere to be. But Brian and I do have places to be. The nighttime jazz has gotten under way, and it’s a dramatically different scene than during the day.

From the Hatter to the Place Des Arts, where the music happens, is about a 10-minute walk (probably 5 minutes if you haven’t been drinking pitchers of Long Island). The fest, already crowded during the day, is packed by 9 p.m. Walking down St. Catherine, you can see the colored lights on the horizon, hear the music growing in volume as you approach, feel the energy of an exuberant festival crowd.

Step into the festival grounds, and the rest is pure magic.

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The enormous main stage, dormant during the day, is bathed in blue, red, yellow, and white lights. In between sets on the main stage, the other stages come to life. There’s music everywhere you turn.

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People often ask if I go to the Jazz Festival to see a particular artist; I never do. But I always come home as a fan of someone new. Yes, there are plenty of big-name acts that you can pay to see in the indoor venues, but Brian and I can’t fathom leaving the beautiful weather, the stunning visuals, and the incredible free music. And there’s plenty to discover.

The festival is truly international, drawing 3,000 artists from 30 countries. One night we saw a Japanese funk band called Osaka Monaurail, their singer an Asian version of James Brown. On another night, we were treated to the beautiful voice of Souad Massi, whose sultry North African, folk, and flamenco sound complemented the hot summer night.

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The highlight of our second-last night, and probably of the entire festival, was a Los Angeles-based sextet called Orgone. Their music blended jazz, funk, soul, R&B, and psychedelia. We saw their first set at 9, and couldn’t resist seeing them play again at 11. The energy of this band was beyond description. It’s rare that I literally dance in the streets (or anywhere, for that matter), but I guess there are times when your feet move whether your brain instructs them to or not.

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On our final night we saw a band called Chromeo, and when you find yourself singing along to songs you’ve never heard before, you know the artist has connected with you. Chromeo is electro-funk duo who describe themselves as “the only Jewish-Arab collaboration in history.” I realize this would be the place to make a profound remark about the power of music to transcend political and religious conflict and unite the world or something, but I’d labor over that for days. You get the picture.

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I have no idea how the festival organizers find bands like this, but I do know that I’d never encounter this music on my own.

From the perspective of a bar blog, I suppose I could review the beer vendors (called “Jazz Bars”) that are conveniently scattered all over the area, but there’s little to say. They pretty much serve only Heineken. They advertise Molson, which is appealing in that it’s a dollar cheaper, but every time I ask for one, they still give me Heineken.

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Not that I should complain about prices. While a $5.60 cup of beer isn’t exactly a good deal, 10 days of free music is a pretty amazing deal. Since everything you buy at the fest supports the event, it’s always easy to justify another drink.

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Warm air, phenomenal music, a great crowd, beer, a good friend…there’s only one thing that could make a night like this better.

Poutine.

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In my humble opinion, poutine is the crown jewel of French Canadian cuisine. For the uninitiated, poutine consists of French fries, gravy, and cheese curds. Simple. Unique. Delicious.

I would eat this stuff any time of day; but late at night, after a few beers, there is absolutely nothing better. Poutine is sold all over Montreal; Brian and I even used to get it at McDonald’s and Burger King. And while locals can probably tell you which restaurant does it best, our favorite is the kind we get from the vendors at the fest. Again – why would you ever need to leave?

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With minor tweaks and variations, we cheerfully follow the same program for the next 3 days. Then the music fades out, the crowds disperse, the beer and poutine vendors close up shop, and Brian and I mournfully transition from the “being at jazzfest” portion to the “waiting for jazzfest” portion of our lives. But while the festival only lasts 10 days, it is my sincere hope that there is no end in sight to Brian’s and my tradition.

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Encore

Over the years, people who know about our trip to the Montreal Jazz Festival have often asked, “What the hell do you guys do all that time?” Now you know.

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The festival attracts some 2 million attendees every year. Not all of them are jazz fans, and plenty of the music isn’t “jazz.” Some quibble with the varying styles, and I understand this. As a purist, I sometimes wish a jazz festival was all jazz; but with bands like Orgone fluidly combining so many styles of music and making it work…well, who defines jazz anyway? Then again, I have no idea why James Taylor was part of the program (paid, not free). And who the hell would pay $110 to see Seal? Seal? Seriously? Regardless – there’s plenty of pure jazz to be found, for free or for a fee.

There are also plenty of excellent bars in Montreal. The Peel Pub and the Mad Hatter aren’t necessarily two of them. But the particulars of a bar are often less important than the memories you have there, and Brian and I have a deep well of them.

For Brian and me, we’re there for the jazz, the non-jazz, and the general Montreal routine we’ve established for ourselves. And we’ve gone out of our way to keep a lot of silly rituals intact. So yes, we recycle a lot of old jokes; but we still laugh just as hard. We always play checkers, and Brian always cheats (before succumbing to my infinitely superior talent). We spend an absurd amount of time pondering such challenging scenarios as “what superpower would you have if you could have any.” It is equal parts tradition and obsession. Hell, it took us 14 years to agree not to eat food that neither of us were enjoying.

