Mikey B's

As he usually does, Mr. Mix asked the barmaid. "What do you recommend for a mixed drink? Something sweet...not too fruity...."

The relative fruitiness of Mr. Mix aside, Terri, an attractive, dirty blonde barmaid at Mikey B's took it on as a creative challenge. She gave him a drink that she called a Sicilian Kiss, which was, basically, cranberry juice and Southern Comfort. Mix enjoyed the cocktail, but Mr. Draft was mildly confounded by its' name. A Sicilian Kiss...okay, kiss- got that part- its' red. But what does a bourbon mix that originated in New Orleans and is now distilled in Tennessee, or cranberry juice- the official state drink of Massachusetts- have to do with Sicily? Research began...Mr. Draft found out that the mixing of Southern Comfort and cranberry juice originated in 1939, to coincide with the opening of Gone With The Wind, Garnished with a wedge of lime, it was originally called the Scarlett O'Hara. And that nomenclature makes so much more sense....Scarlett...scarlet red like the juice...and the O'Hara conjures up images of the Deep South...and its' comforts. Sorry, Terri...the Sicilian Kiss name just doesn't cut it.

In any case, Terri was an amiable professional and all the Barflies in attendance were happy with her, and just about everything else at Mikey B's. The selection of drafts included Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, Magic Hat #9, Stella Artois, and Shock Top, as well as the usual swill preferred by Mr, Pisswater: Bud and Bud Lite. Mikey B's also offers a good selection of bar grub, such as nachos, burgers, sandwiches, wings, and fries.

Mr. Draft would be remiss to fail to mention that Mikey B's has, collectively, the most beautiful waitresses in city (with all due props to the lovely wait staff at Cork and On the Rocks...)

Mikey B's is a new, notable and happening addition to the city's bar scene, located near the merger of Acushnet Avenue and Ashley Boulevard, near G&S Pizza. Stop in, enjoy the hearty grub, maybe a Sicilian Kiss-- that is, a Scarlett O'Hara--- and enjoy the eye candy. Yeah, Draft isn't being too PC this review... Mikey B's get an 8. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Mix, Mr. Brew-haha, Mr. Pisswater, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Cork.

Pa Raffa's

For about a decade-and-a-half, Mr. Draft, Mrs. Draft and the adorable Draft children lived in the far northern reaches of upstate Vermont, minutes from the Quebec border. Vermont's charms are many-- the lovely vistas of the Green Mountains and Lake Champlain, quiet Norman Rockwell villages, Bernie Sanders, Phish, Ben and Jerry's, and some damned good maple syrup....but one thing it lacks is linguica pizza. When Mr. Draft would return on semi-regular visits to New Bedford to see Mama Draft, he'd be jonesin' for a linguica pizza....specifically, the crisp, thin crust, sausage-laden, tomato paste heavy variety served at Pa Raffa's. While Mama Draft ate the antipasto- a pile of iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers, hots, onion, black olives, ham, pepperoni, and some other tasty mystery meat, topped with olive oil and vinegar, and enough shredded mozzarella to smother a first-grader-- Mr. Draft inhaled the perfect linguica pizza.

When Mr. Draft hit Pa Raffa's on an official Barflies' visit, with Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Brew-haha, and new recruit, Mr. Pisswater, in tow, a linguica pizza was promptly ordered and quickly devoured.

Pa Raffa's is located at the crotch of Ashley Boulevard and Acushnet Avenue in the far north end. There is a full service bar but it is small- only four stools. But other than the Barflies, one suspects that most drinkers at the bar are only there while waiting for their takeout- be it pizza, subs, or Raffa's "bucket of spaghetti." Jess, the barmaid, was proficient and cute, and Pisswater lived up to his chosen moniker, drinking one of the macrobrew selections, while Mr. Mix sipped a rum-and-coke. The decor is faux Italian, plastic grapevines and the like, as well as a Pizza Delivery Elmo doll, sitting at one end of the bar.

As a bar, Pa Raffa's is a good pizza joint. As it should be. And all is right with the world. As a bar, it get a 3. But as a pizza joint, it gets a 8. And the linguica pizza gets a 10. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Brew-haha, Mr. Pisswater.

