Waterfront Grille

Located on Homer's Wharf, just south of the Bourne Counting House, sits the Waterfront Grille, an elegant and upscale addition to city's thriving bar-and-restaurant scene. That space, in a previous incarnation, had been the home of Louie's on the Wharf, a legendary New Bedford restaurant, that raised the bar for the local culinary community. Let it be said that the Waterfront Grille is a worthy successor. Overlooking the harbor and the docked fishing fleet, there is a lovely view that rises above the cliched and schmaltzy sentiment that a cynic like Mr. Draft might ordinarily assign to such a visage. It is beautiful and does, no doubt, attract visitors of the city, but the Waterfront Grille is no kitschy tourist trap. Small, white tubular lights hover over the bar, creating a tasteful atmosphere that is neither too cloyingly romantic nor unnaturally bright. On the night of the Barflies' visit on-tap brews were nothing spectacular or out of the mainstream- Miller Lite, a Sam Adams Seasonal offering, Blue Moon and Long Trail, and Mr. Draft opted for the lunatic choice. The pretty barmaid, Jennifer, proved to be an excellent barkeep. Several of Mr Draft's hungrier companions ordered food at the bar and greatly enjoyed their meals. And while Mr. Draft greatly enjoys the company of his compatriots in the Barflies-- for example, Messrs. Elixir, 3BOEs and Mix are somewhat of a Holy Trinity of entertaining geek conversation, Mr. Merlot and Mr. Sazurac are formidable thinkers as to local politics and art, and keen observers of cleavage; and one could get lost in Mr. Brew-haha's dreamy eyes--- Mr. Draft thinks he would most enjoy the Waterfront when he is out "on a date" with the beautiful Mrs. Draft. It bests functions--at least in the evening-- as a romantic spot. And it rates a 9...and if the draft selections improved ever so slightly, it might enter the exalted realm of the Tens. Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Mix, Mr. Elixir, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Brew-haha, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Lupilin

Royal II Restaurant

Just to the east side of Route 18, in a maritime industrial zone, about midway between Union Street and Cove Street, on a triangular wedge of asphalt sits the Royal Restaurant II. There is a Royal Restaurant I (sans the numeral) on North Front Street, just north of Sawyer Street which the Barflies have yet to visit. In the name of full disclosure, Mr. Draft will be the first to admit that he has dragged his children, hence known as Baby Girl Draft and Draft Junior, to pubs and taverns (that served good food) since they were infants-- hell, since they were in utero-- but still Mr. Draft didn't expect to see a couple or three kids sitting at the bar drinking Yoo-Hoo when the Barflies dropped into the Royal II. Mr. Draft quickly came to the perhaps erroneous, but likely conclusion that they were the children of the barmaid, Carla, and only in for a quick visit with Dad. Mr. Draft drank the least disagreeable draft choice- Narragansett (which has actually vastly improved since its' unexpected return) over the macrobrew regulars- Bud and Coors Light. Mr. Mix drank Carla's suggestion--- a Sex on the Beach variant called Sex in Florida. Carla seemed to be somewhat of an absentee barmaid, as she was often away from her post, but Mr. Draft believes she was working as hostess, and occasionally vanishing through a door behind the bar to seat patrons in the adjoining restaurant. The Royal II is frankly, nothing special--- again , with notice that the 'Flies did not eat there- it is too bright and too bland in environment to be particularly engaging. The menu was bilingual, and there was a spinner rack, displaying compact discs of fado and other Portuguese music, so one can credit the Royal II with playing to its' strength and embracing the customer base. Not a bad place, but nothing that makes the Barflies anxious for another visit. The Royal II gets a 5. Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Mix, Mr. Elixir, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Lupilin, Mr. Brew-haha

Claudio's Cafe

Claudio's sits on Acushnet Avenue, south of Baiyles Square and north of Nash Road, and is distinguished, as one cruises by in the evening, by a sharp indigo neon sign. On the night of the Barflies' visit, there was a respectable gathering of customers, many watching a soccer game on the television, broadcast in Portuguese. The draft selection was predictable, and Mr. Draft opted for a bottle of something forgettable. The barmaid, an improbably buxom woman named Toni, was capable, gregarious, and flirtatious in the standard professional manner. All present ordered some bar grub, mostly sandwiches and French fries, which were quite satisfactory. Mr. Mix drank something too sweet for most human beings, and Mr. Merlot seemed to enjoy the fortified Portuguese wine he'd ordered. Claudio's has an extensive menu, and music on some nights. It is clean, friendly and generally "good," but there is little to separate it from the plentiful pack of popular Portuguese pubs populating the Ave. Except for that indigo neon and Toni's...well, Mr. Draft won't say. Claudio's ranks a respectable 6.5. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Elixir, Mr. 3BOEs