Some of that may sound dreadfully boring to you. Fair enough. But change is constant in our lives. Brian and I manage to preserve something we really love for 4 days out of the year, and I think we’ll do that for as long as our lives will allow.

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Festival International de Jazz de Montreal:http://www.montrealjazzfest.com/default-en.aspx/

Peel Pub: 1196 Rue Peel, Montreal, Quebec

Website:http://www.peelpubmontreal.com/en/index.php

Mad Hatter: 1208 Rue Crescent

Website: http://www.madhattermansion.com/

On Tap for the Summer

Going to Canada might not be the most patriotic way to celebrate Independence Day, but my friend Brian and I have been doing it since shortly after graduating college. No, we’re not thumbing our noses at the most quintessential of American holidays – the Fourth of July just happens to fall during the Montreal Jazz Festival, which we’ll be leaving for bright and early tomorrow morning.

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That means a few things. First, after four days of nothing but jazz, there’s a slight chance I’ll be able to get that “Call Me Maybe” song out of my head (but part of me knows…it’s not going anywhere). Second, I’ll have another “One for the Road” post when I get back, chronicling a couple of Montreal bars, the biggest jazz festival in the world, and Brian's and my Canadian adventures/shenanigans. And third, I won’t have time for a full post this week. But that gives me a chance to clean out the BBH notebook and let you know about a few things I’m excited to write about in the coming weeks.

First, a bunch of awesome-looking bars have opened up in Boston recently, and I'm planning on more fully exploring them as soon as I can. One of the most intriguing is the Tip Tap Room, which executive chef Brian Poe thoughtfully opened mere footsteps from my office (thanks dude!).

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I've stopped in to sample from their 36 taps and extensive bottled beer selection, but there's no way I could do a full review of this place without trying the food. Tip Tap Room's daily special features a rotation of such oddities as yak tips, elk tips, and emu tips, along with more conventional fare, like steak tips and turkey tips.

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Another interesting newer place is Gem. Gem opened up in late March in what was once a dive bar called Kennedy's. If you ever went to Kennedy's, you sure won't recognize it as Gem. The theme here is opulence, from the decor to the cocktails.

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I've stopped by at an odd hour one afternoon, when I think I was the only customer, and then late on a Saturday night, when it was packed with people gettin' their groove on. I'm curious to see what it's like after work and in the early evening.

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One of the first ideas I had when I started this blog was doing a series on bars with outdoor seating. It's now July, and I’ve been thinking, you know…it might be nice to get that under way before the summer’s over. I hope to have it off the ground when I get back. In the meantime, here’s a couple of shots from the back deck at Grand Canal, just to prove that I’ve been working on it.

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In addition to new bars and those with outdoor seating, I have a slew of old favorites to write about. One of those will be Saloon, Davis Square’s speakeasy-themed bar.

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I mention it here because at least once every few weeks, someone asks me “Have you been to Saloon?” Yes – I’ve gone, I’ve drank, and someday soon, I’ll post about it.

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In other news, I was humbled to discover that Boston BarHopper was nominated for a Boston A-List award. If you enjoy reading this blog, I'd be honored to have your vote. And if you like another Food and Drinks Blogger better, then vote for them – I'm sure they'd appreciate it, and I don't think any of us do this to be competitive. (Just the same...I'd prefer you vote for me.) Here’s the link:

BEST Food and Drinks Blogger

Now I’ve heard that voting can be a royal pain in the ass – you'll click on "vote" and you might get a message saying you’re already logged in, and you'll click around in hopes of simply casting your vote, and finally give up in frustration. It's only later that you'll realize you received a confirmation e-mail, with a link to prove that you're not bostonbarhopper voting for himself 1,000+ times (not that I've tried). But once you get past that, you can vote and click "confirm" and I'll be a happy bloggah.

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Speaking of contests, congratulations to expert mixologist Jon Parsons of Sam’s at Louis, whose “Violet Hold” cocktail scored him a trip to New Orleans to compete in the Marie Brizard USA Cocktail Challenge Finals. I was invited to watch the Boston semifinals, and though I couldn’t make it, the organizers were kind enough to send me some pictures and a lowdown of the showdown. If Jon wins in New Orleans, he’ll get to go to Bordeaux, France, to represent the United States at the 28th Annual Marie Brizard International Bartender Seminar and Competition. I’ve never met Jon, but I’m rooting for him. I’ve also never been to Sam’s, but needless to say, I’ll be sipping cocktails at this waterfront restaurant sometime soon.

Finally, it recently came to my attention that a few people who like my Facebook page didn't realize it was possible to "Follow" the blog. If you're not a blog follower, you're missing out on countless untold benefits (too innumerable to list here). So scroll up, click "Follow" on the upper right-hand corner of your screen, input your e-mail address, confirm it when you get a confirmation e-mail, and start enjoying some real fun.