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.

Legends Sports Pub

Located on Covell Street, between Acushnet Avenue and Bellville Avenue, in a residential neighborhood, Legends Sports Pub is an unpretentious, standard-issue neighborhood bar, with few bells and whistles. On the night of the Barflies visit, which corresponded with Game One of the World Series, one of the four large television screens aired baseball, while the other three sets played CNBC, Nascar racing and Dog the Bounty Hunter...all sports of a kind. Mr. Cork dismissed all the televisions, with their schizophrenic glow, as "electronic eye-candy." Legends offers pool and a too-loud jukebox, but only a very limited draft selection. Much to the delight of Mr. Mix, the special drink menu, posted on a dry-erase board, includes "martinis" made from such candy store staples such as Snickers, Butterfingers, and peanut butter cups. (Mr. Draft absolutely draws the line at drinks made from Bazooka Bubble Gum!) The pretty, young barmaid, Tabitha, proved to be a capable keep, but there were only three other customers other than the Barflies constituency. Legends has a regular, North End customer-base and it is the favorite of many...but Mr. Draft fails to see its' charms. It gets a middle-of-the road 5. Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Cork, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Elixir, Mr. Whiskey. Mr. Brew-haha

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.

New Bedford Sports Club

Mr. Draft will admit to a tendency to not quite remember things quite the way they really were. In my memory, the party was always more exciting, the conversation more revealing, the girl way hotter. But, Mr. Draft would swear that on his last visit to the New Bedford Sports Club- granted, probably twenty-years ago- it was bigger, livelier and heavily populated with a youthful crowd, playing pool on one of many tables, flirting, doing shooters. listening to a jukebox. But on the the night of the Barflies' visit, it was none of those things. It was rather drab, despite the overly bright lighting and the pale blue walls, and a faux-granite bar top, with an extremely limited draft selection and an absolute absence of female customers. All of the customers were portly, Portuguese middle-aged men, none playing pool on the lone, azure-felt covered table. The bartender seemed to go missing for long periods, and a seemingly regular customer walked behind the bar and served the Barflies, apologizing as he did it. A video game- unplayable- flashed a digital message reading "bad hardware", which, more-or-less, sums up the NBSC experience. There are many great Portuguese-centric bars, clubs and restaurants along Acushnet Avenue, but this isn't one of them. It rates a 2, which still makes it better than Red J's Colonial Lounge.

Cafe Funchal

Cafe Funchal is like alot of other bars. But none of them is in the city of New Bedford.
Located on the corner of Church Street and Nash Road, having moved from a much smaller Acushnet Avenue location, Funchal is quite remarkable. On the night of the Barflies' official visit, it was, as it often, is quite busy. The main bar is situated in a cavernous room, with an incredibly lengthy bar and three (four? five?) large flat screen televisions hovering above, like quietly humming "close encounter" motherships. The exterior architecture and the unlikely location do not signal the handsome decor that awaits within. Besides the liquor bar, staffed by at least two very good bartenders, names unknown to Mr. Draft, there is an elegant horseshoe-shaped oyster bar. Mr. Draft is of the belief that perhaps the best accompaniment to a Guinness draft stout is a couple of iced oysters on the half shell, and Funchal did not disappoint him. The Cafe can be loud, but it is a good loud...the kind of loud that comes from people talking, laughing, flirting, and socializing. There is an extensive specialty martini list, and a phone-book sized menu, focusing in on some of the the best Portuguese food in the city. The Mr. Mix and Mr. Merlot...oh, the hell with this---Mr. Draft is just going to say it....Cafe Funchal gets a 10 for at least a half-dozen reasons: an excellent menu; professional and knowledgeable staff at the liquor bar and the oyster bar (c'mon, when was the last time someone could explain to you the subtle difference between an oyster from off the Rhode Island coast versus one from off Long Island?); a beautiful interior architecture; a jumping crowd; and bold owners with the balls to open a Tribeca bar in the north end of New Bedford!
Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr, Whiskey, Mr. Brew-haha, Mr. 3BOES