Club Sport Madeirense

Upon entering the Club Sport Madeirense, the Barflies were hit with a wonderful waft of Portuguese cuisine emanating from a backroom kitchen and were struck by the liveliness of a happy, boisterous crowd. The clientele were diverse with respect to age, ethnicity, gender, and social strata, just the way the Barflies like it, even if jumps with a vibrancy reminiscent of the cantina scene from Star Wars (although Mr. Draft may have been influenced in this perception by Mr. 3BPOES dead-on vocal impression of the tinny, post-jazz music from that particular scene). The Club Sport Madeirense has been a staid fixture on the corner of Acushnet Avenue and Madeira Avenue for many years, and the Club is the primary sponsor of the annual Feast of the Blessed Sacrament (more familiarly known, simply, as "the Portuguese Feast," an event which is said to rival New Orleans' Mardi Gras for the amount of beer consumed). The Club is also responsible for sponsoring any number of youth sports activities, from soccer matches to Little Leagues, and annually awards scholarships to many local students. It stands as a shining example of the tavern as good neighbor, quite committed to the local community. The bar itself is a bit rundown, its' age showing, but it is comfortable, and the walls are lined with old black-and-white photographs that detail its' history and membership. Also on the wall was a sign warning that the Club is a drug-free zone. Much to the distress of Mr. Mix and Mr. Elixir, the Pac-Man machine was not working but some good Portuguese grub took their minds off that. The Barflies were offered a deck of cards at the table which they had occupied but most of the Barflies don't play games that don't include a video monitor. (Mr. Draft, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Sazurac, and Mr. Cork are excluded from that generalization.) One note that struck Mr. Draft: an elderly woman, who might be described in the unpolitically correct vernacular as a "bag lady," slept quietly by the door, unperturbed by the noise and seemingly as welcome to be there as any of the folk who were drinking cocktails or beer, playing pool on the blue felt table, or eating a linguica sandwich. That act of kindly indifference knocks this place up a rung. The Club Sport Madeirense rates a 7. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix. Mr. Merlot, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Elixir, Mr. 3BOES.

Tilia's Cafe and Restaurant

Mr. Draft would guesstimate that there are a dozen-and-a-half bars on Acushnet Avenue, on the northern stretch between Coggeshall Street and Brooklawn Park. The vast majority of these are, by name, menu and/or reputation, "Portuguese bars." That term may not mean much outside of cities like New Bedford, Fall River, or Newark (New Jersey), or in other American cities which have substantial Luzo-American communities, but Mr. Draft will hazard a definition: a bar, pub or tavern in which the majority of the clientele and staff are of Portuguese-American ancestry, where the predominant language may be Portuguese, where at least a fair sampling of the vinho and cervaja may be of Portuguese import, and where the food served is primarily traditional fare such as linguica, kale soup, bacalhau, caciola, and the like. Tilia's, about smack dab in the middle of the Avenue, about midway between Coggeshall and the park, clearly falls into that definition. And it also falls smack dab in the middle as a bar. Tilia's, which is rather non-descript from the outside, is a bit more appealing once one passes through the door, but still a bit dark and drab. There are no beers on tap, and Mr. Draft worked his way through a tasteless bottle of Miller Chill Chelada Style, while Mr. Elixir and Mr. Mix played a game of Ms. Pac Man on a temperamental and malfunctioning console, that Elixir only got to start with a Fonzie slam. The decor was unexceptional...a blue felt covered pool table, a couple of televisions suspended above the bar, a jukebox and a lottery ticket vending machine. In fairness, the Barflies did not pass through the door to the much larger, backroom restaurant, and did not eat. But we came to drink. Tilia's gets that smack dab in the middle rating: 5. Roll call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix., Mr. Elixir, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Merlot.