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Anyway, a long weekend of jazz, beer, and poutine awaits me. I hope everyone has a safe, happy, and relaxing Fourth of July. Thanks for reading!

Russell House Tavern

I knew Russell House Tavern was my kind of place was when I had to use the restroom.

Bear with me.

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I went to Russell House Tavern for the first time a couple of years ago, with Melissa, my friend Brian, and Brian's wife, Malika. We were wandering around Harvard Square one evening and happened upon Russell House, which I think was fairly new at the time. The girls went inside to look at the menu (because as long as they had food and beer, Brian and I would have been cool with it) and deemed the dinner options acceptable; more importantly, there was no wait.

While the food was great and the beer selection was even better, the atmosphere didn’t make much of an impression on me. It kind of reminded me of a kitchen. The décor was very bright, with white walls and a black-and-white tiled floor, and the room was a little loud. There were four long, rectangular tables with stools, surrounded by smaller tables with booths and chairs, and a bar off to one side. I mean, it wasn’t bad, not by any stretch; just…nothing special.

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As the four of us finished up, I asked about the location of the restroom and was directed downstairs. Assuming I was just headed to a basement level with restrooms and storage, I was stunned as I made my way down a large, oak staircase into a completely different bar, far removed from the hustle and bustle of upstairs.

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I found myself in a spacious, cool room with exposed brick walls, dark wood, and stone flooring. A large, marble-topped bar with about 25 seats was the focal point, along with a dining area that was much more intimate than the upstairs. Lamps on the bar and lighting fixtures on the walls contributed to a relaxed, living room feel.

The contrast in atmosphere could not be more striking. If upstairs was like a noisy kitchen, downstairs was like a quiet den. If upstairs was the crowded kids’ table at Thanksgiving, downstairs was where the grown-ups sit, with more comfortable chairs and a few bottles of wine.

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A couple of years after that first trip, the downstairs bar at Russell House Tavern has become one of my favorite places to eat and drink in Harvard Square. Brian and I usually have a excellent meal here, matched with a few craft beers, then head across the street to Whitney's for darts, a couple of PBRs, and some local color. (Not a bad night, if I do say so myself.)

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Regardless of whether you’re sitting upstairs or downstairs, you can count on creative modern American cuisine and a well-thought-out beer selection. But whenever I’m downstairs, I find myself mostly in the mood for Russell House’s fantastic cocktails. Maybe it’s the lounge-type feel, or the snazzy vests and ties that the bartenders wear. Or maybe it’s just that their drinks are so damn good. While there are plenty of bars to choose from in Harvard Square, Russell House Tavern is the only one I know of in the area that makes the kind of inventive craft cocktails that have been cropping up in Boston these past couple years.

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Their cocktail list is presented in two sections – Quintessential Classics and Current Conceptions. On Brian’s and my most recent visit, we sampled from both sections.

Of the classics, we tried the Vieux Carre and the Southside. The Vieux Carre seems like a cool variation on a Manhattan. Old Overholt Rye, sweet vermouth, and Angostura bitters are joined by cognac and Peychaud’s bitters, providing a nice twist on a classic. A sophisticated, slow-sipping cocktail.

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The Southside, in contrast, is the kind of drink you might inadvertently quaff down in two gulps. I didn’t even taste the gin, so I felt like I was drinking lemonade, with the mint simple syrup giving it a subtle earthy freshness. It would be a refreshing summertime cocktail – and a dangerous one.

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The Current Conceptions section hosts a number of libations fit for summer. The Always Sunny strikes me as an ideal drink for this insanely hot weather we’ve been having as of late. Made with Privateer Silver Reserve rum, lime, strawberry simple syrup, Angostura bitters, and house-made ginger beer, it was an easy-drinking cocktail with a tropical flair.

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And the Crimson Crow was like a raspberry lemonade, with vodka, lemon juice, and raspberry simple syrup.

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As Brian and I perused the dinner menu, we shifted our attention to Russell House Tavern’s top-notch selection of microbrews. There are about eight or nine beers on draft, along with a rotating cask option. Whenever a bar has cask-conditioned beer, I feel compelled to try it...partly because I imagine my friends at Brew Dudes giving me a mildly reproachful look that says I’m really passing on a unique beer-drinking experience if I don’t try the cask offering.

Last time I partook of Russell House’s cask, they were serving High and Mighty Beer of the Gods.

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It was crisp and floral, an enjoyable beer whether you’re drinking it out of a bottle or a cask. The waiter told me they had just tapped the cask that afternoon, along with representatives from the brewery, who were suitably impressed with the cask-conditioned version of their fine beer.

Russell House Tavern also serves one of my all-time favorite beers on draft – Gritty’s Black Fly Stout. Gritty’s is brewed in Portland, Maine, and finding this smoky, creamy dark beer in Boston can be a challenge.

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You could easily come here just for the drinks, but the menu is no less satisfying. Appetizers range from salads to crab cakes to oddities such as beef tongue meatballs, and there are “small plates,” with even more daring choices like hickory smoked lamb’s belly toast, crispy pig’s head cake, and grilled prime rib knuckles.