Regal Beagle

One time, Mr. Draft and his lovely wife were driving along on Acushnet Avenue, and upon passing a particular bar, Mrs. Draft pointed out that the sign for a particular neighborhood bar perturbed her. It was called the Golden Arrow, and the arrow on the sign was bright red. Mrs. Draft, sometimes a beguiling literalist, found this incongruity a source of aesthetic (and, perhaps, spiritual) distress. Now, her distress is has been alleviated. The Golden Arrow is no more...it has become the Regal Beagle.
There has not been a change in ownership or atmosphere, only the opening on an in-house kitchen and the addition of a fair-sized menu of beer-friendly meals, burgers, sandwiches, appetizers and the like. The name itself---the Regal Beagle-- has been appropriated from the old television sitcom, Three's Company, which ran from 1977 through 1984, and featured the goofy antics and double-entendres of Santa Monica roommates Jack, Janet, and Chrissy. The shows' premise was that Jack, who was heterosexual, pretended to be gay, so that he could room with female roommates, Janet and Chrissy, as his prudish landlord (Mr. Roper) wouldn't have allowed it any other way. Three's Company propelled John Ritter (Jack) and Suzanne Somers (Chrissy) into stardom. Joyce DeWitt (Janet) not so much.
New Bedford's Regal Beagle has embraced the theme, using the sitcom theme song in their radio ads and naming their sandwiches after characters from the show...not only Jack, Chrissy, Janet and Mr. Roper, but secondary characters such as Furley and Larry Dallas.
The Regal Beagle is a pleasant neighborhood bar, with an affable barmaid named Angela on duty on the night of the Barfly visit. She proudly pumped her seasonal specialty drinks---the Banana Nut Bread Shot, the Boo Berry Blast Martini, and the Caramel Apple Martini, among others. Mr. Draft drank a bottled Sam Adams because it came with a complimentary glass (Mr. Draft love bar freebies), Mr. Merlot sipped his red wine, Mr. Whiskey and Mr. Brew-haha sucked on other bottled beers, and Mr. Mix drank one of Angela's aforementioned creations.
The Regal Beagle gets a 7...and that has nothing to due with the golden arrow/ red arrow bumping.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Whiskey, Mr. Brew-haha

Not that anyone is asking, but if Mr. Draft were to open a bar with sandwiches named after old sitcom characters...well, let's just say that the sandwich list would end with the Movie Star, the Professor and the MaryAnn.

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)

Al's Cafe

When driving on Bellville Avenue, near the old brick mills that remain a source of controversy (tear 'em down? don't tear 'em down? historically significant? eyesore? future artist's studios? or gentrified apartment complex? or rat haven?), keep one's eyes open for Al's. It is triangular, as if it were New Bedford's beer-budget answer to the Flatiron Building, but it is not without its' particular charm. A red, Coca-Cola influenced sign hangs above the door with the name of the no-nonsense joint, along with a one word legend: CACIOLA. The casual reader may have reason to believe that "Draft" is not a Portuguese name, but rest assured, Mr. Draft's paternal grandmother (his "Nana") was named Isabella Roderigues and she was born in the Azores. Mr. Draft grew up with Nana's kale soup, and much linguica, chourico, fava beans and codfish. Mr. Draft has eaten alot of Portuguese food. Including caciola (prounounced "ka-serla"). It is stew beef or cubed rump roast, marinated in red wine, and cooked with garlic, onion, red pepper flakes and other ingredients until it crumbles apart, served on a roll or with a boiled potato and a simple vegetable. And Al's is known for it's caciola. Some say it is the best in town. But alas, on the night of the Barflies' visit, it was too close to "just ate dinner" to indulge, so Mr. Draft will return to check it out another time, with Mrs. Draft in tow. As a bar, Al's looks intimidating from the outside and has a deserved-or-not reputation as a biker bar...but it looks to the Barflies to be another dark, comfortable, working-class, neighborhood bar. But with caciola. Served by a barmaid named Cecilia. (Mr. Draft doesn't make this stuff up!) Al's rates a 5.5, but the caciola could knock it up a notch... Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Greyhound)