Davy's Locker

Davy's Locker is a venerated, old-school seafood joint, with a mid-priced menu and a middle-of-the-road crowd, situated on the wrong side of the hurricane dike's flood gate in New Bedford's south end. On the backside of the restaurant, overlooking an ugly parking lot, which overlooks a rather lovely waterfront, sits an attached but distinct lounge, about the size of a double-wide motor home. Mr. Draft was pleased to see that the lounge had a personality and decor that was quite different from the restaurant proper. Having expected the bar to be decorated with buoys, life preservers, plastic crustaceans, and tables assembled by laying slabs of thick glass perched on lobster traps...it wasn't that. But Mr. Draft isn't certain that the decor projected the ambiance one would want either...the furniture and vibe was only slightly better than the late Merlot on William Street. In an attempt to project hip, it only resonated a chic best described as reminiscent of late 70's porn films, with odd red mood lighting over the bar, faux black leather love seats and chairs, a corrugated aluminum ceiling, and tables that look like were made from the leftover parts of unused exercise equipment. The only thing missing to really get the porn vibe (other than the "actors and actresses") was some funky wah-wah music. But decor aside, it was ...okay. The young barmaid, Leandra, was friendly and professional and the draft selection was adequate. Mr. Draft opted for a Buzzard's Bay seasonal ale, as did Mr. Lupilin. Mr. Merlot drank a merlot (!), Mr. Mix drank something coconut-infused and Mr. 3BOES sucked down another of the draft options. Interestingly, though known of the Barflies indulged, 101 different martinis (a term loosely used in this context) were available on the menu, and this explained the lettering across the bar back mirror with the legend that read "Martini 101". The bar at Davy's Locker is- thankfully- not what one expects, but on the flip side, what it is isn't much better. It gets an "okay" rating: 5.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Lupilin

Chuck's China Inn

There are a plethora of Portuguese / Portuguese-American bars along the Avenue and many of them are quite good. But barhopping to several of them on a single night, can be become a distinction-blurring excursion of too many fava beans on the counter, flaming linguicas, syrupy wines, a strange synthesis of the Portuguese and English languages (Portuglish?), and far too many attractive women named Maria that would mind-numb all but the most fervent Luzophiles.
Chuck's China Inn is the antidote. Chuck's has been a staple in the New Bedford restaurant vibe for many years, offering a full range of Chinese-American dishes such as the indefatigable General Tso's Chicken and the giggle-inducing Pu Pu Platter. (Well, it induces giggles in Mr. Draft's preteen son...but, then again, he also is quite amused by Provincetown's most common nickname.)
Passing by the hostess station and through two large dining rooms, the Barflies sat in the cocktail lounge, a visually-impressive, beautifully decorated little bar. It may be one of the last great hidden gems in the city's bar scene. The room seats only a few...perhaps less than two dozen...but it is worth squeezing into. The lounge features intricate lattice work, three-dimensional dragon heads, bare breasted women in bas-relief, and a bullet-proof looking bartender, beefy enough to bodyguard Beyonce. The bartender was affable and professional. The draft selection was limited to Samuel Adams' offerings-Cherry Wheat, Lager, and Octoberfest, but that was certainly adequate in a place that one could opt for a Zombie, a Love Potion or a Volcano Bowl. There is something oddly noirish about Chuck's....the cocktail lounge would look great in an old black-and-white movie, where Humphrey Bogart would fall for some stunning Asian girl, who'd dope him with powdered opium in his bourbon, when he asked too many questions. Even after that, Bogie would give this place a 9.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Elixir, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Whiskey, Mr. Brew-haha
A last note: Mr. Mix and Mr. 3BOES would think Mr. Draft remiss and Luddite if he did not mention the patrons playing Grand Theft Auto on the bar's television screen.

William H. Carney Lodge #200 (B.P.O.E.)

First, a little history lesson, with the help of Wikipedia: William Harvey Carney was the first African-American to be awarded the Medal of Honor. Carney was born a slave in Norfolk, Virginia and escaped to Massachusetts through the Underground Railroad. He later served in the 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry as a sergeant, and took part in the July 18th, 1863 assault on Fort Wagner, South Carolina. He received his medal for saving the American flag and planting it on the parapet, and although wounded, holding it aloft while the Union troops charged. Recognizing that the Federal troops needed to retreat under fire, he wrapped the flag around himself and struggled across the battlefield, getting wounded twice more, before returning the flag to the Union lines. Later, he modestly said, "Boys, I only did my duty; the old flag never touched the ground." He died in Boston many years later, and is buried in the Oak Grove Cemetery. The west end elementary school, the Carney Academy. is named after him. As is the William H. Carney Lodge #200 (B.P.O.E.).

The lodge itself is like many neighborhood lodges, clubs and fraternal order meeting spots, in the sense that is a bit rundown and has definitely seen better days. The members of the Carney Lodge partake in a number of fund raising events and activities, including hosting a Christmas party for neighborhood children and seeing that they receive holiday gifts. Although open to the public, it is necessary to ring a doorbell at the Lodge to be admitted. The Barflies rang the bell, were welcomed in, and one Barfly guest was asked to remove his baseball cap in order to comply with the posted "no headgear" rule.