I'd love to tell you more about Russell House Tavern’s dinner menu, but the only thing I've ever ordered is the grass-fed burger with cheddar, bacon, and caramelized onions. Served on an English muffin, this is without question one of my favorite burgers in the Boston area. I still remember my very first bite. It was one of the juiciest, best-prepared burgers I'd ever had. The English muffin gets a little unwieldy once you get about halfway through, leaving you with quite a mess on your hands. No matter! I would eat this thing with my hands tied behind my back if I had to.

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Oh, and the last time I ordered it, the waiter asked if I wanted fries or salad on the side…or a little of each. Now is that perfect or what? I get offered a salad and think “I should be good, go with the healthy option,” but I know nothing goes better with a burger than fries. A little of each? Russell House has got you covered.

I unapologetically order the burger every time I’m here. And it's almost too bad, because there are some great options, like the local Berkshire pork trio (loin, belly, smoked shoulder), a variety of seafood dishes, and even a raw bar menu. There’s also a pizza selection, which is Brian’s domain.

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On our last visit, he got the Angry Queen, with marinated roasted tomatoes and basil. His assessment: “It got better the more I ate of it. It seemed a little bitter at first. But maybe I’m just drunk.”

What I wouldn’t give to express myself so succinctly and poetically.

Last Call

In an area with so many bars and restaurants, Russell House Tavern manages to stand out. Upscale but casual, the downstairs area would be a great place for a date. And I don’t mean to judge the upstairs too harshly. Now that the warm weather’s here, the big windows that look out onto the square are open, giving it a nicer vibe. There’s also a small section of outdoor seating.

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I usually find the downstairs bar to be a little crowded in the after-work hours; most of the 25 bar seats have been occupied the past couple times I’ve been there, but getting a table has never been much of a problem. Russell House doesn’t seem to draw a lot of students, which distinguishes it a bit from other establishments in the area. That might be because the prices are a tad on the high side. My burger and Brian’s pizza were both $12, and the entrees average around $20. But I’d say such creative cuisine warrants a little extra. And that burger’s worth every penny. The cocktails range from $8 to $13, which is pretty standard for well-made craft drinks, and the draft beers are $5 and $6.

Oh…and the restrooms are pretty nice, too.

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Address: 14 John F. Kennedy Street, Cambridge

Website:http://www.russellhousecambridge.com/

Corner Tavern

“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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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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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/

One for the Road – Safari Lounge, Florida Keys

Several years ago, my brother announced he was moving to South Florida; I was devastated to hear the news. I loved hanging out with him, and since he was the first person in my immediate family to move out of state, not having him around was going to be an adjustment. I got over it a few minutes later, though, when I realized I’d have a relative living in Florida with a free place to stay. I’ve since imposed on Andrew and his girlfriend, Linda, at their Fort Lauderdale-area home on more than a few occasions, and I recently joined them and their friends for a weekend in the Florida Keys – which is the setting for my first out-of-state BarHopper post.

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Our weekend stay in Islamorada could not have been more relaxing. Andrew and Linda, their friends Ryan and Jessica, and I were guests at the Coral Bay Resort, which offers comfortable cottages, lush greenery, and breathtaking views of the sunset.

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It would be hard to imagine a more peaceful atmosphere – strolling the beautiful grounds in the morning, lounging on the dock in the early evening, grilling at night.

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During the day, we spent most of our time at a nearby private beach, where pristine white sands, swaying palm trees, and clear blue water were the portrait of a tropical paradise.

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Thatched-roof huts with picnic tables gave us shelter when we needed a break from the Florida sun, but an inflatable floating cooler and beer coozies with built-in bottle openers ensured that we rarely left the warm shallows of the ocean.

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Between the resort and the beach, one could not want for anything down here. But since Andrew and company are all supporters of Boston BarHopper, they wanted to ensure I made it to a local bar for a Florida-based review. So all weekend, they kept promising to take me to a place they referred to as the “Dead Animal Bar,” on account of the multiple animal heads mounted on its walls. They insisted the experience would be well worth a detour from our luxurious tropical milieu.

And what an experience it was.

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The establishment in question is not actually called the Dead Animal Bar – its formal name is the Safari Lounge. I assumed that “Dead Animal Bar” was just an in-joke among my brother and his friends…until I got this complimentary t-shirt.

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Since the Safari Lounge embraces its nickname, let’s just go with that. Along with the deer and rhinoceros busts, the Dead Animal Bar’s dark hardwood flooring, high ceilings, and wooden walls give it the appearance of a hunting lodge, while the vintage cigarette machine, pool table, dartboards, and air hockey table are more reminiscent of a dive bar.

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If you lack the requisite coordination for billiards, darts, or air hockey, but still have a competitive spirit, you can try your hand at the skill crane – which is located next to the zebra pelt. And on top of that, the bar overlooks the ocean. A more unusual combination of elements, I have yet to see.