Cafe Ilhavense (Island Cafe)

This place picked a theme and stuck to it. The interior walls are painted in tropical green and mango orange in this small neighborhood bar on the corner of Bellville Avenue and Sawyer Street. The music, uncomfortably loud, blares something that sounds vaguely Carribbean but with a distinctly Portuguese twist, sort of Carmen Miranda meets Passionada. The shelves of the back bar, seem almost overstocked with an array of fruit-flavored syrupy liquors in colors commonly found on a pair of madras pants. Or a Hawaiian shirt. While the barmaid was friendly enough, she doted on the customers who seemed to be usual visitors, while regularly shaking her plump hips to what-might-have-been Portuguese ska. The music was so loud as to almost feel opressive, especially in an establishment that probably doesn't have much more squarte footage than the average eat-in hotdog joint. The beer selection- on tap- was limited to Budweiser and Michelob Amber Bock. Mr Draft instead sucked on a bottle of Sagres, and wished he was in Bermuda. Not a bad place for the block regulars...for everyone else- it's a 4. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOES)

The Roasted Pig

There are some excellent restaurants in New Bedford. And there are some outstanding bars. But rarely do the two co-exist within the same frame. As a case in point, the newly opened Roasted Pig, located on the corner of Nash Road and Madeira Avenue, specializes in (surprise!) roasted suckling pig (leitao assado), and offers Madeirean cuisine featuring duck, sausage, goat, and lamb. The Barflies sampled some excellent dishes at the bar, included some delicate calamari, and a linguica that dramatically arrived engulfed in flame. The evening's barmaid, a very cute and animated young woman named Julie, tended to the Barflies' eating and drinking needs with professional efficiency and a charming smile. But a charming smile cannot overcome the lack of any draft beers. If a draft selection doesn't exactly define a bar, it certainly contributes a vital factor. Mr. Draft certainly enjoys a good martini or Manhattan, but considers the presence of beer-on-tap somewhat important to the success of a bar, (hence the moniker!) The Roasted Pig is a bit too bright to get comfortably ensconced at the bar. The Barflies certainly welcome the Pig as a new star in the constellation of North End fine dining establishments, and if the Barflies were doing restaurant reviews, it would, no doubt, be highly praised. But as a bar, the Roasted Pig is a good place to eat. It gets a 7. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Cork, Mr, Martini)

Rainbow's End

The Bad: In it's previous incarnation, this bar was known as Puzzles, and on Groundhog Day, 2006, some demented neo-Nazi scumbag by the name of Jacob Robida entered, and after having a drink and confirming with the bartender that, yes, it was a gay bar, pulled out a hatchet and a handgun and attacked several patrons. The Good: It's moved on. On the evening of the Barflies visit, all were keenly aware and disturbed by the memory of Robida's violently homophobic actions, but encouraged to see that the bar had come into its' own as a proud, openly gay bar. The name change and the sign - using the graphic image that has become visual shorthand for "gay," the rainbow arc- were steps in the right direction. There were no draft beers available, but the bottled selection was adequate. Mr. Mix, channeling the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, ordered a Cosmopolitan, while admiring a vintage video game in the entrance way. The bartender, Ken, was friendly and professional and armed with a ceiling mounted array of upside-down liquor bottles, assuring that each patron gets exactly the correct allotment of booze in his glass. A small stage was adjacent to the bar proper which would soon be the setting for a drag show, which a poster promised would feature, among others, "Miss Diane Ross" and "Miss Paris Hilton" and "a lite pastry buffet." Frankly, the Barflies were more curious about the pastry than the Ross and Hilton wanna-bes. The Ugly: The place is a bit dank, with the decorative highlights being strings of tiny Christmas lights and some kitschy gold-painted statuary situated in alcoves. Gay doesn't have to mean campy. And the restroom could use a good scrubbing. All in all, the Rainbow's End is tight in the middle of the ratings scale: a 5. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Cork, Mr. Martini)

