June 9, 2013

Hops N Scotch

June 9, 2013

Hops N Scotch – the name is at once playful and pragmatic. Despite the nod to a children’s playground game, the emphasis at this Coolidge Corner bar is on a decidedly more mature diversion – specifically, 40 draft beers and 100+ varieties of Scotch, whiskey, and bourbon.

Hops N Scotch opened last summer in the space vacated by Finale. Darren Tow and David Ng, owners of the adjacent Coolidge Corner Wine & Spirits, converted the former desserterie into a two-floor beer and whiskey bar with a menu featuring Southern-style comfort food.

As is befitting for a bar that holds beer and Scotch in equal reverence, the décor at Hops N Scotch is a blend of upscale sophistication and laid-back coziness.The gold-painted walls, black ceiling, and track lighting above the bar give it a modern look, while exposed beams, hardwood flooring, and a couple of TVs keep the atmosphere fairly casual. Large windows look out onto the street, and there are a handful of tables downstairs for dining.

But the highlight is the long, angular bar, with a dark wooden top, 15 comfortable leather chairs, and eye-pleasing views of the beer taps and the impressive whiskey selection.

My first visit to Hops N Scotch came about a month ago, with Melissa and our friends Dave and Christine. I arrived at about 5:15 on a Friday and found the bar nearly full, though it wouldn’t get really crowded for another 45 minutes or so. Torn between starting with beer or whiskey, I opted for a compromise – the bar’s namesake cocktail, the Hops N Scotch.

A mix of Dewar’s whisky, IPA, grapefruit juice, ginger, and bitters, this is the kind of drink that’ll wake you up if you need a boost. It was bitter at first but mellowed out midway through.

As I sipped it, a couple of other customers and I watched with rapt attention as the bartender/manager, Adrienne, pulled out an ice ball machine and put on ice-ball-making clinic. We were transfixed as she put large blocks of ice into the machine and then, with a wave of her hand and a few words uttered in a strange but hauntingly beautiful language, extracted a perfect sphere of frozen water. This led to an engaging discussion about various methods of making crystal clear ice balls (and cubes). OK, I guess you had to be there.

Anyway, Melissa arrived next and ordered a Mint Julep, which was appropriate given that the Kentucky Derby was the following day. No, it didn’t come in the iconic pewter cup, but it was loaded with ice, crushed by ice priestess Adrienne herself. It was refreshing, with prominent flavors of bitters and mint.

Wanting a sweet contrast to the biting tones of my first drink, my next choice was one I don’t ordinarily see outside of Asian restaurants – a Mai Tai. “That’s one of our favorites,” Adrienne told me, explaining that they’d added it to their repertoire about a month ago, when they changed the cocktail menu and needed a rum drink.

Tropical and not overly sweet, this was an exceptional Mai Tai. What really set it apart was orgeat, an almond syrup used in the original Mai Tai recipe but seldom employed today.

Melissa and I ordered up a couple of appetizers while we waited for Christine and Dave, beginning with fried pickles. As opposed to the typical sliced rounds, they came in the form of spears, kind of like fries. Mel boldly declared them to be the best ever.

To that we added some delicious crab cake sliders, an order endorsed by bartender Adrienne. Her opinion carries some weight here, since she hails from the Chesapeake Bay region and insists on Hops N Scotch getting “the good stuff” when ordering their lump crab. Served with a spicy remoulade sauce, these bad boys made for a satisfying pre-dinner treat.

With that it was time to begin the hops portion of the evening. Like any bar that takes its beer seriously and expects that you do the same, Hops N Scotch offers a few well-crafted beer flights. This is especially helpful when you’re staring down 40 draft options (to say nothing of the additional 40 or so in bottles) and feeling indecisive. There are several prearranged flight options, delineated by theme. We settled on the “Wicked Dahk” flight – Unita Baba (a black lager), Left Hand Milk Stout, Mayflower Porter, and Lost Abbey Serpent’s Stout.

This was a good mix of dark beers – the sour essence of the black lager, the creamy milk stout, the rich porter, and the thick, malty Serpent’s Stout.

Dave and Christine arrived shortly thereafter, and we were shown to a table upstairs. The second floor at Hops N Scotch is a good-size dining room with 16 to 18 tables, surrounded by big windows offering a lovely view of the city through the trees.

Dave, a whiskey connoisseur with an enviable personal collection at home, ordered the first Scotch of the evening – an Auchentoshan 12-year, a single malt from the Scottish Lowlands. He said it had a subtle, delicate flavor, lighter and fruitier than most single malts.

Christine opted for the Bitter End, a mix of bourbon, Campari, bitters, and ginger beer. I thought the Campari and ginger beer would make for an intense flavor combination, but the drink was very well blended.

Melissa ordered that night’s drink special, the Boston Strong. The proceeds of this tangy blueberry lemonade went to the One Fund, benefiting victims of the marathon bombing; its blue and yellow hues were meant to echo the familiar colors of the Boston Marathon. And who doesn’t like drinking for a good cause?

Dinner began with a few appetizers. First up were light and savory Caprese skewers, with mozzarella, grape tomato, basil, and a balsamic reduction.

Next was the house-made beer bread – griddled bread made with Allagash White and served with a zesty pimento cheese.

Hops N Scotch’s dinner menu is stocked with comfort food, highlighted by some Southern classics like a catfish po’boy and shrimp etouffee. We started with an order of mac & cheese for the table. It was creamy and rich, with a little crispiness thanks to the breadcrumb topping.

Dave ordered the shroom burger, topped with sautéed Miatake mushrooms.

Christine got the grilled chicken club sandwich, topped with bacon and a tasty rosemary mayo.

While Dave and Christine both liked their sandwiches, it was the accompanying French fries that seemed to steal the show. “Any French fry that still has the skin on it is f*cking awesome,” Dave sagely observed. So say we all.

Melissa got the roasted beet salad; given my loathing of beets, I will say no more about this.

The catfish po’boy had my name written all over it, but since I’d been snacking all night, I continued with a couple of small plates. First up was an item I’d picked out long before I even walked in that night – Scotch eggs.

I’ve been in love with these heavenly things since I first tried them at the Haven, and Hops N Scotch’s “Southern” version did not disappoint. A soft-boiled egg encased in house-made chorizo, battered and fried, and served with a bourbon mustard dipping sauce…phenomenal.

Equally irresistible were the pecan-stuffed dates wrapped with bacon. I had a similar version of these last year at Orinoco. Already packed with flavor, a drizzle of maple syrup put them over the top.

For dessert, Melissa and Christine split a chocolate chip brownie sundae. Topped with fresh strawberries and butterscotch, with vanilla ice cream oozing down the sides, Christine pronounced it “top of the line.”

The brownie looked pretty decadent, but Dave and I had other plans – a whiskey flight. As with the beer flights, Hops N Scotch offers a variety of whiskey flights. Some are devoted to single malts, others to blends; I think they shuffle the arrangements periodically. Dave and I split the Global Passion Whiskey Flight, so called because it featured selections from around the globe. Our selections were Hibiki, a 12-year blend from Japan; Reisetbauer, a single malt from Austria; Virginia Highland Single Malt (USA! USA!); and Amrut Fusion, an Indian single malt.

The samples made their way around the table, and the consensus was that the Virginia whiskey was the best. Dave thought the Indian one tasted like feet. Maybe that’s what prompted him to close things out with he affectionately referred to as “old reliable” – Johnny Walker Black, on the rocks. Even among such an expansive selection, sometimes nothing beats a classic.

While Dave closed out his night with Scotch, I figured I’d go back to hops.

But when my Troegs Sunshine Pils arrived, the waitress brought with it a most intriguing message – my beer had been paid for by an anonymous friend of BBH. I scanned the restaurant for a familiar face or a guilty look, but came up empty. With a little sleuthing, I eventually narrowed my list of suspects to one – Liv, of Liv.Love.Blog. She won’t own up to it (and I’m not even sure her name is Liv, which should tell you something about my sleuthing skills). But I was very thankful, and that was a pretty cool way to end the night.

Last Call

There are plenty of bars with impressive selections of both beer and whiskey. Five Horses comes to mind. Often, though, the emphasis is on the beer, and the whiskey seems to be there for a small subset of discerning customers. Hops N Scotch does a good job of putting both on an equal footing. The result is a casual atmosphere for drinkers with sophisticated taste – or for those who are looking to broaden their palate. The well-chosen beer and whiskey flights give novices a chance to become acquainted with different styles while offering microbrew or Scotch lovers the chance to compare.

Prices are pretty standard. Our cocktails were all $10, most beers were around $6. The “Snacks” and “Small Plates,” which I thought offered the most variety of the menu, ranged from $6 for our beer bread to $14 for the crab cake sliders. The sandwiches were $12 to $13.

Whether you’re there for beer, whiskey, or both, it’s always a pleasure when the person pouring your drink is friendly and able to tell you something about what you’re drinking. Whether the subject was the proper composition of a Mai Tai or the finer points of ice making, Adrienne was chatty and offered good suggestions all evening. Similarly, I stopped in on a Sunday afternoon to get a few more pictures, and the bartender, Matt, was quick to tell me about a few beers they’d just tapped. At his recommendation, I ordered a Jack’s Abby Smoked Maple Lager, made with maple syrup from Vermont. Good stuff, and not nearly as sweet as you’d expect, given that it’s made with real maple syrup.

That’s two visits and two solid experiences at the bar. And that’s pretty important – because you can have all the beers and whiskies in the world, but it’s the people behind the bar who tend to make it a good or bad place to drink at.

Address: 1306 Beacon Street, Brookline

Website:http://www.hopsnscotchbar.com/

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May 31, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, CAMBRIDGE, Events

Dueling With an Ancient Spirit – Licor 43

May 31, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, CAMBRIDGE, Events

Every classic cocktail has an origin story. There’s the yarn about Winston Churchill’s mother commissioning the recipe for what would become the Manhattan. There are competing tales about the first Sidecar. Here in Boston, the Ward 8 is thought to have emerged from a particular episode of 19th century backroom politics. Seldom do these stories hold up under scrutiny. Most have benefited from decades’ worth of boozy embellishment and exaggeration, while others are complete fabrications. Even the most plausible should be taken with the proverbial grain of salt.

That’s what happens when a cocktail that was first made a century ago survives through modern times. The older the drink, the taller the tale. But unless you have a great grandfather who claims to have mixed up the first Singapore Sling, historical accuracy isn’t all that important. Colorful legends behind a drink’s conception add a little depth and character, but mostly serve as trivia to share with someone over a potent, well-made beverage.

That said, few legends of liquor are quite as compelling as the one behind Licor 43.

The story of this Spanish liqueur supposedly begins more than 2,000 years ago. In 209 B.C., the Romans captured the city of Quart Hadas – what we now know to be Cartagena, Spain. Amid their conquest, the invading army happened upon a gold-hued, aromatic liquor infused with local fruits and herbs. Despite taking a quick liking to the liquor, the Romans’ suspicions were aroused by its unique flavor, unknown ingredients, and rumors of its unusual properties; thus, they banned its production.

Unsurprisingly, the locals kept making the stuff anyway, but in secret; even less surprisingly, the Romans became increasingly enamored of it, and its popularity grew – if somewhat discreetly – among the Roman elite. They called it Licor Mirabilis – the “marvelous liqueur” – and eventually had it exported to other Mediterranean cities.

The recipe remained a tightly held secret that was passed down through many generations until 1924, when it was purchased by a Spanish family with the surname “Zamora.” They eventually rechristened the spirit “Cuarenta Y Tres,” or Licor 43. The name derives from the number of ingredients that constitute the liqueur, and apparently only three people – from three generations of the Zamora family – currently know the recipe.

Maybe you’re captivated by the story, or perhaps you’re more inclined to raise an eyebrow at historical plot holes being glossed over for the purposes of a modern marketing campaign. But again, the accuracy of a back story is much less important than the quality of its subject. And Licor 43, with its rich, amber hue, warm vanilla essence, and surprising notes of citrus, is worthy of a tale or two.

Licor 43 is still made in Cartagena today, and while the Zamora family doesn’t want anyone to know what’s in their product, they’d be appreciative if more people knew about their product. “Never heard of it” is the response I get whenever I mention this stuff to someone. Our ignorance is understandable; while the liqueur is not new to the U.S., the vast majority of its sales have historically been in Europe, with a particular concentration in Spain (obviously) and Germany. What’s more, the flavor profile of Licor 43 was thought to be challenging to mix with other ingredients; so even in bars that carried it, the bottles tended to collect dust on a back shelf.

All of that’s changing. Sales of Licor 43 are growing all over the world, with a landmark 500,000 cases being moved in 2011 (just to put the global market in perspective, Captain Morgan sold 10 million cases last year). And in 2012, the Zamora family partnered with W.J. Deutsch to improve distribution in the U.S. – where, as you might have noticed, specialty cocktails have become all the rage.

So how do you spread the word about an ancient liqueur that’s been shunned or forgotten by most bartenders? Easy. Gather up six of Boston’s top mixologists, give them some Licor 43, and ask them to do what they do best – create drinks. Oh, and just to make things…interesting? Put a little money on it.

That’s exactly what went down at the “Tonight’s Secret Ingredient” bartender contest, a cocktail death match hosted by Moksa Restaurant in Cambridge. The rules were simple – come up with a drink that incorporates Licor 43, submit it for the appraisal of the judging panel, and make a bunch of samples for a small but thirsty crowd of spectators. Winners get cash prizes and local bragging rights. Losers get their drinks thrown in their faces by disgusted judges and suffer the scathing taunts of their peers.

Before the throwdown got under way, attendees were treated to passed hors d’oeuvres and a couple of Licor 43-based drinks. First up was the Mini Beer – 1.5 ounces of Licor 43 in the world’s smallest beer stein, topped with a splash of heavy cream to mimic a foamy head. The result looks exactly as its name would imply – like a mini beer – but any similarity ended there. The sweetness and texture of the cream were perfectly suited to the vanilla flavor of the liqueur, making for a small but decadent liquid appetizer.

That was followed by the Key Lime Pie Martini, the name of which gave me a shivery flashback to the plague of pseudo-martinis that we had to endure a few years ago (I’m getting nauseous just thinking about the tiramisu martini I once sampled). It’s exactly the sort of drink I’d never order, let alone trumpet on my website, so I’m glad it was free – because it was sinfully good. The flavor was so eerily similar to actual key lime pie that I assumed there must be some hideous, bright green, chemically induced additive, but no. The drink was a fairly basic mix of Licor 43, vodka, half and half, and lime juice. I still can’t imagine asking a bartender for this, but if someone were to purchase one on my behalf, you know…I suppose I’d be OK with it.

As the crowd’s anticipation and inebriation swelled, the master of ceremonies announced that the contest was finally about to begin. The judges, Fred Yarm (author of Drink & Tell: A Boston Cocktail Book), Heather Kleinman (Executive Editor of DrinkSpirits.com), and Jerry Knight (Director of Marketing at Deutsch Family Wine & Spirits), took their places at a table on the stage. Their dour expressions cast a pall over the room; I would not want to be the bartender who served them an inferior drink.

The champions, meanwhile, were split into three groups of two opponents each – in other words, three mano a mano duels for the right to advance to the finals. The first two combatants paced anxiously behind the bar, each guarding their ingredients like a tiger protecting her young.

The first contestant was Taso Papatsoris from Casa B in Somerville. His drink, called Jardin Dorado, combined Licor 43 with gin, a Spanish sherry, Angostura bitters, and pimento bitters. It was a splendid cocktail. The gin provided a dry backdrop for the vanilla and citrus of the Licor 43 and the nutty flavor of the sherry. Garnished with an orchid, this may have been the most beautifully presented of all the evening’s drinks.