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The draft beer selection is what you’d expect – Bud, Bud Light, Michelob Ultra, and Yuengling (always a novelty for those who can’t get it in the Boston area). The bar doesn’t serve food, which, considering the décor, is kind of ironic.

The Dead Animal Bar is a pretty casual place, to say the least. Before we headed over, I mentioned changing out of my t-shirt, shorts, and sandals into something more bar-appropriate; I was greeted with guffaws and raised eyebrows. If you’re wearing jeans down here, you’re overdressed.

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We arrived around 11:30 p.m. and found about 20 to 25 fellow patrons. The crowd was diverse, from 20-somethings on vacation to seniors enjoying their retirement. No one seemed out of place, and everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves (some a little too much).

While Andrew, Linda, Ryan, and Jessica commandeered a dartboard, I took a seat at the bar to absorb the environment. When I told the bartender, Tim, about my blog, he became wary; apparently he was afraid I would portray the Dead Animal Bar in a bad light (which is probably why I got the free shirt, which he said was “limited edition”). I assured him I was Mr. Positive when it comes to bars; and anyway, I was already loving this place.

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As I chatted with Tim, who insisted that the bar had been completely packed just an hour before I arrived, I heard a loud, heavy thunk – the unmistakable sound of an adult human body crashing onto a wooden floor. Sure enough, the solitary dude who’d been sitting across from me was no longer in sight, until a bunch of people converged and propped him back onto his stool. He took a few minutes to recover while Tim plied him with water.

After the guy left, Tim assured me that one of the other bartenders took him home. I was pretty impressed with that, but as Tim said “That’s just the way it works down here.” (That's not quite the way it works in Boston, where most likely a couple of bouncers would drag your drunken ass out the door and deposit you unceremoniously in the street.)

Employing his favorite euphemism, my brother helpfully commented to Tim that the guy might have been “over-served.” Tim demurred, stating instead that he had simply “over-ordered.” Touché.

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By the standard of someone collapsing from inebriation, the rest of the evening was colorful but relatively uneventful. Jessica and I crushed Andrew and Linda in a thrilling game of darts (the outcome of the follow-up match is irrelevant). A handful of 40-somethings worked the jukebox and started getting down to such varied numbers as “You Shook Me All Night Long,” “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy),” and “Sexy and I Know It.” A few retirees clearly over-ordered but managed to remain (mostly) vertical.

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As I polished off a can of Coors Light, I reflected on some of the cultural differences between Boston bars and bars in other states. Laws governing Massachusetts bars guard vociferously against intoxication. Happy hours are prohibited, of course. And since bars can be held liable for patrons getting out of hand, even the simple act of lifting your friend up in the air to pose for a picture might get you a tap on the shoulder from the staff.

In New Orleans, by contrast, you can walk the streets with an open container. Overdo it in the Florida Keys, and you might get a ride home from a sympathetic bartender. You wouldn’t find those things in Boston. Then again, when I leave a Boston bar, I don’t smell like an ashtray – which I consider a major plus.

Anyway, I’m not saying one approach is better than another; there are pros and cons and arguments to be had if you so desire. I just think the beauty of travel is appreciating the differences.

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Last Call

The bartender said it best: “If you’re down here, you gotta come to the Dead Animal Bar at least once.” Indeed, the Safari Lounge seems like the kind of place that’s frequented both by vacationers, making their first visit or their tenth, and locals (and if you’re fortunate enough to reside in Islamorada, cheers to you). It’s a must-visit bar that you’re sure to emerge from with a few good stories and some fond memories…assuming you don’t over-order.

Address: Mile Marker 73.5, Islamorada, Florida

Website: This place has a 70s-era cigarette machine; you really think they’ve got a website?

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Emerald Lounge

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

Church

[Church has closed.]

When someone tells me there’s a bar called “Church,” certain images come to mind. I kind of expect a hipper-than-thou club in some lesser-known corner of downtown or the Financial District; an area that would be deserted after hours. It would feature a DJ with a moniker like “the Reverend” and would probably attract a black-clad, neo-goth crowd ordering drinks from waitresses dressed as slutty nuns. The inside would be very dark, save for creepy red lighting, and there’d be a $20 cover.

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So when my sister Kelly told me there was indeed a bar called Church in Boston, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was nothing like I expected. To begin, it’s not down some dark alley in downtown Boston – it’s in a residential area near Fenway Park. And it’s not an uber-trendy club – it’s a very cool cocktail bar and restaurant that manages to maintain a neighborhood feel.

Still, I might expect a place with a name like Church to be heavy-handed with pseudo-religioso décor. Again, no. There are some cool stained-glass windows, a stone floor that I suppose could be reminiscent of a medieval cathedral, a black granite bar illuminated by dark orange hanging lamps, and softly glowing votive candles on the tables, on the bar, and even amid the liquor bottles. But the golden-brown walls provide a warm, modern contrast, the candles are battery-powered, and the staff is so friendly – there’s no way this place could be as somber as a gothic church. OK, there might be a framed picture or two of a gargoyle.