The Pub

The Pub? Is that the best they could do? Were all the good names taken? Anyway, The Pub is a bit of a rundown, rough-and-tumble bar in a bit of a rundown, rough-and tumble area. But that said, the Pub, located on the corner of North Front and Tallman Streets, is not without its' charms, the most noticeable of which is a brassy, buxom, brunette barmaid named Nikki. Wearing a ring made from a dollar bill on one of her fingers, she welcomed in the Barflies with flirtatious enthusiasm and a warm smile. The Pub is a somewhat dingy place, the walls stained yellow with the nicotine of thousands of cigarettes, but it is a comfortable place, true to itself. A few handwritten signs, posted in English and Portuguese, warn patrons not to smoke, and to pay when served. (Indeed, good advice for all!) The beers available on tap included the predictable- Bud and Miller- and the rarely seen- Old Milwaukee. Mr. Draft drank the Old Milwaukee, which had not much improved since his college days, when it was referred to as a "Squawker". The wine selection was very limited...Lancer's was offered by Nikki, as the wine- on-tap selections were obsolete. The Pub offered many of the usual barroom amenities, including a pool table, Foosball, a lottery ticket vendor, and an ancient change machine. Nikki told the Barflies about the deejay-centric entertainment provided on Friday and Saturday nights, and advised us to just ignore the idiots that sometimes gather on the corner, outside the door. (More good advice!) Ultimately, The Pub is- and will likely long remain- a tired and yellowed neighborhood joint- only worthy of a rating of 4. But, that cheerful and positive Nikki elevates it to a 5. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Cork, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Mix, Mr. Martini)

Incognito

Incognito is defined as "having one's identity concealed, especially to avoid notice or formal attentions." Then it must be with a ironic "wink-wink, nod-nod, know what I mean" that the owners of this relatively new establishment decided to call it Incognito because this place deserves to be noticed. Located on the east side of Acushnet Avenue, just south of Nash Road, Incognito is a vibrant and tastefully decorated bar, with a proficient and able staff, who are eager to please. That the barkeeps- both female and male- are pleasing to the eye is a plus. (A note: Mr. Draft. a classically trained visual artist, has an appreciation for the human form but rarely- if ever- comments on the "eye-pleasantness" of a male bartender, but was assured by Mrs. Draft that the male staff was every bit as attractive as Mr. Draft considered the female staff! In fact, Mrs. Draft had one of the manly bartenders autograph a calendar in which he appeared for her. Mr. Draft knows not jealousy.) Incognito has an adequate draft selection, including Peroni (described by Mr. Cork as the Italian Budweiser) but it's true speciality is the martini, in all it's myriad forms. The martini list is as entertaining with creative drink names and recipes as it is lengthy. A traditionalist at heart, Mr. Draft opted for a simple Absolute martini, and the large contingent of Barflies (with spouses or significant others in tow) all enjoyed their cocktails or goblets of wine. A couple of the Barflies dove into a plate of wings, which proved to be excellent- tasty with the right amount of heat. Incognito- like Octane- is in a transitional neighborhood, and it is truly a pleasure to pass through the door, from the urban grime and street cacophony of "the Ave" to the upscale sophistication of a bar like Incognito. Some of the drinks can be a little higher priced than one is used to finding on the Avenue, but the quality of the ingredients, the ability and gregariousness of the staff, and the attention to detail- from the food menu to the lighting- make it worth the extra buck or two. Incognito is the first bar that the Barflies give a deserving and unqualified 10! (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mrs. Draft, Mr. Cork, Mrs. Cork, Mr. Merlot, Mrs. Merlot, Mr. Mix, Mrs. Mix, Mr. Elixir, Madame Mai-Tai)