On the other end of the bar was Jason Kilgore of Catalyst in Cambridge. Whereas Taso’s drink had a light, floral essence, Jason’s “Three of a Perfect Pair” was heavier and more intense. This one mixed Licor 43 with gin, rye whiskey, freshly made rhubarb syrup, lemon juice, and a barspoon of Fernet Branca. I thought whiskey and gin sounded like a fearsome combo, but the vanilla notes softened the flavor, and the rhubarb syrup contributed an earthy sweetness.

Each bartender approached the stage and made his case to the judges, who sampled the concoctions and took some notes. And with that, Round 1 was officially in the books. Round 2 pitted Amber Schumaker, from Eastern Standard, against Oronde Popplewell, defending his home turf of Moksa.

As if the evening’s stakes weren’t high enough already, Amber had the added challenge of filling in at the last minute for Eastern Standard’s Kevin Martin. Though she was working with someone else’s recipe and had little time to prepare for battle, Amber rose to the occasion with the Verano Deseen – Licor 43, lime juice, Amaro Nonino, rye whiskey, and Regan’s orange bitters. The flavor of the rye and the sweetness of the Licor 43 were up front in this one. Beyond that, the Amaro gave the drink even more depth, while the lime and orange flavors ensured that the Verano Deseen lived up to its name – it translates to “Summer Wish.”

I asked Amber why she chose rye over bourbon, and she met my query with a stony glare. “You don’t bring a knife to a gunfight, son,” she growled.

Her opponent, Oronde, whipped up one of the stranger-looking cocktails of the evening. The Straw Ox combined Cachaça, Licor 43, strawberry vinegar, lemon juice, and simple syrup, and was topped with “Licor 43 Foam,” which looked like a glob of Cool Whip. I moved in to ask what it was, but Oronde’s eyes told me not to even bother.

With its pale violet glow and cryptic garnish, the cocktail was as intriguing in appearance as it was in taste, though there was a mild sourness that I didn’t care for.

As Amber and Oronde appealed to the judges, the Round 3 champions moved into place. Josh Taylor of West Bridge (which sounds like a town, or maybe a specialty furniture store, but is actually a cool-looking restaurant in Cambridge) created the aptly named Backyard Cocktail, a summery mix of Licor 43, rhubarb shrub, fresh strawberry and lime juices, and club soda.

Sam Gabrielli of Russell House Tavern countered with 43 Elephants, a drink that mixed Licor 43 with Amarula, Fernet Branca, an egg white, and Angostura bitters. If Josh’s Backyard Cocktail captured the flavors of summer, Sam’s evoked more of a wintry mood. Amarula, an African cream liqueur with hints of caramel, matched well with the vanilla notes in the Licor 43, and the egg white further enhanced the drink’s creamy texture.

Six up, six down; now it was up to the judges to decide who would continue in the tournament. Music played, guests mingled, and more Licor 43 Mini Beers and Key Lime Pie Martinis got passed around.

The frivolity of the crowd was in stark contrast to the savagery on the other side of the bar – jittery contestants snarling at one another, heaving appalling insults, and hurling accusations of ingredient tampering. Clearly, these people didn’t like each other.

Suddenly a hush fell over the room as the judges delivered their verdict – Sam Gabrielli, Oronde Popplewell, and Josh Taylor would advance to the finals, while the bell tolled for Taso, Amber, and Jason. The crowd erupted, a mix of delighted applause and hateful jeers. Before returning to the bar to make their drinks one more time, the three remaining warriors solemnly raised barspoons to their vanquished foes – a time-honored gesture of respect among those in the cocktail trade.

As the now restive crowd settled in for another grueling wait, the mood turned dark. Alliances shifted among the spectators, and loyalties were openly questioned. A woman approached me and asked if I was “Team Josh, Team Oronde, or Team Sam.” I laughed. She didn’t.

Whispered accusations of intimidation and bribery caused some to question the honor of the finalists. “The guy from Catalyst got screwed!” yelled the guy from Catalyst. The smoldering look on Amber’s face made me wonder whether her earlier knife/gunfight remark was a metaphor or a warning.

As the simmering hostility approached a full, violent boil, the microphone crackled with the voice of the emcee – the judges were ready to crown a winner.

Silence descended again upon the expectant crowd, punctuated occasionally by isolated gasps and muttered prayers. The bell tolled first for Sam, who ushered his 43 Elephants back to Russell House Tavern. It rang again for Moksa’s Oronde and his Straw Ox. That left Josh Taylor of West Bridge to raise his Backyard Cocktail in triumph amid a deafening ovation.

Josh’s victory was richly deserved. He got a handsome cash prize while those of us in attendance were treated to another round of his award-winning cocktail. And while all the drinks were impressive, I’d have to concur with the judges – this was the drink of the night. The vanilla of the Licor 43 paired beautifully with the strawberry juice, while the rhubarb shrub kept it from being overly sweet. The lime juice further brought out the citrus notes of the Licor 43, and the club soda introduced just the right amount of dryness. Positively refreshing, and ideal for a backyard barbecue on a hot summer day.

Victory belonged to Josh, but the night belonged to Licor 43. Whether this very old spirit will become the latest thing, I don’t know. Nor can I say whether its fascinating origin story is true (but if there really are only three people who know the recipe, I hope at least one of them has the good sense to jot it down at some point). But even if its history has merged with legend, the liqueur’s quality requires no exaggeration.

Nor does an event like this – even though I may have added a few teensy-weensy embellishments in my retelling. In truth, the night had the tone of a friendly competition, and not a drop of blood was spilled (that I know of). Personally, I was thrilled to have the opportunity to watch six cocktail experts at work. It was especially instructive to see the similarities and differences in how they approached a given ingredient, and each cocktail was distinct in its composition and presentation.

If you want to try your hand at making the winning drink, the recipe follows.

The Backyard Cocktail, crafted by Josh Taylor of West Bridge in Cambridge

1 1⁄2 oz Licor 43

3⁄4 oz Rhubarb Shrub

1⁄2 oz Fresh Strawberry Juice

1⁄2 oz Fresh Lime Juice

Club Soda

Combine the Licor 43, rhubarb shrub, strawberry juice, and lime juice and shake lightly. Strain into a highball glass over ice. Top with club soda and serve with a straw.

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May 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

One for the Road – The Birch Bar

May 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

When it comes to availability of craft beer, we here in Boston are absolutely, positively, 100% spoiled. Sunset Grill & Tap. The Publick House. Meadhall. Stoddard’s. Five Horses. Bukowski’s. Lord Hobo. Park. Their beer selections are phenomenal, and usually, the people pouring them know their stuff, too. And this is but a small sample – in nearly every corner of this city and its neighboring towns, you can find a bar with dozens of microbrews on draft, usually accompanied by extensive bottled and canned options. Local and regional breweries, large and small, are well represented, while beers from all over the country and around the world are shipped in every day. Whether your taste for craft beer is casual, evolving, or so advanced that you can justify paying $30 for a 16-ounce bottle of some obscure Belgian ale, this city’s got you covered.

Boston is only one among many great beer cities in the United States. Portland, Maine, is rich in local microbreweries. I remember seeing endless beer options on a trip to Seattle, Washington, a few years back. Denver, Colorado, and Portland, Oregon, are considered craft brew meccas. And that’s only naming a few; there are hundreds of cities in this country where you can find bars with rich, expansive beer selections.

Now, there probably aren’t many beer aficionados who have Norfolk, Virginia, penciled in on their list of drinking destinations. But what it lacks in renown, it makes up for in promise – craft beer in the Hampton Roads region has seen a surge in both popularity availability over the past several years. The O’Connor Brewing Company churns out hearty microbrews, the 12th Annual Virginia Beer Festival took place last weekend, and local bars continue to expand their craft beer selections. And no bar better epitomizes this growth than Norfolk’s Birch Bar.

Housed in a former industrial building, with a retractable garage door still intact, the Birch isn’t the only place in Norfolk with a great beer selection. But there are few if any other bars in the area that display such single-minded devotion to craft beer. There are 21 rotating options on draft, dozens more on a weekly bottle list, and not much else.

No live music, no cocktails, and very little food. No TV. No neon signs or colorful posters. Within its Spartan interior, the only thing likely to catch your eye is the large chalkboard on the wall that lists the Birch’s draft beers and their vital stats – the brewery, name of the beer, style, origin, price, and alcohol by volume. This is beer with no distractions.

I was recently in Norfolk for my sister-in-law’s graduation from nursing school. Melissa and I met up with our friend Chris and his buddy Matt for an evening at the Birch. It was a warm Virginia night, perfect for sitting at one of the three small picnic tables out front.

The Birch’s beer list is largely influenced by European beer styles, though their brews change so frequently, the selection is always diverse. I consulted the big chalkboard of drafts and began with a Maui Coconut Porter.

I’ll order just about anything with the word “coconut” in it, but I’m reasonably sure this is the first time I’ve seen it associated with a beer. The coconut flavor was pretty subtle, contributing a faint sweetness, and the beer itself was smooth and creamy.

Melissa took the suggestion of our server – we relied on her advice for much of the night – and ordered the Carnegie Porter from the bottle list. A very malty Baltic porter, it had an unexpected molasses-type sweetness and hints of chocolate.

We were fortunate to be there on a Friday, because that’s when the Birch does beer and cheese pairings. It’s a novel idea; one normally considers wine to be cheese’s customary drinking partner. But a well-made beer can be every bit as distinguished as a fine wine, and properly pairing one with the right food demonstrates appreciation as well as knowledge. There were a few different combinations, and Chris went with the Contreras Valeir Extra beer, a Belgian style pale ale, accompanied by Bellavitano Balsamic cheese.

As the menu teased, “the Balsamic enhances the syrupy candy flavors and starts to form gummy bears in your mouth.” If that isn’t a persuasive argument for ordering beer and cheese, I don’t know what is.

Mel followed Chris’s lead and got the Piccolo Chiostro, a Belgian-style golden ale made in Italy and brewed with wormwood leaves (normally associated with absinthe and hallucinations), served with Saint Nectaire, a French cheese “with hints of hay and fresh milk.” A sucker for anything hay-flavored, Melissa couldn’t resist.

If beer isn’t your thing (and I don’t know why you’d come here if that were the case), or you’re simply looking to mix things up, Birch does offer a couple of alternatives – most notably, a rotating selection of ciders and meads.

Matt was intrigued by the mead, and at first, we tried to get him to order the habanero chili mead. (Why anyone would choose to infuse a sweet honey wine with the heat of a chili pepper is beyond me.) But then the waitress told us there was a mead called Viking’s Blood, and the die was cast. “Sweeter than I’d expect Viking’s blood to taste,” Matt noted, diplomatically.

I was curious about the ciders and chose an organic champagne cider made by Etienne-Dupont. This was the only clunker of the night. “Champagne” had me looking for bubbles, of which there were none, and the flavor was kind of sour.

I quickly switched back to beer with a Duck-Rabbit Wee Heavy Scotch Ale. Brewed in North Carolina, it was big and potent, with a nutty, bready flavor and a somewhat earthy mouthfeel.

The Birch does make a few concessions to those who prefer beers that are not quite so complex. Listed as “Hipster Beer” on the menu, Cisco Sankaty Light comes in a can and represents a lower-cost, plainer option.

If you’re expecting a hearty meal to soak up those high ABV beers, you’re out of luck – the most substantial thing on the menu is grilled cheese. Yes, that may be the simplest meal you might make for yourself at home, particularly if you’re returning from a long night of beer consumption. But whereas you might make grilled cheese with a few Kraft singles that have been in your fridge for…a while, the Birch makes theirs with cheeses such as fontina and manchego, incorporating ingredients like dried currants and prosciutto. Chris opted a sandwich called the Oarsman, made with Hook’s 3-year cheddar, house cheddar, and a pickle.

Beyond grilled cheese, the options are pretty much limited to a soft pretzel, popcorn, chips, nuts, and a snack mix. It’s an amusingly sparse menu, but I suppose that helps keep the spotlight on the beer.

Blessed as we were with a beautiful night for enjoying good beer in the fresh air, we moved inside for one last round. With its scuffed-up concrete floor, lights hanging from the ceiling, and a floor lamp here and there, the Birch’s interior kind of looks like a basement. There’s a 16-seat, L-shaped bar and nine tables with wooden captain’s chairs. A wall behind the bar neatly houses the beer taps.

I closed out with a Sculpin American IPA from Ballast Point Brewing Company. Very hoppy, but with nicely balanced flavors; I detected grapefruit or some other citrus flavor.

Matt’s final beer was Firestone Walker’s Wookey Jack, an American black ale. The roasted malt flavor was offset with a surprising hint of citrus.

Mel and Chris both ended the night with a Schneider Hefeweizen.

Despite it being a Friday night, the bar never seemed to get too packed. It certainly wasn’t dead, but I don’t think there were more than 15 or 20 people there at a time. That might be due in part to the Birch’s location, which is a little off the beaten path. With few bars in the immediate vicinity, this isn’t the kind of place you stumble into and out of a few beers later. Beer lovers seek this place out, and once they get here, they stay.

That all contributed to a quiet, laid-back atmosphere, which is good – beers like this call for conversation, and it helps when you don’t have to shout to be heard above TVs or crowd noise. Even the music was at the ideal volume, and it was awesome stuff; like listening to the iPod of a friend who has really good taste and is into a lot of bands you’ve never heard of.

My visit to the Birch was exceptional. But if I have one regret, it’s that I didn’t have an opportunity to talk with the owners, Ben and Malia. A young married couple who grew up in Virginia Beach and opened the bar in January 2011, their passion is obvious, and their enthusiasm, infectious. All night I saw them chatting with customers, dispensing beer advice, and fielding compliments and suggestions. They seemed friendly, down to earth, and happy to have customers who share their appreciation for craft brews. In other words, exactly the kind of people you’d want to share one with.

Last Call

Everything about the Birch Bar is devoted to the beer-drinking experience. No frills, no bells and whistles. Just a simple environment for enjoying some very complex brews.

The beer list is an achievement unto itself, but I wouldn’t measure the selection merely in terms of quantity; it feels like each beer is chosen by people who clearly know and love what they’re doing.

Not that you need to be a serious beer drinker to have a good time here. Everyone who helped us spoke knowledgeably about each beer, and they can steer you in the right direction if you’re unsure of what to choose.

Prices are certainly better than what I’m used to in Boston, though I don’t know how they compare to other Norfolk bars. Most of the drafts ranged from $3 to $9, depending on the beer type and glass size. The bottle and can list was more varied, with specialty brews as expensive as $35 and cans of Sankaty Light for only $3. Snacks are all $3 and $4, and grilled cheese ranged from $6 to $9. The beer and cheese pairings were $5 and $6.

While the Birch looks and feels like a fairly modest neighborhood tavern, its reputation continues to grow beyond its West Ghent location – RateBeer.com called it one of the 50 best beer bars in the world in 2012. Not too shabby. Ben and Malia should be proud of the bar they built, just as Norfolk should be proud to be home to a bona fide destination for beer lovers.

Address: 1231 W. Olney Road, Norfolk, Virginia

Website:http://www.thebirchbar.com/

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May 10, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Sidebar

May 10, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<End Rant>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Call

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

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

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

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

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

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

Address: 14 Bromfield Street, Boston

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

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April 30, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff, The Burbs

From Watertown With Love

April 30, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff, The Burbs

“What’s your favorite bar?” It’s a question I get often, which makes sense; I do, after all, have an entire website devoted to the topic of Boston-area bars. But I always get a little flustered when I try to answer (which, ironically, makes me sound like I know very little about the subject). I try to tell people that I don’t really have a favorite; what I enjoy most is the variety that our fair city offers. I explain to them how the contours of my evening or mood play a key role in determining what bar I’ll go to on a given night (or day). Am I headed out to watch a Bruins game? Am I meeting one of the Brew Dudes for good, complex microbrews? Am I playing pool with a friend? Am I going out with a group? Do I want fancy cocktails? Is it a dive bar kind of night?