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The bar and restaurant side of Church (there is indeed a club side, too, but we’ll get to that later) is a moderate-size space. There are about ten seats at the bar and six small tables in the immediate area. In between the bar and the dining section is a set of couches that you can snag if you’re lucky. The dining area, with a dozen or so tables, looks onto a quiet residential street through large windows framed with thick, burgundy curtains.

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I would call Church a very chic but highly casual bar with upscale comfort food, an amazing staff, and some excellent drinks.

Oh yes…the drinks.

I was impressed with this place even before I opened the cocktail menu, but when I did…well praise the Lord! Not only does Church contribute to elevating the art of mixology, it describes its drinks in one of the most interesting manners I’ve ever seen.

Church’s specialty cocktails are divided into two biblically themed sections: Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. A drink for each sin, and one for each Horseman.

Let’s pause a moment and consider the coolness of this, shall we?

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The description of each cocktail is like a short story unto itself. And in some cases, there are only hints as to what ingredients are in the drink. Check out Church’s description of “War,” under the Four Horsemen heading:

The armor of war has been torn asunder. In its place lies an unknown heart, with an unknown taste. With this cocktail we give it form once again with the heart of an old New Orleans classic, but the taste of something completely new. Welcome whiskey lovers…

Yeah, that’s awesome. If you know a few things about New Orleans and whiskey, you can probably deduce that War is Church’s version of a Sazerac. If you don’t bring that knowledge, even better. I mean, seriously – who describes a cocktail like that? Some places merely list the ingredients in their drinks; some boast that theirs is the best in the city. At Church, they’re establishing a mood, evoking an image, piquing your curiosity.

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What’s the worst that can happen? Maybe you end up with a drink that has an ingredient you don’t care for, but it’s part of the adventure. You’re in Church, after all; have a little faith!

I’ve been to this bar on three occasions. The first was on a Saturday evening with Melissa and our friends Jack and Jenny. The second was a brief visit by myself, and the third was with Melissa and Kelly. Over the course of those visits I’ve ordered or tried nine of Church’s eleven specialty cocktails, had dinner, ordered a slew of appetizers, and indulged in a few desserts. So make yourself comfortable while I spread the Good News.

We start, of course, with the drinks.

On my first visit, with Melissa, Jenny, and Jack, I made a beeline for the Seven Deadly Sins. I started with Sloth (no snickers from the peanut gallery, thank you). Sloth is Church’s version of a Manhattan, and they stay true to the classic recipe. The menu advises you to take it slow with this one. I find few cocktails more relaxing than a well-made Manhattan, but I admit this one disappeared pretty quickly.

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Jack went for Wrath, though it would be difficult to stay angry with a smooth drink like this in your hand. This one was made with New Orleans-style Sazerac rye, fantastically seasoned with allspice, basil, and peppercorn. The allspice stole the show here, giving the drink a rich, unexpected flavor.

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Jenny opted for Conquest, of Four Horseman fame. When you think of tequila and strawberries, you probably think of a margarita. This was nothing like a margarita. Church uses dark, bourbon barrel-aged tequila, mixed with rhubarb (I figure you really gotta know your mixology to properly put that in a drink) and agave nectar, topped with fresh, sliced strawberries. The dark tequila, more complex in flavor than white as a result of the aging process, truly distinguished Conquest, and the way the flavor worked with the strawberries was beyond words.

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As she drained the glass, Jenny stood up, drew an imaginary sword from an imaginary scabbard, and declared herself a forgotten daughter of Cortez, the blood of a conquistador flowing hotly in her veins. Tequila affects people in different ways, I’ve found.

In addition to their regular cocktails, Church features rotating drink specials. Melissa went that route, getting a drink called Prairie Rain – vodka, maraschino liqueur, ginger beer, and rhubarb bitters (I’ve gone from never encountering any sort of rhubarb flavoring in a drink to seeing it twice in one night!). It may have lacked the thematic moniker of our other drinks, but it was no less satisfying; the crispness of the ginger beer and the freshness of the rhubarb bitters gave this a truly unusual and refreshing flavor.

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My tour through Christianity’s dark side continued on my subsequent visits. I was in the neighborhood by myself one early Saturday evening, and I kindly stopped for Death. I’d been intrigued by this most solemn of the Four Horseman when I read about it on my initial visit:

With this cocktail we have dressed Death in velvet, walked her down the cobbled streets of Toledo, where to this day she dances with the “la fee verte”, locked in a perpetually effervescent prison. The key is yours now.

Yeah, that’s awesome too. I was expecting a thick, dark drink, but Death never looked so elegant and peaceful. The effervescence came from Champagne or Prosecco; unfortunately there was a licorice flavor in there, which I loathe, so it’ll be a long while before I dance with Death again (I hope).