Octane

It should be noted that Octane (and Incognito) were visited by a larger-than-usual contingent of Barflies, as, in a nod to the holiday season, wives and significant others were invited to join us. Ten of us squeezed into the small, cozy bar, situated on Acushnet Avenue, a block north of St. Anthony's Church. Although space was at a premium, it was comfortable and Octane proved to be a welcome and formidable addition to the multitude of bars, clubs and taverns on "the Ave." Served by a lovely young woman, Kelly, she did her best to tend to all the Barflies, that swarmed in (in pairs) and gathered at the window end of the bar. Mr Draft ordered a Wachusett Blueberry Ale, noticing that the draft choices also included two from Sam Adams, beyond the usual macro-brew selections. Unsure what she wanted, Mrs. Draft accepted Kelly's suggestion of a hot coffee drink, with several liquors added, that kicked it above the tired, old Irish coffee. (Mr. Draft is of the mind that Irish coffee is a waste of perfectly good coffee, Bailey's, and whipped cream, all of which are better enjoyed in other applications). Mr. (and Mrs. Merlot) partook in a substansial, fortified Portuguese wine. Mr. Cork opted for a bottle of Portuguese beer, and Mrs. Cork, disturbed by a wine that had seemingly turned bad, resorted to ginger ale. Octane is a little gem, situated in a transitory neighborhood, surrounded by a bodega, tenement buildings, a flophouse, a 7-Eleven, and a few boarded up storefronts. But it is worth the visit...the interior is beautifully maintained, the decor is simple and classy, and the bar is well-stocked. There is a pool table in a back alcove, which was well-played on the night of the Barflies' visit. Mr. Elixir, the official "munchies" critic, was disappointed that a few advertised items (the chourico sandwich, the meat pie) were not available, but he enjoyed a stuffed quahog, that he described as having "nice chunks of meat...warm, bready" but in need of a bit more spice. It seems as though the owner and staff of Octane have high hopes not only for the bar, but for the neighborhood itself....a hope that Mr. Draft also sustains. Octane, despite Mrs. Cork's fizzy wine, rates an 8. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mrs. Draft, Mr. Cork, Mrs. Cork, Mr. Merlot, Mrs. Merlot, Mr. Mix, Mrs. Mix, Mr. Elixir, Madame Mai-Tai)

Madeira Cafe

If bars were women, the Madiera would be the wallflower, with horned rim glasses and her tresses in a bun, who, when asked to dance, slips off the specs, lets her hair down, and and catches the eye of every guy there. Practically in the shadow of the beautiful and sophisticated Cafe Funchal (which also specializes in Madeiran cuisine!) and located on Church Street, just off Nash Road, the Madiera Cafe holds her own, and while Funchal may be the one-night stand you'll never forget, the Madiera would be your steady girl...sweet, unassuming, attractive, and keeping you coming back for more. Owned by a husband-and-wife team, it is a charming little joint, with an excellent menu (including fresh octopus, a favorite of Mr. Draft's) and a private function room that can be used at no cost. The draft selection was not out-of -the ordinary, featuring the usual triumvirate of Bud, Coors and Miller, and little else, but they make a damn good martini. The decor was unpretentious, subdued and comfortable. Of note was an internet jukebox that , for $1., will play "any song in the world".... I gave it a shot, opting for a lesser known Talking Heads tune, and it kicked it out in moments. The Barflies were happy with the Madeira, giving it a formidable 8-and-a-half. Check it out...you'll wanna go back...just like you wanna go back for another dance with that wallflower. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Cork)

Striker's Pub (at the Wonder Bowl)

As one passes through the cacophony of the bowling alley, loud with rolling balls, crashing pins and cheers, one does not expect to find a charming and quietly sophisticated bar nestled within. The Barflies were pleasantly surprised by Striker's Pub, a somewhat cavernous venue, with a decent draft selection and a wry, cocktail savvy barmaid. Mr. Draft settled on a Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat
, which was just a tad bit too fruity, as if a shot of the juice from a jar of maraschino cherries had been added. The barmaid informed Mr. Draft and his colleagues that Striker's hosted a comedy show once-a-month, as well as featuring regular karaoke nights. The dark, paneled pub offered pleasant distractions such as a couple of pool tables, a large screen television, and free popcorn, which captured Mr. Mix' attention like oats do a horse. One does not have to be a bowler, or a fan of karaoke or comedy to enjoy this place. The staff is cheerful and the other patrons open and conversational. Striker's is a formidable bar, rating a strong 8. And there's plenty of parking! (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Cork)