Usually people listen, nod along, and then ask “But which one is your favorite?” I sigh, resignedly, and just say Stoddard’s (and why not, it’s awesome).

The thing is, that question always puts me in an awkward spot. My website certainly isn’t the ultimate resource for Boston nightlife (yet), but often enough, someone will tell me they tried a bar based on my recommendation. That makes me feel like I have a certain responsibility to be credible. So when I’m explaining my project to a complete stranger who’s wondering why I’m taking pictures of my drinks, and then they want to know what my favorite bar is, I feel like I should respond with one of Boston’s best. I mean, what am I supposed to say? “Oh, I really love these two townie bars down the street from me”?

That’s the truth, though. As much as I love drinking in pubs with 50+ microbrews on draft and chatting with artists of alcohol who can whip up unique cocktails, my favorites are decidedly unremarkable. They aren’t even in Boston. See, I live in a town just outside the city; perhaps you’ve heard of it…

Yes, that Watertown. We were a quiet, under-the-radar suburb that was close to Boston but without the traffic, congestion, and exorbitant living expenses. We were known for good restaurants and some quirky shops – if we were known at all. I’ve had to describe Watertown’s existence and geography on more than one occasion. That all changed at about midnight on April 19, when the two men suspected of bombing the Boston Marathon sped into Watertown in a stolen car.

It was approximately 1:40 a.m. when Melissa woke me up. I’d slept maybe two hours. “You have to see this,” she said, turning on the TV. All we knew at first was that there was some serious police activity about a mile away and shots had been fired. Soon, though, creepy amateur footage of cops firing their weapons at unseen assailants made it onto the news. Filmed through a window by someone with an iPhone, the video was dark and grainy, but the sounds of the gunshots were clear, unmistakable, and utterly chilling. Reporters soon revealed what we’d all suspected – the marathon bombers were in Watertown.

In the wake of that news came the police instructions, which grew increasingly ominous as the minutes dragged on: Stay in your house. Close the windows. Move to the rear of your home. Do not answer your door.

For hours, the only lights in our house came from the TV and our phones when we’d get a text or check Twitter to see if anyone had any news. The details were sketchy, but eventually we learned that one of the two suspects was dead and the other was at large somewhere in our town. He was considered armed and dangerous; but armed with what, we didn’t know. A gun? Another bomb? A suicide vest?

Morning brought with it a sense of relief; at least sunlight limited the bomber’s ability to hide. But he was still unaccounted for. And thus began a strange, interminably long day marked equally by anxiety and tedium. Like the rest of Boston and the towns surrounding it, we were instructed to “shelter in place” – a term I hope never to hear again that essentially meant we had to stay in our homes. And in the case of Watertown, there was the added precaution of roads being closed. No one drove in, no one drove out.

There was little to do but watch the news. Not that there was much news, mind you; just anchors repeating themselves while interspersing the previous night’s footage with shots of the growing army of Watertown and state police, military personnel, and FBI and ATF agents. Every now and again there’d be a big commotion when a SWAT vehicle drove 50 feet down the road and then parked, or when the governor or police chief would hold a press conference to announce that there was nothing to announce. As the day stretched into the late afternoon, the prohibition on driving meant that Mel wouldn’t be making her scheduled flight out of town to meet a friend, and I wouldn’t be making it to a concert with my friend Mario (who also lives in Watertown).

Our plans scuttled, our patience sorely tested, one thing kept running through my mind – if the Halfway Café is open tonight, I’m making a beeline for it the second they lift this stupid lockdown.

When I first moved to Watertown, the Halfway Café possessed something of a mythic quality. Whenever I told someone where I was living, I’d hear “Oh, have you been to the Halfway Café? I used to love that place.” Despite its legendary status, nothing about my first visit blew me away. It was pretty much your standard pub. There was a dining room and a bar area, the latter of which seemed narrow and felt cramped. The food was pretty good, and it was affordable. The beer selection was average. The best thing about it, from my perspective, was that it was within walking distance of my house.

But as my personal roots in Watertown deepened, the Halfway Café went from being a typical neighborhood bar to a beloved home away from home. It’s where I go after a long day of shoveling snow. It’s where Melissa and I go when we’ve had a tough week or just don’t feel like cooking. It’s where Mario, my sister Kelly, and I have watched countless Sox games and eaten our weight in wings. Mario's wife (and basketball aficionado) Ivys tries to drag me to the Halfway a couple nights a week for whatever hoops game she’s got money on.

It’s the first bar at which I ever considered myself a regular.

Halfway has a fair beer selection, which they’ve expanded since I first started going. Nothing extraordinary, mostly standards like Guinness, Harpoon, and Sam Adams, but it’s nice to find less common options like BBC Steel Rail and Batch 19. I typically start off with something decent – a Guinness in the winter, a Blue Moon or a Sam Summer when it’s warm out – before downshifting to a PBR (at $2, it’s hard to beat).

You could probably eat enough of the complimentary popcorn to have it count as a meal, but I usually order something more sustaining. The menu is mostly your standard pub fare; for me, it nearly always comes down to a choice between a burger and wings. The Halfway’s chicken wings are their bread and butter. I realize that like barbecue food, wings are often the subject of heated debate among aficionados. I don’t know where the Halfway’s wings rank on the regional respect scale, but they’re easily my favorite. It’s a good size portion for $11, but you can get a double portion if that’s the way you roll (and you will roll if you have the double portion all to yourself).

But the burger always gives the wings a run for their money. The burgers themselves are pretty standard, but the toppings can be inventive. Take, for example, the decadent Reuben burger, topped with corned beef, sauerkraut, Russian dressing, and Swiss cheese, served on griddled rye. I mean, they’re essentially taking a burger and topping it with an entire Reuben sandwich for a gastronomically shocking yet satisfying experience. I’d suggest ordering that only on special occasions. My go-to choice is the pub burger, topped with citrus chipotle BBQ sauce, jalapeno bacon, and smoked gouda and cheddar cheese. That’s a whole lotta flavor goin’ on there, and worthwhile at $9.99.

Comforting as my old standbys are, they’re challenged on a monthly basis by the Halfway’s “8 for $8” specials. That’s eight monthly specials for $8 a pop. The specials run the gamut from painfully ordinary to somewhat creative, but either way, it’s a good deal for dinner.

Wings, PBR, and any environment that was not my living room were the very things I was dreaming about when we got the word that the lockdown had been lifted. It was around 6 p.m., and while there was still a madman on the loose, we could finally go outside again. The world hurriedly tried to return to something resembling normal, and the Halfway announced it would open at 8. Melissa and I made plans to meet Mario and Ivys there later, but first things first – we were getting out of the house, at long last, and going for a much-needed walk.

If the bombers were looking to further infuriate the people of the Boston area after Monday’s attack, forcing us to stay inside on the first 75 degree day of the year certainly did the trick. We took a stroll around the neighborhood and saw so many people out of doors, happy to stretch their legs and feel the fresh air.

It turned to be a brief respite. Barely 20 minutes had gone by when helicopters suddenly passed overhead and sirens wailed in the distance. We got home and discovered that the day had taken a dramatic turn – Suspect #2 was holed up in a boat in somebody’s backyard. We reluctantly settled in for another hour or so of must-see TV. Eventually, the 9,000-to-1 man-advantage that law enforcement held proved to be too much for the wounded 19-year-old to overcome. He succumbed to the inevitable and the standoff was over. Cue the Standells’ “Dirty Water.”

In the tense interim, the Halfway decided not to open after all. Fortunately, my other favorite Watertown bar did.

My first impression of Asiana Fusion was, like that of the Halfway Café, underwhelming. I went there a couple of times and it seemed just alright. Then one night, Melissa and I were supposed to meet Mario, Ivys, and Kelly at the Halfway, only to find it too crowded; we went to Asiana instead, and kind of never left.

It’s a quirky place, that Asiana Fusion is. There’s a decent-size dining area with about a dozen tables, but the 12-seat horseshoe bar, with its sleek metal siding, is where you’ll normally find the BBH crew and me. There’s more of a lounge vibe to the place anyway. They’ve got a couple of TVs if you’re there to watch a game, as Mario and I often are. Asiana hosts trivia on Thursdays – behold, the spoils of recent third-place finish by Mario, Ivys, Kelly, and me.

They used to have karaoke nights on the weekend, but I think they dropped that. There’s also a pool table, surrounded by some comfy leather sofas; as far as I know, it’s the only place in Watertown with billiards.

As their helpfully descriptive moniker would imply, Asiana’s menu is a mix of Chinese, Thai, and Japanese cuisine, with some distinctly Americanized touches like steak-and-cheese spring rolls. Bizarrely, they also have a dedicated frozen yogurt station.

But what I most associate Asiana Fusion with is their Mai Tai. A Polynesian-style drink by way of Oakland, California, the Mai Tai is a staple at any Asian restaurant. Its recipe has endured countless variations; the only ingredients on which anyone can agree are rum, pineapple juice, and some sort of orange flavor, either from juice or a liqueur. I’ve had very simple versions as well as inordinately complex renditions; I’d put Asiana’s version somewhere in the middle. Regardless, it’s a sweet, potent cocktail that often comes to mind when I’m slogging through a brutal workweek.

Since it is most unwise to consume Asiana’s Mai Tais on an empty stomach, mine are nearly always accompanied by chicken and shrimp Pad Thai. The regularity with which I order this meal is such that the bartenders don’t even bother giving me a menu anymore. Is it the very best Pad Thai around? Probably not. But I’m enamored of it, and at $9.95, it’s reasonably priced (especially since I usually bring half of it home).

I wish I could tell you more about Asiana’s food, but I rarely venture beyond my typical order. I can vouch for their delicious scallion pancakes. And when I was last there, Kelly ordered General Gau’s chicken, just to lend the post a little culinary variety; she was pretty pleased with it.

Also in the spirit of variety, I asked our regular bartender if there was a drink other than the Mai Tai she’d recommend. She whipped me up something original and off-menu – the Rockstar. A mix of whiskey, Southern Comfort, Chambord, cranberry juice, and Sprite, it was fruity and intense.

There’s a small but decent draft beer selection, including Sam seasonal, Blue Moon, Rapscallion Honey, Baxter Brewing Company’s Stowaway IPA, and Angry Orchard cider. But after a couple of Mai Tais, about all I can handle is a Bud Light – which, at $2.50, is a pretty good deal.

As with the Halfway Café, at some point, Asiana became my local. When I walked in the other night, I wasn’t even in my seat before the bartender said “Hey there…Mai Tai?” We had a similar exchange shortly thereafter about the Pad Thai. I always tell her that one day I’m going to surprise her and order something completely different. It’s an idle threat, though. Further solidifying my predictability is that if I walk in alone, I always get the same question – “Where’s everyone else?” That would be some combination of Mario, Ivys, Kelly, and Melissa. And yes, at least one of them is usually on the way.

So yes, I go to Asiana with the same people, order the same drinks, eat the same food, and see the same bartenders. But that familiarity is what made it such a comforting destination at which to meet Mario and Ivys after such an unusual, tense day. The post-lockdown atmosphere at Asiana wasn’t necessarily celebratory; no USA chants broke out, no one gave a loud toast to law enforcement. I would call it more of a collective sigh of relief. It was the kind of night where you’d laugh a bit and swap stories with people, whether you knew them or not. We’d been through an ordeal, after all, the likes of which we’d never experienced in our hometown.

How appropriate, then, that we’d all gather at the neighborhood bar. From its very earliest incarnation, the public house was often central to its community – it was where people met, exchanged news, and engaged in public forums. We might not think of a bar that way anymore, but when people in Watertown needed to connect after a traumatic day, that’s where a lot of us went. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I didn’t rush out that night because I wanted to get drunk. I simply felt the need to act normal again and be with people who could relate to my experience.

The Halfway and Asiana were the first and only places that came to mind. As I said earlier, on the surface, neither bar is extraordinary. If you lived in Boston, I doubt you’d come out to Watertown to eat and drink at either place. But the value a bar can bring to a community isn’t neatly calculated by how many beers it has on draft or how trendy its drink list is. It’s measured in loud fits of laughter, quiet conversations, and hugging a complete stranger after watching an exhilarating playoff win. It’s measured in the comfort of a familiar environment. It’s measured in catching up with a friendly bartender while sipping a beer and watching TV. My favorite bars might not look like anything special to you, but they mean the world to me.

Likewise, Watertown is a relatively low-key place. We’re unaccustomed to midnight shootouts and national media scrutiny. The police log in the local paper doesn’t exactly read like an episode of Law & Order. But in the face of potential catastrophe, our town exhibited character and strength. Boston underwent a terrible tragedy on Marathon Monday; it affected all of us. We wish it had never happened, and we would have been happy not to have two murderous terrorists set foot in our quiet town. But we answered the call, just the same. And while I’ve only lived here for 5 years, it made me proud to call Watertown my home.

Halfway Café: 394 Main Street, Watertown

http://www.thehalfwaycafe.com/

Asiana Fusion: 1 Waverley Avenue, Watertown

http://www.asianafusion.com/

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April 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

Undaunted

April 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

Figuring out what I was going to write for last week’s post was hard enough, given what transpired on Marathon Monday. I certainly wasn’t going to submit my usual lighthearted bar review. Then all hell broke loose in the wee hours of Friday, and like most of you, I spent the day glued to the TV. Oh, and I live in Watertown, so…suffice to say, military helicopters overhead and gunshots in the distance contributed another layer of anxiety to an already tense day. What follows is an updated version of the piece I’d prepared for last Friday. I’ll have a more Watertown-centric post to share later this week. After that, it’s back to business – which, thanks to the actions of law enforcement and the bravery of so many ordinary citizens, I’ll be able to do.

I’ve never had a job that’s given me Patriots’ Day off. And since I haven’t had many close friends or relatives participate in the Boston Marathon, I’ve never spent the day on the marathon route, watching the runners. Certainly, it’s a fun thing to do; there’s a festive air about the city, and we’re often blessed with a beautiful spring day, which is such a relief after a long winter. But usually I just go to work, listen to the 11 a.m. Red Sox game, and occasionally check Boston.com for any marathon news (which typically isn’t that exciting unless you know someone from, say, Kenya).

That’s where I was and what I was doing this past Monday. I went for a walk at lunch, as I always do, and like everyone else, remarked on how ideal the weather was for the runners. Later that afternoon, I was thrilled by the Sox’ walk-off win over the Rays. That evening, I was planning on having a drink with a friend.

All in all, it was a fairly routine day. Work was busy, so I wasn’t paying much attention to anything outside my office. Nor was I particularly aware of the ambulance sirens; when you work on the same street as Mass General, that’s a sound you become mostly immune to.

I can’t even say any alarm bells went off when I got a text from my friend Christine, who’d heard a report of explosions near the Lenox Hotel and wanted to be sure I was OK. Yes, I was fine. And my initial reaction, like that of many people, was that it was probably an electrical issue or something involving a gas main. An accident. Hopefully nobody was hurt. Plus, Christine is afraid of thunderstorms; her telling me about a loud noise in the city hardly seemed like a cause for panic.

Of course, it was much more than just a loud noise. As details began trickling in, it gradually became apparent that something was wrong. That’s when I realized I’d been hearing sirens for a solid 20 minutes. Boston.com was maddeningly offline, overloaded by a surge of unexpected web traffic. I scrolled through my Twitter feed instead, desperate for scraps of news.

And the news was devastating. The explosions were not accidents – they were bombs. This was deliberate. Observers uploaded pictures taken with their camera phones, and the images were shocking. It was startling to see a place we’re so familiar with, so profoundly transformed. Back Bay buildings we walk past every day were obscured by smoke and dust. People were lying on the ground along Boylston Street. The sidewalks were stained with blood.