There were four or five patrons seated at the bar, all but one of African-American descent. The Barflies, by social circumstance and not by any design, are all lily-white. The Barflies membership, as it is, includes an openly gay man, a Chinese woman, a Jew, a Katrina-displaced New Orleans resident, and a first-generation Quebecois, as well as those of German, English, Irish and Portuguese descent. But, to date, no African-American, Latino or Native-American drinkers have joined the Barflies. (No application necessary...all are welcome- respond to this site in order to receive an itinerary!) All that aside, the Barflies were made to feel quite welcome.
Mr. Merlot immediately struck up a conversation with a female customer, who he had known for years, and she (Carol) also recognized Mr. Mix, having worked on the campaign of Governor Duval Patrick, alongside the politically outspoken Mrs. Mix. Other non-Barfly patrons, and the barmaid, Cynthia, were friendly and conversational.

Mr. Draft veered away from the beer selection, and opted for a CC-and-ginger, the whiskey dispensed from a lazy-susan type device that held the liquor bottles upside down and assured of delivering a perfect one-ounce shot. All the other Barflies, with the exception of Mr. Mix. drank bottled beer, and Mix settled on a White Russian. Mr. Mix also bought a cheeseburger, which he thoroughly enjoyed, and for which the proceeds from were to be put in the fund for the aforementioned neighborhood children's Christmas event.

Located on the corner of Cottage Street and Mill Street, the Lodge is not particularly inviting from the outside, but is comfortable and warm once within. The yellowed walls could use a paint job, and a few more beers could be offered. but it was an enjoyable visit. It gets a 6.

Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Moonshine

Sapatinha's Cafe

On the evening of the Barflies' sojourn into Sapatinha's, located in downtown New Bedford at the corner of Acushnet Avenue and School Street, there were only three or four patrons at the bar...and no bartender on duty, seemingly, as we sat on the stools. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Maria appeared. She was a friendly, middle-aged, self-depreciating woman with a plastic bag on her head. Really. She explained that she'd taken advantage of a quiet moment to dye her hair in the ladies' room, and she proceeded to serve the Barflies, with a Rite-Aid bag over her hair.
The draft selection was limited to Bud and more Bud, so Mr. Draft shifted to his fall-back choice, a can of Guinness. Mr. Merlot sipped a heavily fortified Portuguese wine, strong enough to strip paint off a hardwood floor. When asked by Mr. Mix for a "mixed drink, something creamy, sweet, no fruit juice," Maria suggested a Tequila Rose, which Mr. Mix ordered. It turned out to be a premixed cocktail, the color of Pepto-Bismol and the flavor of Frankenberry cereal, a strong artificial strawberry kick. Mr. Mix described it as "being offensive to the palate."

Sapatinha's is a rather nice place, dark and quietly elegant, with plush seats and the illusion that it is twice as large as it actually is, due to the placement of a large mirror on the back wall, an illusion only broken by the realization that the exit sign is in reverse and there is a guy at the other end of the bar who looks just like you. Two televisions played, one broadcasting Jeopardy! and the other airing American Gladiator, appealing to both the Apollonian and the Dionysian sides of the cafe's patrons. A hand drawn portrait of Mother Theresa hung behind the bar, as did a Red Sox banner, touching on all things holy.

A sign hung over the bar that read: "Credit is for banks not bars. If you ask me, I will throw you out." Sapatinha's will likely not be a beneficiary of any $700 billion dollar bailout.

The cafe was quiet that evening, but Mr. Draft suspects that Friday and Saturday nights are more vibrant. Sapatinha's gets a straightforward 6.

Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr, Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Moonshine

Bom Apetite

Bom Apetite is a quiet, little Portuguese restaurant in the shadows of the Bellville Avenue mills. One can pass through a glass door from the restaurant, or from the avenue entrance into Bom Apetite's quiet, little Portuguese bar. A bit overly lit and somewhat stark, the small lounge area contains a a short length of bar and a half-dozen or so tables. As the bar stools were all occupied, the Barflies ordered drinks from Tony the bartender and sat at one of the tables. Mr. Draft ordered a Sambuca on the rocks, as no draft beers were to be had, and Mr. Greyhound again had cranberry juice splashed in with his vodka. Mr. Mix sipped at- and didn't finish- a fruity concoction of pineapple juice, rum and a mystery ingredient, while Mr. Sazurac indulged in an espresso, with somethin'-somethin' on the side. At least three televisions were on, broadcasting a soccer game, news, and something resembling an afternoon soap opera- all in Portuguese. All the customers, except the Barflies, were speaking Portuguese. And Tony took our orders in English, but one sensed Portuguese was his first language. The Barflies enjoy drinking in a city that is ethnically diverse and know that only the surface of the Portuguese (and Hispanic) bars have been scratched, with many more to come in the coming weeks. But this bar was just a bit too plain...a bit too vanilla. A language shift alone does not make a bar cosmopolitan in feel. This place rates a quatro. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Greyhound, Mr. Sazurac)