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By the time of my third visit, with Melissa and Kelly, I almost felt like a regular Church-goer. We came on a Tuesday night at about 5:30 when the Sox were out of town – which of course, you must always account for when coming to drink in this part of the city. The place was pretty much dead at that hour, so we made ourselves comfortable at the bar. The slow night gave us a chance to talk to our bartender, Tara, and watch with reverence as she artfully crafted our cocktails. Tara took great care of us and was a good sport when it came to talking about the bar and her approach to making drinks.

Kelly opened the proceedings with Greed – Hendricks gin, St. Germaine, diced cucumber, a pinch of white pepper, garnished with a salted cucumber.

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Anything with Hendricks is good, but this drink was crisp and invigorating. You’d get a sense of the cucumber whenever you took a sip, and the pepper enhanced the cucumber aroma.

Melissa took a page out of Jenny’s book and went for Conquest (minus the imaginary sword bit…which, honestly, didn’t really happen). I also felt like going another round with the Horsemen, so I ordered Famine – probably my favorite drink of the night. This combination of Guatemalan rum and walnut liqueur was rich and naturally sweet, but not cloyingly so.

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One of the benefits of being in a sparsely populated bar with a friendly and attentive bartender is that when she overhears you contemplating your next order, she can help you make your choice. Kelly was thinking about giving Vanity a try, and since Tara was mixing up a batch for a few other customers, she offered her a sample. As I’ve noted before, getting a cocktail sample is much rarer than getting a beer sample. You really don’t encounter this kind of service in a lot of places, and I want to make sure it doesn’t go unnoticed.

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Vanity was exquisite. A cocktail of Champagne, vodka, freshly squeezed ruby red grapefruit, and lemon twists, this baby was sweet, tart, and dry all at once.

While Melissa sampled Church’s wine selection, Kelly and I closed out our nights with Envy and Gluttony, respectively. Envy is a delicious vodka drink with diced kiwis – when’s the last time you had kiwi in a drink?

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And Gluttony was aptly named. It was very much a dessert-type cocktail, with rum, bananas, Thai coconut milk and – are you ready for this? – topped with a cocoa-dusted mint leaf. Good Lord! A sinfully decadent way to close out a night.

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Now you can drink all these amazing cocktails ‘til kingdom come, but if you don’t have some food to accompany your libations, you’ll be on your knees praying to a different type of god, waking up with a hangover of biblical proportions. Thankfully, Church’s food menu is as satisfying as its drink options.

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Church has an impressive variety of appetizers and dinner options. After a brief wait (not bad for a Saturday night when the Sox were in town), Melissa, Jenny, Jack, and I got a table for dinner. Unfortunately, I’m a little short on food pictures from that night – as it turns out, the light of a votive candle doesn’t exactly provide ideal shooting conditions.

So, in short – we were all impressed with the food. We started with the novel grilled cheese sliders, complete with a bowl of spicy tomato soup for dipping, and crabcakes with chipotle aioli. Mel, Jack, and Jenny all hail from the Chesapeake Bay region of Virginia, so their expectations of crabcakes are snobbishly high. Forget the lighting – they disappeared before I could even turn my camera on.

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Our entrees were even more satisfying. While I tend to avoid pulled pork at non-BBQ restaurants, I was very pleased with Church’s pulled pork sandwich, which came on a crunchy roll. Jenny, rattling her imaginary saber, boldly and loudly declared her fish tacos “fit for a daughter of Cortez,” Jack dug his tuna steak, and Mel was as pleased with her salad as one could be with a salad.

When I returned with Kelly and Melissa, we contented ourselves with appetizers at the bar. I’m a fan of any place where you can be wholly satisfied with a few apps, and that’s definitely the case at Church. Mel immediately went for the grilled cheese sliders, since they were such a hit on our previous visit. Add to that sloppy joe sliders and a spring herb hummus, and we were three happy customers.

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Oh, and how about this for exemplary service – when Tara noticed that we ran out of pita chips before we finished our hummus, she had a waitress bring us a new plate of chips. (This may have had something to do with Melissa licking the hummus bowl.)

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Next up was a country fried chicken appetizer. It was pretty good, but an odd combination of flavors. The fried chicken came atop a waffle, and was drizzled with a green, savory garlic gravy. Mel wasn’t digging it, but that meant more for Kelly and me (and Kelly was full at that point, so it was pretty much mine all mine).

Our final appetizer was our most daring choice – tuna tartare. This was raw tuna served on half an avocado. Phenomenal. The flavors worked perfectly together, and a freshly squeezed lime put it over the top.

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Insert your own “gluttony” joke while I regale you with our adventures in dessert. With Jack and Jenny, we ended our evening with bread pudding and a strawberry rhubarb crostada (rhubarb! Yet again!). Both were sinfully delicious, but the bread pudding took the prize.

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And since Kel, Mel, and I passed on entrees, we felt justified in ordering Church’s flourless chocolate cake. Now this isn’t something I’d ever order; I hear “flourless” and think “flavorless.” But Tara gave it high praise, so Mel ordered it. For a flourless cake, it was surprisingly moist and dense. It wasn’t overly sweet, but it drew a rich, balanced sweetness from the cherries, cream, and cherry syrup on top. Not what you’d expect from a flourless cake, and I’d recommend it. It was a perfect end to our evening.