Each grim revelation brought with it a heightened sense of anxiety and uncertainty. Suddenly there were reports of suspicious packages all over the city – on footbridges, at Harvard Square, at the JFK library. Should we stay in our buildings? Was it safe to take the subway? Were there more bombs waiting to detonate? There were questions, conflicting reports, and confusion; and in the center of it all, one ugly, disturbing, and unavoidable truth: Boston was under attack.

If you’re a regular visitor to this website, you know to expect a weekly article chronicling my ongoing adventures in Boston-area bars. I hope you’re not disappointed to find something a little different today. I realize there would be some justification for writing my typical entry; there may be no better display of defiance to the perpetrators of terror than to continue going about our daily lives. Truly, though, I couldn’t fathom publishing another post about sitting in a bar and having fun while there are so many people sitting by the hospital bedsides of their husbands, wives, parents, or children, praying for them to wake up.

But since reporting on the bar scene is my raison d’être, I’d like to take this opportunity to acknowledge the important role that so many Boston bars and restaurants played in the aftermath of this horror. Within minutes, they took to their Twitter and Facebook pages and reached out to a reeling community. “Anyone wanting to get out of the Back Bay, come over; plenty of tables and calm here, and don’t worry – you don’t have to buy a thing,” tweeted El Pelon Taqueria; they also offered people cold drinks, bathrooms, and a place to charge their phones. Tasty Burger, Mass Ave Tavern, and many others offered free or discounted food to runners and emergency responders. Sweet Cheeks brought food to the Park Plaza Castle, where runners were trying to reunite with their families.

These are but a few examples, and such generosity didn’t end on Monday or Tuesday. In the days that followed, countless bars and restaurants donated portions of their food sales to victims’ funds. Some began fundraising campaigns or passed on word of other charitable endeavors. Nearly all showed some form of support for a community badly in need of it, even if it was just an encouraging message written in 140 characters or fewer.

Such gestures, great or small, serve to remind us how deeply any local business, a bar in particular, can be woven into the fabric of a community. Such establishments offer more than just beer and cocktails. They give us a place to gather and be together. A place to celebrate the best times, to embrace each other during our darkest hours. In that respect, even the newest, trendiest bars are part of a very old tradition.

As for the bars and restaurants on Boylston Street, they’re gradually beginning to reopen as the scope of the crime scene diminishes. They could use your support, and not just in the form of a good tip. I’m sure they’d be happy just to see a few faces on the opposite side of their bars, given all that’s happened.

Unfortunately, one Back Bay bar that won’t be reopening for some time is Forum. Given its proximity to the finish line, Forum was a popular destination for spectators. That also made it a target – Forum’s outdoor patio was ground zero for the second bomb. Guests and employees alike were seriously hurt in the blast. And now one of the area’s most beautiful bars, open only a year, faces the prospect of rebuilding. I’ve only been to Forum on a couple of occasions, but I count it among my favorites. The people who work there are so friendly and down to earth.

As it turns out, they’re also courageous. Although some of the staff were badly injured, those who were not incapacitated rushed to help guests and people on the street, pulling them inside and tending to them as best they could.

They certainly weren’t alone; bravery and heroism were in abundance on Monday. Boston’s police and firefighters rose to the occasion, as they so often do. Doctors, nurses, EMTs, and other medical personnel worked tirelessly. And there are innumerable stories of ordinary people running toward the danger to pull people out of it. In the face of catastrophe and despair, this may have been Boston’s finest hour.

I know some cynical people who think that when disaster strikes, it’ll be every man for himself. I don’t believe it. All I’ve seen since last Monday is kindness and compassion. From restaurants offering free food, to people on Twitter offering complete strangers a place to stay, it seems like everyone wants to help in any way possible.

That’s what I’ll remember most about these past few days – the love and the sense of closeness. I’ll remember the messages I got from people I’ve not spoken with in years, expressing relief that I was OK. I’ll remember “Sweet Caroline” being played at Yankee Stadium and other MLB parks. I’ll remember the feeling that the whole country and people around the world had our backs.

I’ll also remember the lives we lost: the young woman who used to work at Summer Shack and liked hanging out at Bukowski’s. The graduate student who came to Boston from China to continue her education. The 8-year-old boy who still had his whole life ahead of him. And more recently, a 26-year-old police officer at MIT who died while protecting the rest of us.

As I write this, there’s a sense of relief in the Boston area. One of the terrorists is dead, the other is in police custody. But there are victims still clinging to life. Some are coping with the loss of limbs. Others are recovering from head wounds and any number of life-changing injuries.

All of us, though, are moving forward. We have no other choice.

Without a doubt, the road ahead is more difficult for some of us today. But if the events of the past few days have shown us anything, it’s that there are plenty of people willing to help us along the way. We were attacked, yes; but we were not defeated. And the signs of our collective strength can be found everywhere. Our compassion can be seen in the makeshift memorials along Boylston Street.

Our endurance was on display in that stirring, emotional national anthem sung by 17,000+ people before the Bruins game last Wednesday. Our patriotism will be celebrated on the Esplanade on the 4th of July, when the Boston Pops strike up the opening notes in front of a crowd that will top 500,000.

And our determination, and that of free people everywhere, will be unquestioned next April, when the 118th running of the Boston Marathon will have the highest attendance in history.

Next year, I promise not to be stuck in my office. I won’t be running in the race; I can barely run 26.2 minutes, let alone 26.2 miles. But the least I can do is take the day off and support those who spent months training, raised thousands of dollars to run for a charity, and refused to be intimidated by the cowardly acts of two deranged lunatics.

Finally, the images emerging from Boston this past week have been disheartening. We’ve seen smoke, fire, destruction, blood, military vehicles, and eerily empty streets. I thought we could use a break, so most of the photos in this week’s post are of the city in the best of times. Some I took this past week, others I’ve accumulated over the years. I hope they lifted your spirits a bit. Our city is beautiful; but as we’ve learned over the past week, it’s the people who truly make it strong.

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April 12, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants

In Memoriam – Crossroads Irish Pub

April 12, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants

[UPDATE: Crossroads, which closed in April 2013, reopened in January 2014. That's great news...even though it renders my farewell post irrelevant.]

This week we say farewell to a Boston institution. Nestled among the brownstones of Beacon Street, Crossroads Irish Pub has long been a humble, unassuming fixture of the Back Bay. On April 15, after more than 30 years, they’ll wipe down the bar one last time, turn off the lights, and lock the doors for good.

In a city full of Irish-themed pubs, nothing about Crossroads was particularly remarkable. They had a decent beer selection, but not an extraordinary one. You wouldn’t go there if you were looking for hip, fancy cocktails. There wasn’t anything on the menu you couldn’t get somewhere else. But in a neighborhood dominated by trendy, upscale bars and eateries, Crossroads stood as one of precious few alternatives. It was comfortable, homey, and down to earth.

I wish I could regale you with some personal stories about Crossroads. I’d love to tell you how badly I’m going to miss it. The truth is, apart from my brief visit this past week, I probably only went there once or twice over the years. But it’s impossible to set foot in a well-worn bar like this and not hear the distant echoes cast by three decades’ worth of clinking glasses and boozy, late-night sing-a-longs.

Crossroads’ atmosphere was friendly and unpretentious, but the vibe changed depending on when you were there and what you were in the mood for. If you worked or lived in the Back Bay, it was a regular after-work watering hole. For students, it was an affordable, late-night destination with good music and tables pushed against the walls to make room for mingling and dancing. On Tuesday nights, it was all about trivia. It was a place to relax and throw some darts.

But for some people, it was much more than that. Crossroads is where someone bought their first legal beer. More than one couple had a first date here. A nervous crowd, clad in baseball hats, watched the Sox break an 86-year championship drought on Crossroads’ TVs. Throngs of students from nearby schools came here to blow off steam after finals. New jobs or promotions got celebrated here. Broken hearts were numbed with tequila shots and High Lifes at the bar.

Experiences like these make a bar bigger than the sum of its parts, and Crossroads possessed the sort of character that can only be sculpted over many years. Its closing doesn’t diminish those memories or cheapen any milestones celebrated within its walls. But if those were your memories or your milestones, it hurts anyway. It’s one less place you can walk by and say “Oh, remember the night when…”

I’m not sure exactly why Crossroads is closing. There was a rumor that Boston University bought the building and is repurposing it. That’s entirely plausible, given BU’s apparent quest to own every building in the city, but BU says it isn’t so. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Whether we shake our fist at a heartless antagonist or cry in our beer, it is what it is.

As for Boston losing an Irish pub…well, I think we’ll survive. There are always exciting new bars opening. There are new experiences to be had, new traditions to begin. Even the people who own Crossroads have a new bar, Carrie Nation, opening this month. But that’s small consolation if Crossroads was your place. With enough capital, anyone can build a nice new bar. But replacing a neighborhood pub that had deep roots and a sense of character? That’s another matter.

If Crossroads was dear to you, go celebrate it while you can; you won’t be alone. If you’ve never been but want check it out, there’s no reason you can’t. Your first visit might also be your last, but that doesn’t mean you won’t make a few memories while you’re there.

Last Call

Crossroads wasn’t a bar I frequented, but I know how it feels to see one of your favorite haunts close its doors. And clearly, people are going to miss this place. A Facebook page dedicated to Crossroads’ closing is full of warm reminiscences and old pictures; maybe you have a story of your own to contribute.

Or maybe you want to stop in for one more look at the old place. Last call for Crossroads Irish Pub is on Monday; between the weekend and the marathon, chances are the bar will be packed. So you might be elbow-to-elbow with other revelers; it might take you a few extra minutes to get the bartender’s attention; and at some point, they’ll probably run out of food.

But you only get so many chances to say goodbye.

Address: 495 Beacon Street, Boston

Website:http://crossroadsirishpubboston.com/

Update: If you missed your chance to have one more Guinness at Crossroads, you're in luck – they're now staying open until Saturday, April 20.

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April 5, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Sweet Cheeks Q

April 5, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Call

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

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

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

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

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

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

Address: 1381 Boylston Street, Boston

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

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March 30, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, The Burbs

The Local

March 30, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, The Burbs

Fond as I am of British culture, I’ve spent precious little time in England – less than a week, to be exact. So, I’m no expert, but I understand that some of our friends across the Pond refer to a neighbourhood pub as their “local.” As far as bar-related colloquialisms go, it’s the kind of term that’s packed with meaning. “Local” implies a certain sense of comfort and familiarity – the kind of place where you and the staff are fairly well acquainted after many nights of seeing each other from opposite sides of the bar. Maybe the bartender knows your drink of choice or your favorite dish. Perhaps you stop in once a week for a pint and to chat with a few other regulars.

Whether that’s what the owners of The Local had in mind when they designed it, I don’t know; more likely, the name refers to their locally sourced food, beer, and spirits. But the casual, convivial atmosphere of this Newton bar is exactly what might prompt someone to make it their local.

At once upscale and cozy, The Local has a contemporary look with an old personality. Framed black and white pictures on the wall suggest deep New England roots, and even though The Local has only been open since 2008, it feels a true neighborhood fixture. Dark blue and wainscoted walls, hardwood floors, and candle-lit tables set the scene for a quiet, intimate dinner.

But at the center of the room is a square, two-level bar with about 18 seats, where the atmosphere is decidedly lively. Large picture windows overlooking the street add a classic sense of style and let in plenty of natural light during the day.

Not that there was any natural light beaming through the windows when Melissa and I were there. We stopped by The Local on yet another raw, dreary evening in what’s felt like a neverending winter. But it was a night tailor-made for comfort food in a warm pub, so we got a couple of seats at the fairly crowded bar and began perusing the cocktail list.

If my experience at the Gaff taught me anything, it’s that I shouldn’t be shocked to find a bar outside Boston that has a selection of creative, well-conceived drinks. But what jumped out at me about The Local’s cocktails was how many of them employed spirits from regional distillers, like Bully Boy, Berkshire Mountain, and GrandTen. To be sure, The Local isn’t the only bar that promotes locally sourced food and regional beers; but I think this is the first time I’ve seen that philosophy extended to cocktail ingredients.

I don't know what goes in these funky glasses, but I wish I'd ordered one!

Mel went with the Bully Cocktail, made with Bully Boy white whiskey, fresh lime juice, grapefruit juice, agave syrup, and mint. It was a pleasing mix of flavors, with the mellowness of the white whiskey and the zing of the citrus, along with a nice freshness contributed by the mint.

I opted for the Cubano Be Cubano Bop – spiced rum, fresh lime juice, agave, and mint, with a prosecco float. A vibrant update of the traditional Old Cuban cocktail, The Local’s version swaps out white rum for spiced, champagne for prosecco, and simple syrup for agave.

As the drinks took the chill out of our bones, we moved on to the food menu. Here, too, the focus is on the New England area, and the menu is divided into different…um…things: Snack Things, Small Things, Flatbread Pizza Things, and Bigger Things. But there are no boring things – the menu is composed of fun and inventive options like fried pickles with spicy mayo, truffle parmesan fries, seared tuna sashimi, and a catfish po’ boy, to name a few. They also have an eclectic list of nightly specials (which are not, unfortunately, called “Special Things”), which is where Mel got her Southwestern turkey burger sliders. Served with tortilla chips and house-made guacamole, the burgers incorporated a rich blend of spices and, as sliders tend to be, were just adorable to look at.

I was sorely tempted by another of that evening’s specials, turkey chorizo chili. But how could I turn down a burger described as “sourced by the ‘Godfather of Meat, John Dewar’”? I mean, what must one achieve in life to be honored with such a lofty title? Whatever it was, John Dewar, a local purveyor of meat, did it. The Godfather of Meat’s burger was solid and satisfying, though nothing remarkable. The real story was the fries – seasoned with rosemary, they were crispy, awesomely spiced, and utterly delicious. If the fries have a godfather, I’ll kiss his ring.

As I tried to restrain myself from eating rosemary fries by the fistful, I found myself struck by the obvious neighborhood vibe. Sure enough, this seems to be many people’s “local,” as I heard customer after customer talking amiably with various Local staff. And even though we certainly didn’t know anybody there, it was easy to get swept up into the atmosphere. The bartenders, Stephanie and Billy, were chatty and happy to discuss the menu or offer suggestions. A woman sitting next to us asked Mel about her sliders and then ordered her own after one of the bartenders encouraged her to forgo her usual order.

As my french fry feeding frenzy finally wound down, I began debating my next cocktail move. Conflicted, I asked our bartender, Stephanie, for her advice, and she steered me toward the Ward 8, the signature drink of Boston’s historic but recently shuttered Locke-Ober restaurant. I never had one there, but The Local’s version, made with Vermont’s Berkshire Mountain Bourbon, fresh lemon juice, orange juice, and house-made grenadine, seemed like a well-made tribute to a classic drink.

Nowhere is The Local’s devotion to New England-made goods more obvious than with its beer selection. Ten of the 13 draft beers are popular local microbrews like Clown Shoes, High and Mighty, and Slumbrew, along with more mainstream favorites like Harpoon and Sam Adams, and a few entries from New Hampshire and Maine. I went with the Mayflower IPA, which had some pretty intense hops going on but also a noticeable citrus flavor.

The draft beer comes in 16- or 20-ounce options, which is convenient. But if this place ever becomes my own local, I’m sure they’ll just give me the 20-ounce without even asking.

Last Call

OK, so The Local bases much of its menu on ingredients made here in New England. What’s the big deal about that, anyway? Would your experience there be somehow diminished if that were not the case? I doubt it. But there’s something satisfying about enjoying a great meal and a good beer made right in your my own backyard, so to speak. It contributes a certain sense of community.

And speaking of community, The Local has the neighborhood vibe down pat – and that’s something you can’t simply manufacture. It’s the kind of atmosphere that grows over time when customers return again and again, but I think it starts with a friendly environment and a menu that balances consistency with innovation.