Pub 126

Located at 126 Dartmouth Street in a rather non-descript building sits Pub 126. Upon entering, Mr. Merlot had a flashback to an earlier era, when the building housed a neighborhood Portuguese restaurant that was operated by the grandmother of a friend. Another memory was about to be born. There was no one in the pub except the owner/manager and the breathtaking barmaid, a Puerto Rican beauty by the name of Yamadie. As the Barflies settled onto the barstools, Yamadie explained that a few friends had been in earlier and bought her a couple of shots of tequila, as it was nearing her birthday- February 29th. She divulged her age- seven...in leap years and attempted to guess the ages of the Barflies, almost always guessing somewhat lower than the actual age. She was a good barmaid, and she knew how to woo a crowd of middle-aged customers, playing to her strengths and the usual male flirtatiousness. Mr. Mix asked her to make "something sweet and creamy" (as much as Mr. Draft is tempted, he will not insert a sexual innuendo here). She quickly mixed up something with vodka, Chambord and Bailey's, which she said she didn't have a name. The Barflies christened it a Yamadie. When asked about the lack of crowd, she explained that there was a regular Wednesday-night darts league that gathered there, but on that particular evening, they were engaged in a contest at another place. She thought that by 9:00, the dart league would arrive and things would get lively. She further noted that Thursday was karaoke night, and while she didn't work that night, she always showed up, usually to sing a Madonna tune. There was no draft beers, no grapefruit juice and no decorative atmosphere to speak of...but the Barflies might go back on a Thursday just to see Yamadie sing Like A Virgin. She rates a 9 plus...the pub itself only gets a 5. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Greyhound, Mr. Cork, Mr. Merlot)

Fernando's Sports Pub

Right next door to Tony's on County Street is Fernando's Sports Pub. Inhabited by a jovial crowd, this place was much more inviting. Although the draft selection was predictably weak, and not a drop of grapefruit juice was to be had for Mr. Greyhound, the bartender was friendly and competent. The owners of Fernando's have seemingly tried to decorate the establishment in the style of tavern in the Azores, with stucco and faux brickwork, as well as a very large mural. The mural itself can best be politely described "naive realism." Forgive Mr. Draft a small lapse into art criticism as he explains some of the unique features of this stunning wall painting. Depicting an Azorean village and harbor, the sun projects rays downward in a cohesive shaft of light, much like the mothership in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. In the peaceful azure water, triangle wedge sailboats float, oblivious to the pterodactyl-sized seagulls flying ominously above. Mr. Draft suspects that after a few more cocktails, the mural might become more convincing. All in all, Fernando's- although in a somewhat blighted neighborhood- is warm and the regulars seem, well, regular. Not a bad place to grab a drink...if you ain't an art critic. It gets a 5. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Greyhound, Mr. Mix, Mr. Elixir, special guest Madame Mai-Tai)

Me & Ed's

Located on the end of Brock Avenue, near Fort Taber, Me & Ed's is the southernmost point in the city where one can sit down and and have a drink. While not a bar proper, a lounge is located in the comfortable cellar of this longtime Italian eatery. Mr. Draft remembers visiting Me & Ed's when he was a boy, with his parents, kid brother and sister, and his godmother and godfather (after who he was named: Uncle Mr. Draft.) Then, as now, it was family friendly and inexpensive and a great place to grab a thin crust pizza, a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, an antipasto or a bowl of spumoni which, back in the day, seemed positively exotic. On the night of the Barflies' visit, (with new recruit Mr. Sazurac,) Mr. Draft and Mr. Cork drank a selection from the Buzzards Bay Brewery. Mr. Mix, prodded out of his comfort zone of sweet and creamy girly-drinks by Mr. Draft, had a Manhattan, as did Mr. Sazurac. As Mr. Sazurac drank his, Mr. Mix whined. The barmaid, Sue, wearing a name tag made of Scrabble tiles, was efficient and cold. (Coldly efficient? Efficiently cold?) During the Barflies' visit, most of the other patrons appeared to be of the Greatest Generation, to utilize Tom Brokaw's term. (In other words, they were geezers). Me & Ed's is not a bad place to grab some Italian grub, but it is sedate, low-key and so unhip it needs a walker. It's stuck right in the middle- it gets a 5. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Mix, Mr. Cork, Mr. Sazurac)