Amid the great drinks, delicious food, and friendly atmosphere, I had forgotten that question I first asked myself – why the hell did they call this place “Church”? Because there are a couple of stained-glass windows and come cleverly named drinks? If the bar was housed in an abandoned church, I could understand it; but as far as I can tell, that’s not the case.

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But when I think of church as a community place, a neighborhood destination where people come together in celebration of a common cause…it makes sense. Local and friendly, upscale but laid back. It’s actually the kind of place I’d consider going once a week…even if it’s not on Sunday.

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As I noted in my review of Audubon Circle, just finding a place in the Kenmore/Fenway area that doesn’t exist solely for the purpose of attracting game-day Red Sox fans is rare. And to happen upon a bar as unique as Church is akin to having an epiphany.

Church would be an ideal location for a date. It’s a bit on the fancy side, so you’d impress your partner; but the atmosphere is undoubtedly warm, casual, and intimate. The drink menu itself is a conversation piece, and once you lubricate the conversation with those excellent cocktails, you’re all set. Or if you haven’t got any hot dates planned but are coming with a group, try calling ahead to reserve the couches.

Price-wise, it’s a little high, but not too bad for the city. Entrees range from $11 to $25, but most of the appetizers are $10 or less, and all those cool drinks are an even $10. There’s even a parking lot out back that’s free when the Sox aren’t in town.

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As I mentioned, there’s even more to Church than innovative cocktails and comfort food. Although part of the same building, there’s a separate room for live music where local and touring rock bands play. The cover charge varies depending on the band playing there, but if you get in before 8:15, you should avoid the cover altogether. And if I understand correctly, there’s no cover on Tuesdays. I haven’t been to the music side yet, but it sounds pretty casual – pool tables, TVs with the game on. I can’t wait to get there soon and write a follow-up post.

Address: 69 Kilmarnock Street, Boston

Website: http://www.churchofboston.com/

Halfway Cafe – Brief Thoughts on Memorial Day

I really enjoy writing for this blog, and my goal is to have a new post up every week. But I’ll by honest – it ain’t easy. I’m currently trying to write about Church, an excellent and unusual bar in Boston. But to adequately cover two visits, five people, nine very unique cocktails, an array of appetizers and desserts, and one very cool bartender, and do it all justice…well, that takes a little time. So my solution, going forward, is to get a few shorter posts up on a regular basis. Lighten the load a bit while still trying to keep myself sort of relevant in the blogosphere. With that in mind, I’d like to talk about the Halfway Cafe in Watertown.

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Someday, I’ll do a full review of this place. I’ve been a regular at the Halfway since I moved to Watertown several years ago. I’ve been here countless times with my wife, my friends, and by myself, and as local bars go, this pretty much feels like home. So when I do write about it, I’ll want it to be a special post. But for now, I’m just sharing my experience on a picture-perfect holiday afternoon in May.

One of the best things about the Halfway is that it’s very customer-driven, as evidenced by aggressive food specials. They offer all-you-can-eat wings on Sundays, $1 hot dogs during Sox games (a blessing and a curse), and a rotating “7 for 7” special – seven entrees that cost a mere $7.

And just this morning, I heard the Halfway was offering their classic burger for $5.99 and Bud Light drafts for $1.99.

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It’s Memorial Day. I’m not working. The Halfway is right down the street from me. It was inevitable.

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I stopped in with Melissa at about 2 p.m. All told, there were about 10 people inside, a few of whom had come from the Watertown Memorial Day parade that had just finished up. The Sox were on TV, playing an afternoon game against the Tigers. There’s no substitute for being at Fenway, but seeing that lush green grass on a sunny day, even on a TV screen, is still thrilling in its own way.

I was briefly tempted by the dollar dogs, but I came for the special and that’s what I got – a burger with fries and two beers for $10. Beat that! The burger at Halfway, like the restaurant itself, is pretty simple and straightforward. It’s the kind of burger you’d have right off the grill at a friend’s afternoon barbecue. No frills – just a nice, juicy burger that always hits the spot.

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Gorgeous weather and a day off. A burger and a couple of beers. Watching baseball on TV and hanging out in the neighborhood bar. Does it get any more American than this? (Mel got the decidedly un-American Mediterranean wrap, which I have excluded from this review.)

The Halfway Cafe in Watertown is a cozy place with friendly staff. I’d come here all the time even if they didn’t have so many attractive food specials.  The burger and beer deal runs through June 3, so get it while you can. And if you miss it, I’m sure they’ll follow it up with another good offer – they always do.

I hope everyone had a pleasant Memorial Day – especially those who have lost family members defending our country and fighting so that people like me have the freedom to do relatively silly things like write blogs about bars.

Address: 394 Main Street, Watertown

Website:http://www.thehalfwaycafe.com/watertown.html

Whitney's

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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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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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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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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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?