Affordability doesn’t hurt, either, and the prices here are a bit lower than you’ll find in Boston. Our cocktails were $9 and the beer was $6 (for 20 ounces, of course). The sliders were $16, and my burger was $12 ($11 if you don’t want cheese). And with fun snacks and small plates to share, there’s something for almost any budget.

What I’m curious about is whether the things that make this place worth visiting – an eclectic menu, creative specials, and a sense of community – will change as The Local expands. With locations opening soon in Wellesley and Wayland, and possibly more in the works, it would be unfortunate if The Local’s character succumbs to the blandness of the typical suburban restaurant chain. Hopefully, any new location will be able to grow at its own pace, develop its own personality, and become, for customers, a true local.

Address: 1391 Washington Street, West Newton

Website:http://thelocalnewton.com/

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March 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

The BBH Book Club

March 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

Are you sitting down? Good. Because I’ve got some bad news. As a result of my procrastinationstunning hangoveranxiety due to persistent rash scheduling restrictions, I’ve had to hold off on publishing my usual Friday post. I realize this is simply devastating for many of you, and it breaks my heart to let you down. Fortunately, all is not lost – today’s would-be post will should be up on Monday. In the meantime, I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce a new feature here on Boston BarHopper – the BBH Book Club.

Don’t let the name fool you. There’s no required reading, and I won’t be organizing discussion groups. It’s not even a club, really. But it will involve books. My thought is that whenever I happen upon a book that has some sort of relevance to my mission – whether it’s about Boston, cocktails, spirits, beer, what have you – I’ll give it a mention here on BBH. And don’t be cowed by the rigidity of that criteria; I encourage you suggest any tomes that might qualify. I figure this will be an occasional thing, something I do once every couple of months (I’m a slow reader, don’t judge).

Anyway, just such a scenario presented itself about a week ago, when I got an email from a gentleman named David Kosmider, founder of 27Press.com, which recently published a book on a topic that’s dear to me – Irish whiskey.

7 Lessons on Irish Whiskey: An Introduction to Drinking and Enjoying the Whiskeys of Ireland is an informative guide that outlines the fundamentals of what can be a daunting subject. Whiskey itself is an acquired taste, and for the uninitiated, the path to enjoying it is cluttered with questions: Should I drink it with ice? Should I add water to bring out the aroma, or is that messing with the flavor? Which whiskeys should be enjoyed on their own, and which are best suited for mixing in cocktails?

No matter how long you’ve been enjoying whiskey, there was a time when you didn’t know the answers to those questions. That’s why it’s helpful to have a resource like this at your fingertips. And although 7 Lessons is aimed primarily at whiskey novices, it addresses topics that might be of interest to a more experienced drinker. Maybe you don’t need to brush up on terms like “neat” and “rocks,” but perhaps you’re gaining an appreciation for single malts over blends, or learning to distinguish between Irish whiskey and Scotch. Having a guidebook with you on such an auspicious journey never hurts. Plus, when you find yourself at a fancy bar, staring at whiskeys ranging from $20 to $75 a glass, you can never be too informed.

In addition to accessible discussions about the flavor profiles of various Irish whiskeys, the book explores the spirit’s long history, describes the events that nearly brought Irish whiskey production to a standstill in the early 20th century, and acquaints you with Ireland’s few remaining distilleries. There are even recommendations for making Irish whiskey cocktails, along with helpful advice on why you should think twice before ordering an Irish Car Bomb here in Boston. And while the focus is on Irish whiskey, there’s plenty of useful and interesting stuff on the spirit in general, including an overview of the distillation process and the characteristics of non-Irish varieties.

None of these topics are covered exhaustively, but that’s very much by design. "What we're doing with 27Press is working to create really good, short, information-dense, inexpensive beginner's guides on a variety of topics," Kosmider told me (they also have a book on tea). Thus, while learning to appreciate whiskey's subtle charms can be a lifelong endeavor, 7 Lessons is brief and to the point. And unlike a top-shelf whiskey, the book is affordable – you can download it for $0.99 from Amazon (available exclusively for the Kindle). That leaves plenty of money in the jar-o to buy yourself some Jameson, Bushmills, or Tullamore D.E.W. Sláinte!

The book is 7 Lessons on Irish Whiskey: An Introduction to Drinking and Enjoying the Whiskeys of Ireland. It’s published by 27Press, a new-ish publishing company devoted to sharing their knowledge of food and drink. And if you have a Kindle and 99 cents to burn, you can acquire 7 Lessons at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BOWUBNO .

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March 15, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants

Forum

March 15, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants

The Back Bay is quite possibly the most fashionable neighborhood in Boston. Successful Bostonians occupy the historic brownstones. Visiting celebrities stay in the Back Bay’s 5-star hotels. Professional athletes dine in the neighborhood’s fancy restaurants. Tourists and locals alike flock to the high-end shops and boutiques that line Newbury Street. Of course, the Back Bay draws more than just tourists and the well-to-do; and when it comes to food and drink in the area, there’s something for every taste and budget. But the heavy hitters, unsurprisingly, are the ones that reflect and cater to the Back Bay’s affluence and glamour.

That said, it would be easy to make assumptions about Forum.

Without a doubt, it looks like the sort of upscale, trendy lounge that would be right at home among the Back Bay’s most attractive and exclusive destinations. Leather couches and armchairs overlook Boylston Street through floor-to-ceiling windows. A white brick wall adorned with artwork from local galleries stands in sharp relief to the sleek, dark, wooden walls and hardwood floor, all softly illuminated by chandeliers from above and recessed floor lighting from below. Metal racks suspended above the bar display top-shelf liquors in between flat-screen TVs – modern amenities amid a tasteful minimalism.

But beyond Forum’s trendy aesthetics is a refreshing sense of depth, personality, and casual charm. Granted, it’s not the kind of place you’d stumble into late at night for one last PBR before you catch the T. But it’s also devoid of the pretension you might expect of a contemporary Back Bay bar.

Upscale but approachable, Forum occupies two floors and offers its guests the best of both worlds – a vibrant bar scene downstairs, an intimate dining atmosphere upstairs. While the first floor has a lounge area in the front and a few tables for dining, the highlight is the massive, angular, island bar. Candles along the dark wood of the surface cast a warm glow, and the 45 cushioned chairs surrounding the bar ensure that even on a Saturday night, getting a seat isn’t too difficult.

Such was the case when I visited last weekend. There were about 20 people at the bar when I arrived around 7 p.m., but given how spacious it is, it didn’t feel terribly crowded.

I began perusing the cocktail list, which is divided into three sections – one with some Forum originals, one with house-infused liquors, and a handful of timeless classics. As usual, I was immediately drawn to the latter, and got things under way with a drink I’ve always yearned to try – a Blood & Sand. Named for a 1920s-era bullfighting movie, this mix of Dewar’s scotch, cherry liqueur, sweet vermouth, and blood orange made for an exceptional blend of dry, sweet, and tart flavors.

Sipping my Blood & Sand, I looked over Forum’s menu, which is composed primarily of new and traditional American cuisine – plenty of steak and seafood options, with a few mouthwatering standouts like lobster ricotta gnocchi. But it was the bevy of interesting “starters” that really caught my eye, with options that are considerably more fun and inventive than what you might expect in an area known for its fairly conservative dinner menus. I debated offerings as varied as short rib dumplings, hog wings, and duck confit puff pastry before settling on prosciutto-wrapped scallops. Now, I’m something of a connoisseur of bacon-wrapped scallops (if I were ever offered a last meal, they’d be the first course). But I’d never had them wrapped in prosciutto, and this was a simple yet inspired twist. These babies were delicious and surprisingly filling.

I could have stayed at the downstairs bar all night. The friendly bartenders, the steady soundtrack of classic rock, and the general energy of the bar area combined to create a lively atmosphere. Plus, I was intrigued by the beer setup. I saw that Forum wisely uses generic black tap handles instead of colorful brand taps, which would stand out amid the mostly black-and-white color scheme. More interesting, though, were the towers that housed the taps. They looked like they were made of a white ceramic, which again would fit the décor. But upon closer inspection, I discovered they were actually coated in ice.

I knew a beer coming through those lines had to be mighty cold. As if that isn’t awesome enough, one of the bartenders told me that when they take pint glasses out of the dishwasher, they stand them by the icy towers so that they can properly cool before being put back into circulation.

For this, Forum gets my undying respect; one of my biggest bar-related pet peeves is when a cold beer is poured into a glass still radiating with the heat of the dishwasher. Bravo, Forum.

But I digress. As much as I was enjoying the downstairs vibe, I could no longer resist the allure of the cool, illuminated staircase that led to the second floor. Those frosted taps would have to wait.

The same atmosphere of casual elegance that characterizes the first floor continues at the top of the stairs, where you’ll pass by a glass display that holds a portion of Forum’s 1,300 wines. Upstairs is where you’ll find Forum’s beautifully appointed dining room, along with an eight-seat martini bar.

It was only about 8 p.m. or so, and while the dining area was gradually filling up, the upstairs bar was empty. I shifted to the “Forum Fusions” side of the cocktail list and ordered a drink called Larceny. This wintry cocktail was made with Larceny bourbon infused with apples, cinnamon, allspice, and cloves, blended with vanilla cinnamon syrup and apple juice, and garnished with an apple slice. The spiced apple and vanilla flavors were bold and prominent, making this a good seasonal choice for a cold night.

I got talking with the bartender, Matt, who, in addition to being a nice guy with a very cool name, clearly had an expansive knowledge of cocktail composition an obvious pride in making quality drinks. He asked me if I had a preferred liquor or cocktail, and I described my fondness for whiskey and Manhattans. He then proceeded to whip up one of the most inventive variations of a Manhattan I’ve ever encountered. It was made with Old Overholt rye whiskey, Campari, sweet vermouth, and most intriguingly, a liqueur called Root – a pre-Prohibition-era spirit that ultimately evolved into root beer. It would have been lost to the ravages of time and the temperance movement were it not for an enterprising artists’ group in Pennsylvania that re-created it.

Now distilled in California, it’s a liqueur made with allspice, anise, and a host of other herbs and spices; and yes, it has a natural root beer taste, too. It made for a remarkable addition to my cocktail. Oh, and on top of all that? Chocolate mole bitters. Matt explained that this wasn’t his recipe but that of a mentor of his, but I wasn’t even listening anymore. I was just enjoying this incredibly complex drink.

Emerging from my reverie, I mentioned that I was also into gin, and after discussing the merits of various brands, Matt mixed me a a Corpse Reviver #2, made with gin, lemon juice, Cointreau, and Lillet, in an absinthe-coated glass. The anise flavor of absinthe, which I’m ordinarily not a huge fan of, was subtle, and it contributed nicely to the drink’s tartness. We both lamented the fact that while some classic drinks become trendy again, others, like the Corpse Reviver #2, exist only in the pages of a dusty recipe book beneath a bar. Stoddard’sis one of the few places in Boston where I’ve seen it available; it isn’t even on Forum’s menu.

Although I was still full from the scallops I’d had downstairs, I felt I’d be remiss if I didn’t try one more appetizer – the stuffed meatball. I figured the only way a ball of meat could be exceeded in its inherent awesomeness is by stuffing it with cheese. This mammoth meatball was made of pork, beef, and veal, and was stuffed with ricotta. I could try to describe it further, but either you’re already drooling or you’re a vegetarian.

I returned very briefly a few days later, because there was no way I could skip a beer from those icy taps. Forum’s dozen draft beers consist mostly of standards like Guinness and Sam Adams, along with some regional microbrews like Clown Shoes and Wormtown.

The bartender who served me was named Dave, and in the course of about two minutes, he excitedly told me about the variety of Forum’s beer list, their efforts to maintain the tap lines, how regularly they swap out the kegs, the frosted towers, and how they keep their beers at the proper temperatures. And he graciously noted that despite Forum’s efforts to serve quality beer in the best way possible, I could get a High Life for $3. If Matt upstairs was the craft cocktail guy, Dave seemed like the beer guy.

Quickly perusing the beer list, I saw that they had something from Harpoon’s Leviathan series, which I’d previously tried at the Harpoon Brewery Beer Hall . So I asked, “What Harpoon Lev-“

I didn’t even finish saying “-iathan” before he had a sample of the Imperial IPA in front of me. Sure enough, the beer was ice cold. The fact that Forum keeps their glasses chilled in a freezer beneath the bar didn’t hurt, either.

It was about 5 p.m. on a Wednesday, and there were only a few customers at that point. So as I sipped my beer, I listened while Dave talked about all things Forum – the food, the drinks, the beers, the music, the prices, the clientele, the management, the atmosphere, you name it. The funny thing? I hadn’t even told him I was writing about Forum for BBH. He just seemed genuinely excited about the place.

That sort of enthusiasm can be infectious, and you don’t find it just anywhere. Yet in an area with so many attractive destinations, it’s just one more way that Forum distinguishes itself.

Last Call

The owners of Forum also run The Tap, which is a beer bar near Faneuil Hall, and Griddler’s, a burger and hot dog joint on Cambridge Street. Both are pretty casual, to say the least. And maybe that would help explain why such an upscale-looking place in the Back Bay has such a down-to-earth soul.

Regardless, Forum is equal parts comfortable and elegant. And in an area of town where cocktail lists rarely get more daring than martinis and cosmos, Forum’s drinks are innovative, authentic, and fun.

The prices are pretty decent. Entrées cost a little less than what you’ll find nearby, and the appetizers are not only fairly priced – $8 to $16 – but come in surprisingly large portions. Cocktails are fairly typical at $10 to $12, and draft beers are eminently reasonable at $5 and $6.

The beer offerings rotate pretty frequently, and the cocktail list has already changed since I was there; so take all my reviews with a grain of salt. But if Forum maintains the same fresh, inventive approach to their cocktails, you can count on their drinks being among the best on Boylston Street. And as long as the ice doesn’t thaw on those taps, they’ll have the coldest beer in town.

Address: 755 Boylston Street, Boston

Website:http://www.forumboston.com/

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March 8, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, CAMBRIDGE

Park

March 8, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, CAMBRIDGE

A softly lit, basement-level room in Harvard Square. Exposed brick ceilings and a dark, aged-looking hardwood floor dotted with area rugs. Leather-upholstered furniture. Maps and chalkboards on the walls. Bookshelves lined with literary classics. If there were a tweed jacket hanging on a doorknob and a hint of pipe tobacco in the air, the setting might be the office of a distinguished professor at one of the preeminent universities in the world. But while the décor might recall the rigorous pursuit of academia, the most esoteric conversation you’ll have at Park will probably be about the exotic-sounding ingredients in some of their drinks, or maybe one of their excellent craft beers.

The same people who run the nearby Russell House Tavern opened Park last year, and there are plenty of happy similarities – a moderate-sized list of well-conceived cocktails, a killer beer list, and a menu of comfort food classics that are creatively updated and beautifully presented. Its subterranean location even recalls the downstairs area of Russell House. But where the latter feels like a cool, upscale lounge, Park is more akin to a cozy den, replete with floor lamps, leather couches and armchairs, even a fireplace.

The intimate atmosphere extends over a deceptively large space, which is divided into four areas. There’s the dining room, with big red leather seats and long wooden tables.

There's a fireplace in the classroom, and the walls are covered with maps and chalkboards.

The appropriately named “den” is where you’ll find that comfortable furniture and the bookshelves.

And there’s a back room that’s…well, a back room, but with cool circular booths.

Each area has its own slightly different atmosphere, though it’s all tied together by vintage photos and artwork on the walls.

At the center is a large, horseshoe bar that accommodates 20 to 30 drinkers who have an impressive selection of cocktails and microbrews to choose from. That’s where Melissa and I started when we came in for drinks and an early dinner on a recent Saturday.

Our evening began with cocktails, and Park’s list doesn’t disappoint. Mel opened with the 1919, which she ordered in honor of the birth year of two of her late grandparents. It was a potent mix of rye whiskey, rum, Punt e Mes, Benedictine, and most intriguingly, mole bitters (as in the sauce used in Mexican cuisine, not the rodent). Personally, I’m not a fan of Punt e Mes, a bitter vermouth, but the drink overall was bold and complex.

What I am a big fan of is rum, which was paramount in my Private Dancer, made with amber rum, lime juice, Melete Amaro, allspice dram, and Velvet Felernum (a sweet syrup; and yes, I had to look several of those ingredients up). While Mel derided it as a “sophisticated chick drink,” I did at least manage to finish it; the 1919 ultimately proved too much for a certain someone.

Our attention turned to the dinner menu, which is composed largely of traditional American cuisine with some fresh innovations. Nowhere is this more apparent than on the appetizer menu, which has playful entries such as the “Bacon 3-Way.” As we perused the options, our waitress brought over a plate of Vermont cheddar cheese topped with a port wine reduction and the biggest, most elaborate crackers I’ve ever seen. Cheese and crackers just don’t get fancier than this.

We ultimately settled on the charming “Tasting of Toast.” Elegantly served on a wooden board were six pieces of toasted cocktail bread with three varieties of toppings: duck pastrami with whole-grain mustard and pickled shallot; cheddar and apple butter; and chilled crab and cucumber salad. All three were delicious, but be warned – the toppings don’t adhere all that well to the bread, as Mel discovered when her crab and cucumber salad slipped from the toast and plummeted unceremoniously to the floor. The five-second rule, of course, does not apply in bars.

The bar area was quickly getting crowded as we wrapped up our toast tasting, so we moved to a table for dinner. We were seated in the den area, and there the cocktails continued. I ordered the Fireside Poet, no relation to the summery Wandering Poet at the Parish Cafe. Maybe I have a soft spot for drinks that evoke my English degree, but this mix of bourbon, Creole Shrubb, Santa Maria al Monte, maraschino syrup, and whiskey barrel-aged bitters was easily my favorite drink of the night.

Mel’s choice was the Sheldon Highball, which, like so many of Park’s drinks, was made with a bunch of things I had to look up – Cynar (a bitter liqueur), Becherovka (a gingery liqueur of Czech origins), Barenjager (a honey liqueur), house-made ginger beer, and lemon juice. On the heels of the bitter 1919, the Sheldon Highball was especially bright and vibrant; the house-made ginger beer wasn’t too sweet, and the lemon juice gave it an unexpected zing.

Finally we made our way to the entrée menu. Amid a broad offering of reinvented classics, what truly stands out is Park’s “meat pie of the day,” served with mushy peas. I’d love to report back on this fun, unique offering, but for better or worse, my eyes never made it past the top item on the menu – slow-roasted brisket served with white bean cassoulet and caramelized vegetables. Fork-tender, almost like stew beef, the brisket was bursting with flavor and practically melted in my mouth.

Melissa opted for the phenomenal chickpea-lentil burger, which was spicy and rich. As a carnivore and burger purist, I typically only consume veggie burgers under duress. This one, I would actually order for myself – which, respectfully, is the highest honor I can bestow upon a burger not made of meat.

We were pretty well satisfied after dinner, but I couldn’t leave without trying something from Park’s top-notch beer list. There are about a dozen or so microbrews on draft, plus a cask option, and a similarly eclectic selection of bottles and cans. I chose the locally brewed Portico Sett Seven Scotch Ale, which I’d been curious about since seeing it on draft at Flash’s Cocktails. Dark, complex, and smooth, it was a fine way to round out the evening.

Of course, with a beer selection Park’s, it’s a shame to only try one. So I returned a few nights later to check out a couple more options. I was giddy to learn that the cask option was one of my favorites – Ipswich Oatmeal Stout. But as the bartender started pouring it, he noticed that it seemed a little “off” and might be the dregs of the cask (they change it every Thursday). He gave me a sample so I could judge for myself, but he was right. Disappointed as I was to miss out on the cask offering, I really appreciated the bartender’s warning; he could have just poured me a glass and I’d have thought “ugh, Ipswich on cask really sucks!” Instead I ordered the Boulder Beer Company’s Mojo IPA on nitro, one of Park’s most recent arrivals. Crisp, dry, and smooth, with a creamy head, it tasted as good as it looked.

I then challenged myself to inquire about the Thunderhole Brown Ale without giggling or snickering about the name (I failed). Kindly overlooking my immaturity, the bartender described it as lighter than most brown ales and suggested I might prefer something more traditional – St. Botolph’s Town, a “rustic” brown ale from the ever popular, Somerville-based tenant brewers, Pretty Things. He gave me a sample before I committed, and it was excellent.

The bar was much quieter on my weekday visit than it was on Saturday night (in other news, the sky is blue). It gave me a chance to look around a bit, and there’s plenty of neat little historical oddities, like old typewriters, sewing machines, and lots of photos from the 60s and 70s on the wall. And I noticed that the tap handles are affixed to a reclaimed iron plumbing pipe, similar to what I recently encountered at Granary Tavern.

I also had an opportunity to speak with Justin, the manager, and of course I had to ask about the name of the bar. Why Park? He told me the bar is named for the Harvard Square parking garage, with which it shares space in the lower, basement level. A most inauspicious muse, in my opinion. But Justin explained that in an area with so many bars and restaurants, the people behind Park wanted it to be a place where you could go for drinks and stay for a great meal, and thus park yourself for the night. Fair enough! I’ll be sure to park here again.

Last Call

With a beer list that’s not only expansive but constantly in flux, Park is well suited to a busy, eclectic neighborhood like Harvard Square. The beer selections rotate often, and a new cask is tapped every Thursday. The dinner menu shifts periodically as well, and even the cocktail list had changed in the few days since I’d been there.

Prices are pretty standard, even a little low in some cases. Our Tasting of Toast was reasonably priced at $10, and sandwiches and entrées range from $10 to $23. The drinks were $10 and $11, and the beers cost what you’d expect for such a diverse selection – $5 to $9 for the draft brews.

Even with so many options in Harvard Square, Park’s a pretty popular place. On Saturday the bar filled up within minutes of the doors opening, though the space is big enough that the crowd wasn’t overwhelming. And while the exposed brick and wood on the walls and ceiling make for an attractive décor, they also result in some pretty rough acoustics; you might struggle to be heard when it’s busy. But on my weeknight visit, things were much calmer – ideal for sitting at the bar and having someone knowledgeable recommend a good beer.

Address: 59 JFK Street, Cambridge

Website:http://parkcambridge.com/

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March 1, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants

Flash's Cocktails

March 1, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants

UPDATE: I'm sorry to report that Flash's Cocktails closed a few weeks back. No reason was given. Those of us who loved it will miss it terribly. If you never went, I hope you'll read this post anyway; I think you'll agree that the city lost a true gem.

If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to start this week’s post on a personal note. Today is the 1-year anniversary of Boston BarHopper’s first official post. The ensuing year has been a journey marked by exploration, experimentation, and meeting new people, and I’d like to thank everyone who’s been part of it. Maybe you told me about a bar I should check out, waited patiently while I photographed your food and drink, edited a post or a picture, helped me resolve a technical issue, asked me where you should take your friend from out of town, made me a fantastic cocktail, subjected yourself to an interview, shared one of my posts on Facebook or Twitter, gave me a push when I was lacking in motivation, or simply visited my site and read a few posts. Your contribution may have been great or small, obvious or unheralded; but it was not unnoticed. I’m afraid I lack the skill to adequately convey my heartfelt appreciation. Instead, I’ll just promise you another year’s worth of drinks, discoveries, and shenanigans, and I would be honored if you would join me.

With that in mind, the circumstances surrounding the subject of this week’s post seem rather fortuitous. Because after a year of visiting all manner of fun bars, from humble dives to glitzy trendsetters, there is still no greater pleasure for me than wandering into a bar I know nothing about, having no expectations, and finding myself utterly surprised and completely charmed.

I stopped by Flash’s Cocktails on a whim – in part to find out whether it even existed. I’d never been there and didn’t know anyone who had. When I’d mention it to people, I’d invariably get a quizzical look and the same comment: “Never heard of it.” The only reason I’d ever “heard” of the place is because it would periodically show up when I was looking for something on Google Maps and clicked on “Search nearby.” That’s actually how I ended up there on a recent Tuesday evening after work: I was headed to another bar that wasn’t far from this semi-mythical Flash’s Cocktails, and I figured I’d at least do a walk-by.

Not that I had terribly high hopes for the place. I’d looked it up online, and while there was a respectable drink list, the red and blue colors of the website seemed kind of kitschy – more 1950s diner than modern cocktail bar. But I was in the area and had a little time to kill before my next stop, so I poked my head in to see whether it would make for a good post someday.

I never made it to the other bar.

Upon walking in, I was warmly hailed by the bartender, and I’m pretty sure she called me dude; I should have known right then that I was there for the night. And my surroundings were not at all what I’d expected. My all-too-hasty glance at the website, coupled with the retro font of the neon sign outside, made me think I’d encounter black and white tiled floors, a bar that looked like a lunch counter, and loud colors throughout. Like a Johnny Rockets with a liquor license. Instead I found the interior to be entirely contemporary – fairly basic in its layout and décor, but comfortable and attractive nonetheless.

There’s a horseshoe bar with about 20 seats, along with 10 or so tables in a room that feels small but is in fact fairly spacious. Large windows look out onto the streets of the Back Bay. Lights above the bar and strung along the walls create a cool glow, and funky artwork on the walls gives the place a very modern vibe.

It was about 6 p.m., and things were quiet; only 10 people or so. As I found a seat and gathered myself, I overheard the bartender singing along to a Third Eye Blind song that was playing. A small detail, I know; but when the next song started and was abruptly skipped in favor of another, I realized the evening’s soundtrack was coming from the bartender’s iPhone. It made for a very casual, comfortable atmosphere, almost like having drinks at a friend’s house (a friend who makes really great drinks, that is; and then makes you pay for them).

I quickly began sizing up the cocktail menu, which was both extensive and conveniently organized into categories such as Classic Cocktails, Straight Up, Frozen, On the Rocks, Bubbles, and Smashing. This being no more than a scouting mission, I aimed to keep things simple, and opted for a Sazerac. The bartender seemed delighted to make it, professing a fondness for the New Orleans classic, and proceeded to whip up a strictly traditional version with Old Overholt Rye, Peychaud’s bitters, and sugar in an absinthe-rinsed glass, capped off with a perfect lemon twist.

Impressed as I was with the drink, I still wasn’t planning on staying at Flash’s. Not that I was in a hurry; it was a snowy, rainy night, and I figured there’d be no harm in downing a beer before venturing out into the elements. The draft beer selection was small but impressive, populated solely by well-chosen microbrews – local favorites like Slumbrew, Jack’s Abby, and Portico, along with some excellent choices from California, like Lagunitas Cappuccino Stout and Backlash. The highlight was the hard-to-find Founders Breakfast Stout, which I’d previously sampled at Stoddard’s. That’s what I chose, and again the bartender again endorsed my selection. A robust beer with a coffee flavor that was subtle and not overpowering, it would serve to fortify me against the cold outside.

But as the Sazerac and the beer worked their not-so-subtle charms on me, and the bar’s eclectic playlist shifted among 90s hits, alternative, and classic rock (with liberal song skipping), my other plans gradually began diminishing in importance.

Then a funny thing happened. I’m sure you can relate to the experience of having a really obscure song stuck in your head, something you haven’t heard in years. Well, all day, my internal iPod had Jimi Hendrix’s version of “Mannish Boy,” from the posthumous “Blues” album, playing on repeat. The 1994 album is a hodgepodge of previously unreleased live tracks and studio outtakes, and unless you’re more than a casual Hendrix fan, it’s probably not in your collection. Even if it is, you could be forgiven for overlooking track 6. But there was “Mannish Boy,” on a loop in my mind. And guess what the next song at Flash’s was…

Needless to say, I wasn’t going anywhere else.

I got chatting with the bartender, Laura, who seemed as interested in my notebook-scribbling and picture-taking as I was in the cocktail list, particularly some of the traditional entries. I noticed that their Manhattan was made with Jim Beam, of all things. Now, I appreciate an adherence to classic ingredients, but Jim Beam seemed a little…austere. That led to a conversation about whiskeys and bourbons and what works best in a Manhattan; and whenever I find myself in a discussion like that, it’s fair to say I’m having an engaging evening (though she scoffed at my preference for Maker’s). So I asked Laura to make me one according to her preferred specifications, and I was rewarded with a fantastic Manhattan with Bulleit bourbon and both sweet and dry vermouth. She even wrote down the ingredient measurements in my notebook.

Since I was staying, that meant I was eating. The dinner menu isn’t terribly extensive, mostly a small collection of some sturdy comfort foods – burgers, mac and cheese, and a few other standards. Laura insisted I try Flash’s signature item, the fried chicken sandwich, with chipotle aioli and a side of garlic fries. The sandwich was delicious; crispy on the outside, topped with Swiss and cheddar cheese and bacon, with a nice kick provided by the chipotle aioli. It was a little dry on the inside, but I didn’t care. And the garlic fries stole the show.

Along with that I got the Slumbrew Attic & Eaves, a toasted brown ale, which Laura called her favorite (I think she has a lot of favorites; I can relate). It was a dark, nutty beer that paired well with the spicy sandwich and made for a satisfying conclusion to the evening.

I returned the following Saturday, on yet another raw, rainy night. I was pleased to again find Laura steering the ship and ordered up one of the oldest and most classic cocktails there is – an Old Fashioned. It’s a drink that’s been unnecessarily and unfortunately embellished over the years, but Flash’s version is refreshingly simple. I’d never had one served with crushed ice, which made for a nice variation.

Next up was a Singapore Sling – a mix of gin, cherry brandy, Cointreau, Benedictine, lime, orange, and pineapple juice. For the first time, Laura’s response to my order seemed more diplomatic than enthusiastic. She graciously pronounced the drink “very fruity and delightful,” but I know a polite smile when I see one. Just the same, I was pleased with my choice. The Singapore Sling was like a Mai Tai made with gin instead of rum, so it had an unexpected dryness amid the pineapple and citrus flavors.

Having mowed down most of the “Classic” drink list, I asked Laura to recommend something from one of the other categories. She suggested the Cucumber Smash, which I’d been eyeing anyway. Cucumber vodka, lavender syrup, muddled cucumber, and lime juice made for a crisp, fresh, summery drink that belied the dreary conditions outside.

Inside, the atmosphere was warm and laid-back. I was there early that night, and there weren’t yet many people at the bar. The music was again kicking ass until some dunce insisted on playing songs from the jukebox, which nobody enjoyed.

As my evening started winding down, I figured I could use something light for the road. So I asked for “the champagne of beers,” the absurd and ironic slogan of Miller High Life. “The champagne of beers, eh?” Laura responded, smirking. Yes, that’s what I wanted. “The champagne of beers,” she repeated. I could see the gears turning; which, you know, seemed unnecessary in the context of retrieving a bottled beer. She disappeared and quickly returned with a champagne flute and a large plastic cup filled with ice. “Since you ordered it that way,” she said before pouring the High Life into the flute, with great ceremony, and resting the bottle in the makeshift ice bucket.

You know, over the past year of barhopping, I’ve had some pretty hysterical experiences. This may have topped them all.

Last Call

My visit to Flash’s Cocktails left me grappling with the obvious question – why the hell had I never heard of this place? I mean, if it had just opened, that would be one thing; but it’s apparently been around for more than a decade, so I have to assume it’s fairly popular. Regardless, my ignorance serves as a reminder of how much I still have to learn and discover.

Speaking of learning, if I’d taken maybe 10 seconds to read the website instead of just looking at the colors, I’d have known there was a poignant story behind the throwback theme. The space that houses Flash’s Cocktails was previously a neighborhood diner – run by a Greek guy named Flash – that served breakfast and lunch for 20 years before closing its doors. The new owners kept the name when they renovated the space a couple of years later, maintaining a sense of continuity with what was a long-running and apparently much-loved local business. They also managed to re-create the easygoing vibe that no doubt characterized the diner, giving Flash’s Cocktails the personality of a casual neighborhood bar (even if many of their Back Bay “neighbors” are ritzy hotels).

The prices are pretty typical. My cocktails were all $9 or $10. The beers were $7.25, which is maybe a little above average, but this was also a pretty unique offering of microbrews. My majestically presented High Life was only $4, so you’ve got options if you’re feeling thrifty. The chicken sandwich was $13, which seems to be standard for the area.

From the drinks to music to the friendly service, Flash’s made for an evening of pleasant surprises. I don’t know how I missed the boat on this place, but I won’t pass up an opportunity to return.

Address: 310 Stuart Street, Boston

Website:http://www.flashscocktails.com/

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February 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Granary Tavern

February 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Call

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

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

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

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

Address: 170 Milk Street, Boston

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

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February 15, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Emmet's Pub & Restaurant

February 15, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

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

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

It was not always such.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Call

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

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

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

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

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

Address: 6 Beacon Street, Boston

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

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February 8, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Sullivan's Tap

February 8, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Call

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

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

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

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

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

Address: 168 Canal Street, Boston

Website: None.

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February 1, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Harpoon Brewery Beer Hall

February 1, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

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

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

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

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

And then there’s the bar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder everyone seems to like working here.

Last Call

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

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

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

Address: 306 Northern Avenue, Boston

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

January 17, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

One for the Road – Still

January 17, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

“Speakeasy.”

The word evokes a sense of mystery, curiosity, and excitement, even today – a full eight decades after the curtains dropped on the farce that was Prohibition. Not that our enduring fascination with the notion of an illicit bar should be surprising; we are nothing if not drawn to the forbidden. And despite all you could do in 1920s America – especially new things, like buy a car, listen to jazz on the radio, go to work in a skyscraper – the decade is probably best remembered for what you could NOT do: legally purchase an intoxicating beverage.

But the operative word there is “legally,” and as we all know, booze didn’t simply vanish upon passage of the amendment that banned it. It just went underground, melted into the shadows.

And plenty of people followed.

They heard through the grapevine that they could buy a drink in the storage room of a restaurant, in a members-only club, in the attic above what was once a bar, or in the basement of a private residence owned by an entrepreneurial, small-time criminal. They snuck into side doors in dark alleys, navigated dusty, cluttered hallways, dodged leaky pipes, and climbed rickety staircases. They rang a bell or knocked three times, whispered a password to a set of suspicious eyes through the sliding peephole of a locked door, and finally, were ushered into a room where they could join other former law-abiding citizens who had resorted to such complicated measures for the simple pleasure of enjoying a drink. It may have been in a luxurious space not far removed from the dignified drinking establishments that once proliferated, or a sparse room designated a “bar” by the mere presence of a table, a couple of chairs, and bottle of homemade hooch. Wherever it was, and whatever it looked like, no one talked very loudly or openly about it. And thus it came to be known as a speakeasy.

That the concept still captures our imagination is evidenced by the popularity of the speakeasy-style bars that have popped up all over the country in recent years. In New York, Milk & Honey only accepts customers by referral, and PDT (Please Don’t Tell) requires patrons to enter a phone booth in a hot dog joint and identify themselves before being allowed inside. Bourbon & Branch in San Francisco requires reservations and posts a code of conduct that urges discretion. More locally, Davis Square’s Saloon doesn’t go to such lengths; but its hard-to-find entrance and subterranean, windowless space engender an environment well suited to sipping highly refined, old-style cocktails.

Like a lot of people, I love the idea of playing along, jumping through a few hoops, and imagining the days when ordering a drink was risky business. So I hope it doesn’t sound like a refusal to suspend my disbelief by pointing out that most of these bars conflate the trappings of 1920s-era “hidden” bars with the glamour of their legal predecessors. For starters, the drinks are good – like, really good. Saloon’s cocktails, for example, are impeccably crafted and often very traditional, made with the simple ingredients that characterized early 20th century libations. During Prohibition, by contrast, most people were drinking gut rot. New drink recipes incorporated multiple and heavy mixers to mask the terrible flavor of bootleg liquor that may well have been made in someone’s bathtub.

Eschewing cocktails made with adulterated and, not infrequently, poisonous booze is one sacrifice to authenticity that I think we’re all happy to make. But beyond that, a lot of these modern “speakeasies” are gorgeous. Like something you’d find in a really fancy, old-world hotel, with mahogany walls, ornate bars, burgundy carpets, and servers nattily attired in vests and ties.

Without doubt, there were speakeasies in the 1920s that maintained such an upscale appearance; some even required gentlemen to wear suits and ties. But most of them were considerably more modest. And that’s what gives Still, in Portsmouth, Virginia, a certain gritty authenticity that many of its Prohibition-themed peers lack.

I was in Virginia over the holidays, visiting Melissa’s family, and certainly wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity to get another out-of-state post under my belt. Still came highly recommended (a certain reader out there might even own up to having badgered me to go), and with good reason. As we pulled onto a side street, I saw a sign for the bar atop of what appeared to be a side entrance. I walked around to the front of the building to look for the main entrance, only to discover that the side door was the only way in.

Well played, Still.

The door itself is nondescript, and with its small, barred window, looks entirely uninviting. All that was missing was a burly guy on the other side peeking through and demanding a password.

Beyond the door is everything you might expect to see in your typical 1920s speakeasy. Instead of plush furniture and old-world decadence, Still feels like a basement hastily converted into a makeshift bar, tidied up and made presentable enough for paying customers who were more interested in discretion than comfort. Luxury here only goes so far as a couple of easy chairs that look like they could have been commandeered from the average person’s living room. Forget hardwood floors and burgundy drapes; Still sports a concrete floor, low ceilings, and exposed support posts. Old-time jazz sets the mood, drywall and brick add to the effect, and shutters on the windows seem designed to repel prying eyes.

A legal bar fashioned after an illegal one takes on an added layer of irony in Virginia, a state that once seemed all too eager to go dry. Virginia enacted its own liquor prohibition in 1916, and the experiment worked about as well as it did for the rest of the country four years later – which is to say, very poorly. The law was extremely unpopular, difficult to enforce, and easy to circumvent. Throughout the 1920s, Virginia saw the same Prohibition-related issues as the rest of the country – home distilleries churning out toxic liquor, speakeasies, corrupt law enforcement officials, shootouts between bootleggers and police. Complicating matters further was the state’s long shoreline, which presented miles of opportunity for smugglers.

Even after Prohibition ended, the good times were slow to get rollin’ in Virginia. Although the 21st amendment was ratified in 1933, serving liquor “by the glass” remained illegal in Virginia until 1968. That meant you could purchase bottles of alcohol at a state-run store, but you still couldn’t buy a mixed drink in a bar or restaurant.

Thankfully, times have changed, and at Still, you don’t have to worry about a Treasury official kicking in the door and shouting “This is a raid!” You can relax, admire the attention to historical detail, and most of all, enjoy a few drinks that are far superior to anything you would have choked down in an actual speakeasy.

With a menu that organizes its drinks by type of glass, and a spirits list that distinguishes whiskey from whisky (many offerings from both), it’s pretty clear that Still has a healthy respect for cocktails poured properly. The drink list is loaded with classics that have by and large become scarce – Boilermakers, Gin Rickies, Amaretto Flips, Gibsons. The recipes themselves seem strictly traditional, adhering to the original conception of a cocktail – spirit, sugar, water, bitters, and little more. Still’s Manhattan, for instance, is made with rye whiskey, and their Old Fashioned isn’t a graveyard of muddled fruit.

Already in the right frame of mind, I happily settled in with Melissa, her cousin Mary, and Mary’s fiancé Gabe for an evening of classics – some famous, some forgotten, all delicious. I began with a Negroni – gin, sweet vermouth, Campari, and soda, with a lemon twist.

This was my first ever Negroni, and Still’s version was well made and eminently drinkable. Unfortunately, it left me with the mistaken impression that I actually like Negronis. I ordered one at a different bar last weekend and quickly discovered that I loathe Campari, the intense flavor of which was mitigated somewhat by the soda in Still’s version. But I digress.

Mel tried ordering a Ramos Gin Fizz, but was told it would take a half-hour to prepare; apparently there’s some egg white in there that requires a whole lotta shakin’. She opted instead for a Tangerine Burst, a mix of Finlandia tangerine vodka, lemon juice, Chambord, and champagne. Arriving in considerably less time than the gin fizz would have, the first three ingredients gave it an intriguing fruity flavor, while the champagne kept the drink from being overly sweet.

Gabe opted for a Sazerac. Unsurprisingly, Still kept close to the traditional composition of this New Orleans-based classic – Bourbon, Peychaud bitters, sugar cube, and water, in an absinthe-rinsed glass.

Mary’s Sidecar was a potent blend of sweet and sour – brandy, Cointreau, and lemon juice. The origins of this fine drink are the subject of fierce debate, with bartenders on two continents taking credit for both the composition and the inspiration for the name. Regardless, it’s an old drink, and it requires a deft hand to properly balance the flavors. Still’s version was splendid.

One of the best things about a bar like this is that it gives you the opportunity to try some venerable cocktails that you’ve heard of but have fallen by the wayside. Like a Rob Roy.

A Rob Roy is similar to my favorite cocktail, the Manhattan, except it’s made with scotch instead of rye or bourbon. That sounded good to me, and sure enough, this stodgy old chap was drier than its more famous cousin, with a rich, smoky essence.

If cocktails aren’t your thing, Still offers a respectable selection of eight draft beers, most of which are local microbrews. There’s a broader list of bottled craft beers, and I was pleased to see that Boston’s own Harpoon made the list with its Leviathan Imperial IPA. I went with the O’Connor El Guapo IPA, if for no other reason than my amusement at the interesting mix of nationalities reflected in the name.

Gabe went with Still’s eponymous beer, which was pretty basic and pretty good.

Still breaks most dramatically from its historical reverie with its food menu. It probably goes without saying that if an underground bar even served food, it was most likely crapola. Speakeasies definitely didn’t serve tapas. But that’s what you’ll find at Still, which characterizes its food as “worldly eclectic tapas.” We didn’t eat here, which is too bad; I’m sure the duck tacos and mixed game sausage “trilogy” would have made for good blogging fodder. And I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I neglected to order Still’s apple tart, made with bourbon, bacon, maple, and cider caramel.

Don’t suppose I could blame it on the effects of bootleg liquor?

Last Call

Our 1920s forebears would be nonplussed by our desire to celebrate and imitate a practice that was, in reality, tiresome, dangerous, and of course, illegal. But human nature being what it is, it’s fun to be in on a secret, and there’s a certain thrill to be had in, say, ducking behind a bookcase and giving someone a password to get into an exclusive, hush-hush bar. I suppose it helps when you don’t actually have to worry about being ensnared in a liquor raid.

Any theme-heavy bar like Still runs the risk of being written off as a novelty unless it has substance; fortunately, Still’s drinks are the real deal. And a place like this ensures that even when old cocktails fall out of fashion, they don’t completely disappear. I mean, I don’t know anyone, let alone someone my age, who’s ever walked into a garden-variety bar and ordered a Rob Roy. But I feel richer for having had the chance to do so.

The prices here are considerably more affordable than in Boston, though not as cheap as the $0.50 you might have plunked down for a drink in a genuine speakeasy. The cocktails we got ranged from $6.50 to $9.50, and only the elusive Ramos Gin Fizz goes as high as $10 (probably to dissuade you from making the poor bartender shake it for 30 minutes). Beers are about $6.50, on average.

The folks behind Still certainly take their drinks seriously, but they have a lot of fun with their 1920s theme. They host cool events that give you a reason to dust off your fedora or flapper duds, like an End of Prohibition Party and a St. Valentine’s Day Massacre Party (a rather gruesome event to celebrate, but proof that anything can be used as an occasion to raise a glass). Maybe they go a little over the top in trying to make the place look really old – like with exposed iron pipes that, upon closer inspection, are just plastic PVC pipes painted in an orange-gold hue. But the point is to have fun, and theme or no theme, Still is a pretty casual place in which to enjoy a very well-made drink.

And that’s something we should never take for granted.

Website: http://www.stilleats.com/

Address: 450 Court Street, Portsmouth, Virginia

January 4, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Events, Spirits in Focus

Hendrick's Gin – The Delightfully Peculiar Cocktail Academy

January 4, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Events, Spirits in Focus

My dad used to receive bottles of liquor as gifts, typically around the holidays. But as a beer drinker who eschewed hard liquor, he had no use for them. He kept them anyway, though, in a cardboard box in the basement; and as a dutiful son who didn’t want his parents’ cellar to become overly cluttered, I kindly took the entire box off their hands at some point when I was in college. There were some valuable things in there, like a bottle of Johnny Walker Black, and a couple of mysterious black bottles of cognac, which I still have.

There was also gin. A LOT of gin.

If memory serves, there were two bottles of Tanqueray and three bottles of Beefeater – two enormous ones (the square kind, with the handle) and a more manageable 750-milliliter bottle.

That might sound like a gold mine for a poor college student who enjoyed a cocktail once in a while, but there was one problem – I didn’t really care for gin. I found it to be harsh and unforgiving. And given the infrequency with which I drank it, I suddenly found myself with pretty much a lifetime supply of the stuff. Those bottles followed me through college, grad school, three new jobs, and at least six different residences.

Finally, about two years ago, I decided enough was enough – the gin had to go. And since it runs counter to my programming to simply dump usable liquor down the drain, I was going to have to get rid of it the hard way.

So I declared gin and tonic to be my official drink of the spring and summer and embarked on a boozy tour de force: A gin and tonic after work. Sometimes one before work. A gin and tonic and a good book. A gin and tonic while watching the Sox. A gin and tonic on the front porch. A gin and tonic on a midsummer night’s eve. A picnic with a thermos full of gin and tonic. Gin and tonics on the beach. A flask of gin and tonic at church (kidding! I never go to church).

Slowly, the tide began turning. Bottle after spent bottle would land in the recycling bucket with a satisfying thunk, and as the days of summer got shorter and shorter, I could see victory within my shaky grasp.

And then, a cruel and unexpected twist! A friend of mine was moving across the country and opted not to take the contents of his liquor cabinet, donating to me the remnants of his collection – which contained (you guessed it) another full bottle of Beefeater gin. And thus the spring and summer of gin and tonic stretched into the fall and, inevitably, winter of gin and tonic.

Gin was one stubborn bastard, as I learned; but so was I. And then a funny thing happened – I actually started liking the stuff. That harsh, piney liquor that initially reminded me of a cleaning product gradually revealed its merits, and eventually we put aside our differences.

Of course, learning to appreciate gin is a lot easier when you submit to the talents of creative bartenders who skillfully mix it into things other than just tonic water. And as I sampled drinks like the Tres Curieux at Marliave, the luscious Greed at Church, and the Vesper Martini at the Gaff, among many others, I noticed they weren’t made with Beefeater, or Tanqueray, or even Bombay Sapphire. It seemed the gin of choice among Boston’s best mixologists was Hendrick’s.

So I started asking for Hendrick’s in my drinks when given the opportunity, and while I’m no gin aficionado, I could tell there was something different about it. It seemed gentler and more approachable than other gin brands. Turns out there’s actually a lot about this gin that distinguishes it from its peers – as I learned a few weeks ago, when I attended a Hendrick’s-sponsored “Cocktail Academy.”

Hendrick’s is a small batch gin made by William Grant & Sons, the same distillers that own Tullamore Dew, among other fine intoxicating liquors. Their gin-soaked road show, the Cocktail Academy, has been stopping in major U.S. cities over the past couple of years as part of William Grant’s aggressive American marketing campaign. It’s a way to spread the word about Hendrick’s while teaching attendees to whip up a few gin-based cocktails under the tutelage of a Hendrick’s brand ambassador.

“Timeless Tipples Worth Toasting” was the subject of the Cocktail Academy’s third stop in the Boston area, led by an affable brand ambassador named Jim Ryan. Held at Catalyst, a very cool bar in Cambridge’s Kendall Square, the event was a laid-back clinic in gin mixology.

About 20 of us settled into a conference room with long wooden tables, each with place settings outfitted with all the supplies we’d need – a lemon press, weighted spoon, jigger, two Collins glasses, and a tumbler; lemons and cucumbers; simple syrup, soda, green tea, and elderflower liqueur (aka St. Germain); and of course, a bottle of Hendrick’s gin. There was also a helm full of ice. Yes, a helm.

As we settled in with passed hors d’oeuvres and complimentary gin and tonics (any class that starts off with a free drink is going to be a good one, regardless of the subject matter), Jim regaled us with the history of Hendrick’s and, more importantly, what makes it such a unique spirit, from its botanical signature – a chorus of 11 different fruits, roots, and flowers – to its distillation in two separate stills, to its pièce de résistance: an infusion of cucumber and rose petals.

It seems only fitting that an exceptional gin should emerge from such unusual origins. Hendrick’s is one of the only gin distilleries in Scotland. It’s housed in a converted WWI-era munitions factory that the William Grant company purchased in 1960s, around the same time that it bought two very rare stills. The first, made of a thick copper, is a traditional pot still built in 1860 by Bennet, Sons & Shears. The second is called a Carter-Head still, built in 1948; only a few are known to exist in the world.

Now, why purchase two antique stills? To show off in front of all the other gin distillers? Maybe; but after the stills were restored to proper working order, they both came to play key roles in the production of Hendrick’s Gin.

The stills yield two dramatically different spirits. In the Bennet still, botanicals are added to the liquid and boiled, producing an oily, concentrated gin distillate with a rich, robust flavor. In the Carter-Head, by contrast, the distillers place the botanicals in a basket at the top of this still, through which the alcohol vapors pass, extracting the sweeter and more delicate essences of the flowers and roots. Hendrick’s then combines the spirits produced by both stills, which is pretty much unheard of.

The result is a gin with an entirely unique flavor profile. It seems softer than other gins, yet more complex; that’s on account of its unusual botanical signature. While most gins incorporate a handful of fruits and flowers, Hendrick’s loads up with a whopping 11 botanicals – lemon peel, orange peel, coriander, chamomile, juniper, Angelica root, cubeb berry, elderflower, meadowsweet, caraway seeds, and Orris root. The exact proportions are a closely guarded secret known only to three or four people, but it’s clear that the juniper – a necessary component any gin, and the ingredient responsible for gin’s distinctive pine-like taste – is dialed back a bit. That alone might make Hendrick’s a bit more accessible to someone wary of gin.

But wait, there’s more! Once it’s all distilled, cucumber and rose petals are added, giving Hendrick’s a remarkably fresh flavor up front. This is why a cucumber is preferred to the more traditional citrus as a garnish for Hendrick’s-based drinks.

As the history lesson drew to a close, it was time to learn how to make some cocktails. First up was an elderflower cooler – gin, elderflower liqueur, simple syrup, and soda, served in a Collins glass. Essentially a St. Germain cocktail made with Hendrick’s in place of champagne, this was crisp, light, and summery. St. Germain plays very well with Hendrick’s, since elderflower is one of the botanicals used in the distillation process, and the brightness of the flavor balanced the dryness of the gin. Our class may have been taking place on a cold December evening, but sipping the elderflower cooler gave me visions of relaxing on my front porch on a June evening.

My warm-weather reverie continued with the next cocktail. Even before we made them, the cucumber lemonade sounded like a heavenly match – the cool, refreshing flavor of cucumber and the zing of a lemon. The recipe called for gin, the juice of one lemon, simple syrup, soda, and a long slice of cucumber, with an optional lemon garnish. Sure enough, it was a dry, refreshing cocktail with just enough sweetness and a only slight tartness. The lemon juice activated the lemon peel in the gin, and the resulting flavor, complemented by the cucumber, was strong but not overpowering.

The last drink was called a tenured punch, and this was a group project. Jim explained to us that, a couple centuries ago, punch preceded the notion of a single-serving cocktail. It was very communal; having a punch with guests meant you were sharing an experience. In that sense, it was an appropriate way to round out the class; there’s no “gin” in team, but there was only one punch bowl per table, and everyone at the table had to work together to make the punch.

We threw pretty much everything we had in there – gin, lemon juice, simple syrup, sparkling water, green tea, Lillet Blanc, Angostura bitters, and cucumber and lemon slices as garnishes, all poured over a massive block of ice. The tea was the most interesting component; according to Jim, it “stretches” the punch out, helping you avoid overpouring the liquors.

I don’t know about you, but when I think about punch, I imagine something overly fruity, loaded up with cheap liquors and bunch of mixers. The Hendrick’s tenured punch challenged that notion, to say the least. I would call it a rather dignified punch, the pinnacle of knowing how good flavors mix in large quantities as opposed to haphazardly pouring a bunch of ingredients into a bowl and giggling about how much alcohol you put in (I mean, not that I’ve ever…).

What’s more, no individual component of the punch was particularly obvious; I couldn’t really taste the tea, nor did the citrus or even the gin stand out. The flavor was truly greater than the sum of its parts.

The only disappointment of the night was discovering that the table of Hendrick’s gift bags did not, in fact, contain complimentary bottles of Hendrick’s.

But the mere fact that I would have welcomed a full bottle of gin made me realize how far I’d come from my earlier skepticism of the spirit. And that’s exactly the kind of epiphany that the Hendrick’s people would like everyone to have. While gin distilleries aren’t exactly hurting for cash, gin doesn’t enjoy anything close to the global sales of other spirits, like vodka or whiskey. Vodka, for instance, is eminently marketable; with its neutral flavor, it can be mixed with just about anything, and distilleries can appeal to younger drinkers with products like Swedish Fish or Whipped Cream flavored vodka (and yes, both exist). It’s harder to portray gin as the life of the party; it tends to be seen as a stuffy liquor, something preferred by an older crowd.

William Grant is fighting that perception, trying to broaden gin’s appeal and put it in the cocktails and liquor cabinets of a younger population. So they designed a wildly colorful website and host events like the Cocktail Academy at trendy bars, trying to show people that the range of gin drinks is considerably broader than just martinis and gin and tonics. In other words, gin can party with the best of ‘em.

It even looks cooler than other gins. The Hendrick’s bottle, wide and round, is modeled after an old apothecary jar, hearkening back to the days when gin was used medicinally. During the class, Jim joked that Hendrick’s designed the bottle to make it as difficult as possible for a bartender to pour. (Somewhere, a bartender is not laughing at this.)

Of course, all the clever marketing in the world would be wasted if the product wasn’t up to snuff, but that’s not an issue here. Hendrick’s has taken home a plethora of awards over the past 10 years, even being declared the “Best Gin in the World” by the Wall Street Journal. And while you’ll never see a bubble gum-flavored gin on a store shelf (thank GOD), Hendrick’s manages to give the spirit as much of as twist as possible with its cucumber and rose infusion.

Maybe a gin purist would quibble with the softer complexion of Hendrick’s or the post-distillation flavoring (which renders it not a “London dry gin” but a “distilled gin”; oh, the humanity). But appealing to a new audience of drinkers requires a little innovation and a lot of fresh thinking. Hendrick’s employs both to great effect, and the result is a surprisingly approachable gin that can respectably stand among the classics.

In other words, an old spirit for a new generation.

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

December 20, 2012

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

The First Annual Boston BarHopper Christmas Special

December 20, 2012

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

When I was a kid, going into Boston seemed kind of like a big deal. That was where dad worked, and where the Sox and the Celtics and the Bruins played, and where the governor lived. I grew up about 20 miles north of Boston. That’s not prohibitively far from the city, but going there still felt like a special occasion. Everything in Boston just seemed bigger, faster, more special, more important. The tall buildings, the fast pace, the busy subway, the constant barrage of sounds – those things are fascinating to a child.

So you can probably imagine – actually, some of you might remember – how exhilarating it was, as a kid, to visit Boston during the holiday season. I vividly recall those occasions when my family and I would head into town for a day of Christmas shopping, and what a feast it was for the senses.

The city, already imbued with a sense of majesty, seemed suddenly and impossibly grander. The Christmas spirit was in the air – you could see it in the huge department stores in Downtown Crossing and the small shops on Charles Street. You could hear it in the ever-present Christmas music in the stores or outside, played by street musicians or the occasional vocal group, decked out in gay apparel. You could smell it when you walked by a food vendor selling hot treats on a bitterly cold day. And when night fell, the lights clicked on and bathed the city in a wintry glow. The colored bulbs on the trees in Boston Common, the warm glimmer from store windows, and a skyline dotted by the illuminated windows of skyscrapers conspired to weave a tapestry of Yuletide splendor. It felt like the entire city was in full holiday swing.

And while that sense of celebration seemed, in my young eyes, to extend to every block of Boston, no area of the city better encapsulated the magic of the season than Faneuil Hall. Just approaching it felt special – you could see lights on the horizon and hear all sorts of commotion.

And when you got there, it was just as good as you imagined. There were impossibly tall Christmas trees, big green wreaths with red bows hanging in store windows, and holiday classics playing on loudspeakers. Ordinary trees became extraordinary when draped with white lights. When it got too cold, we’d go inside, where – behold! – the promise of a hot chocolate awaited, and the warmth would refresh us as we perused carts selling keepsakes or squeezed through the crowded, narrow hallway lined with food vendors.

For me, all the elements of Faneuil Hall in December combined to bring Christmas alive in a manner that went beyond Santa Claus, talking snowmen, and flying reindeer. In a way, this was real-life magic. I must have cultivated an idyllic image of a Victorian-era Christmas, maybe from reading or seeing “A Christmas Carol” in my most formative years. Because something about the bricks and cobblestones of this centuries-old marketplace infused color, sound, and texture into a deeply embedded impression of a snowy night in 19th century London, passersby greeting each other as they navigated gaslit streets, arms full of brown paper packages tied up with string. I felt like I was witnessing the reenactment of a profoundly old tradition, and it was absolutely thrilling to be part of it.

I’m all grown up now, whether I act like it or not. I still love the holiday season, but these days it means finding time for shopping, deciding on the right gifts, paying for it all, dueling for parking spots at crowded malls, coordinating travel plans, having my triumph at finishing my shopping doused when I remember at the last minute that I need something for the office party, bugging people for their addresses, mailing gifts, sending cards, coming up with holiday cocktails, and telling people what size I wear in a sweater (medium) or jeans (32/32, but keep the receipt). And that’s on top of everyday stuff, like working a full-time job, writing blog posts, and answering BBH fan mail. All while the mercury plummets to bone-chilling temperatures.

The city, where I spend 60+ hours a week, doesn’t possess quite the same holiday mystique that it held I was a kid. Sure, I still notice the decorations and hear the songs, but most of the time I’m walking to work and thinking about the day ahead, or dashing for the train, trying to get home. Always somewhere to be.

But this post isn’t about growing up and becoming jaded, with some clichéd moral about taking time to stop and smell the Christmas trees. It’s about one area of the city that, despite the passing years and my diminished ability to believe in magic, still manages to fill me with a sense of wonder.

In some respects, it might seem odd to assign Faneuil Hall such an elevated status. Christmas is too commercial as it is, and Faneuil Hall is pretty much just a bunch of stores, few of which are interesting or unique. It’s also a five-minute walk from my office, so for me, making a trip there isn’t exactly novel. And it’s mostly tourist-driven; I seldom need a Boston sweatshirt, a stuffed lobster, or a snow globe of the State House, and I’m certainly never going to Cheers.

Yet I still get excited when I walk across Government Center and see those lights in the distance. I don’t know – maybe it’s because standing in front of that mammoth Christmas tree makes me feel tiny, but I walk into Faneuil Hall and can’t help feeling like a kid again.

Of course, as an adult, my tastes have expanded beyond that hot chocolate I used to look forward to. So with that in mind, I took a whirl around Faneuil Hall in search of some seasonal cocktails that can warm your bones on a cold winter night, give you a boost when your holiday shopping expedition loses steam, or just serve as a reward after a long day of rockin’ around the Christmas tree.

Ames Plow Tavern has always been an underrated favorite of mine. It’s down a flight of stairs and there are no windows, making it a convenient hideaway whenever you feel the need to block out the noise and crowds. Ames Plow is a cozy basement bar that’s always a pleasure to drink in, and the Christmas lights on the back wall add a little holiday cheer. The $3 PBRs are a year-round attraction, but on a chilly night, try the spiked hot apple cider made with vanilla vodka and cinnamon schnapps. If your shopping trip needs a quick jolt, this will do the trick.

Once you’re sufficiently recharged, walking up those stairs and reemerging into Faneuil Hall’s Yuletide radiance will make you feel festive all over again.

Upstairs from Ames Plow is that sprawling all-purpose bar, Ned Devine’s. Ned’s is all decked out for the season, and even though they don’t offer much in terms of holiday-themed cocktails, it’s a festive atmosphere for drinking a winter brew.

When I stopped in last week, it seemed like the right time to have my first Sam Adams Winter Lager of the season. This sturdy classic with wintry spices will help fortify you against the chill outdoors.

Despite the modern-day corporate nature of Faneuil Hall, it’s still possible to feel its sense of history. And as I said before, that’s a little easier this time of year, when the place looks like the front of a greeting card. What better occasion, then, to check out a true Boston classic – Durgin Park.

I’m not sure whether I’d ever been to this Boston landmark; honestly, I can’t imagine going there unless I had a guest who’d never been to Massachusetts and demanded a taste of traditional New England. But the bar area, comfortable and well worn, is a very pleasant surprise, and Christmas lights add a festive air. The drink options are pretty straightforward, but they do have a cocktail that seems seasonal enough – the Johnny Apple Cider. This mix of Smirnoff Kissed Caramel vodka, sour apple schnapps, and triple sec isn’t a hot drink like the one at Ames Plow, but it still hits the spot and captures the flavors of fall and winter.

Finally, Anthem provides for one of the classier and more upscale drinking experiences in Faneuil Hall. In terms of holiday décor, Christmas lights strung along the dark wood walls and behind the bar are festive and playful, but the candles on the bar evoke a quieter, more intimate holiday atmosphere. Anthem has several seasonal options to choose from, and I started with the elegant ginger fizz – G’Vine gin, ginger cognac, and prosecco. Dry and bubbly, the ginger flavor permeated the drink but remained soft and subtle.

The undisputed hit of my holiday drinking tour, though, was Anthem’s mulled cider. Made with Domaine de Canton ginger cognac and hot mulled cider, topped with homemade whipped cream, this is quite possibly the most satisfying winter cocktail I’ve ever had.

Warm, creamy, and delicious, it’s a well-conceived drink perfectly suited to a cold December night. I think I’ll stop in and see whether they’re still serving it in January. And February…

No matter how many times you’ve been there, Boston’s most famous tourist attraction is still worth a pre-Christmas visit – especially if you need something to take the edge off or simply want to toast the holidays. After all, this may be the most wonderful time of the year, but it can also be the most stressful. So swing by, enjoy the lights, and treat yourself to a cup of cheer.

Even if it’s the kind you drank when you were a kid.