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.

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.

Kirby's Irish Pub

A few years back, a bar opened on Kempton Street, a few blocks east of Rockdale Avenue. It was called the Irish Immigrant, and it was quite popular with college kids, firefighters, police, lawyers, and politicians. Darts and occasional quasi-Irish folk music were the entertainment. The beer selection was predictable. And the environs were dingy, with bathrooms bordering on unsanitary and about to cave through to the basement. And in the day's prior to the law against smoking in bars, it was one of the smokiest places in the city.

Flash ahead to the present: the Irish Immigrant is no more. In its' place is now a family-run establishment called Kirby's Irish Pub. And it is a vast improvement ...now smoke-free, freshly painted, and handsome in a publy way, with renovated bathrooms, Kirby's is still popular with college kids, firefighters, police, lawyers, and politicians.

On the night of the Barflies' visit, it was relatively quiet, until a pack of "suits" arrived, as if a busload of attorneys just arrived to stake a claim. And they looked and acted like regulars. The draft selection at Kirby's is better than most and Mr. Draft enjoyed a seasonal ale, and the vast majority of the others sipped on draft beers as well...save for Mr. Mix, who drank some awful cocktail that looked and tasted like a junior high chemistry experiment.

Kirby's is a comfortable neighborhood pub, with some pleasant diversions and distractions, an adequate bar staff, and a pleasant-enough ambiance that is far, far better (and less odorous) than its' predecessor. But it feels a bit too generic...and somehow, someway, Mr. Draft wished it felt a bit more unique. Kirby's rates a 7...and it could be an 8, if something juiced it up a bit.

Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Cork, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Whiskey, Mr. Brew-haha, Mr. Moonshine

After Five Bar and Grill

Located in an unremarkable building on Dartmouth Street, the After Five is a spacious, unpretentious and comfortable bar. Mr. Draft was fairly impressed with the variety of beers-on-tap that went well beyond the usual macro-brew offerings, prevalent in most local bars. The young man behind the bar fumbled a bit with mixed drinks and questions, but the Barflies give 'im a free pass as he confessed right away to being a novice barkeep. The walls of the After Five are painted a pale green, similar to the hue of pistachio ice cream, and that seems odd for a bar. And those walls have movie posters festooned upon them. But the decor is quite secondary. The beer was good, the staff was amiable, the crowd was pleasant, and the grapefruit juice so necessary to Mr. Greyhound's happiness was not in stock. (Once again, cranberry juice was offered and Mr. Cape Codd--- er, Mr. Greyhound relented.) The Barflies ordered and thoroughly enjoyed some pub-style comfort food, including buffalo wings and a platter of French fries, topped with melted cheese. The After Five, if it is open Before Five, even seems like it might not be a bad Saturday lunchtime place, one which a Barfly might consider bringing his wife and offspring to sometime. Once the kid behind the bar is up to speed, this place could rate an 8. For now- it's a 7...with promise. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot. Mr. Cork, Mr. Greyhound)

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)

The Continental Tavern

Understand this: Mr. Draft is a working-class stiff, employed, at various times, as a screen printer, social worker, sign installer, FedEx courier, and landscaper, among other occupations too many to mention. Mr. Draft's father was a roofer. His paternal grandfather worked in the textile mills. Mr. Draft's mother wound golf balls at the Process. His maternal grandfather made o-rings and gaskets. So, it is without a condescending cordiality that Mr. Draft says the Continental is a working-class bar. One can imagine it packed with factory workers at 4:00 pm, back in the day, when Chamberlain's was still cranking out artillery shells, Dawson's was still brewing lager, and Valor was still stitching ladies' garments for high-end department sores. The decor is comfortably old-school, with neon signs and sports trophies in glass cabinets. It is not the place to go for a delicate pinot noir, a Belgian-style peach lambic or a trendy Appletini. The draft selection is limited to Bud or Coors, and beer snobs like Mr. Draft drink vodka there. Mr. Cork didn't bother to ask for the (non-existent) wine list and opted for a 7&7. Mr. Mix, as he usually does, let the barmaid (a babe named Courtney, in threadbare jeans) select his drink, only asking that it be "sweet and creamy." She produced something with ingredients that included a pumpkin liqueur and Bailey's, her own creation, that she named, when pressed, a "Pumpkin Surprise." The Barflies applaud Courtney for her inventiveness but Mr. Mix had difficulty drinking it. And that's a first, as Mr. Draft has seen Mr. Mix drink down a shot of extra virgin olive oil. On a side note: a regular patron left his stool at the bar, to go outside for a cigarette. He placed a laminated tag on his pitcher that read: "Gone to smoke. Leave my drink alone." He explained, upon his return, that the tag prevented the barmaid from dumping his drink, thinking he had left the tavern. The flip side of the tag read: "Gone to pee. Leave my drink alone." If this patron could figure out a way to make the tag three-sided, with the third side reading: "Gone to dance. Leave my drink alone.," he could probably market them. Mr. Draft notes that the "gone to dance" is critical, because it is when he has gone to dance that bartenders most often assume his departure and discard his drink...but maybe it's just because they see Mr. Draft dance. Despite the meager draft selection, the Barflies respect the history and traditions of working-class joints, like the Continental, and give it a 7. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Cork)

The New Wave

Located under the Route 195 overpass in the Hicks-Logan district, the New Wave is a small, nondescript cinder block building with graffiti on the exterior walls. Hicks-Logan is a tough neighborhood struck by poverty and crime and rumored to be a possible site for the casino, long rumored to be coming to New Bedford. But it ain't a neighborhood bar. The New Wave often has entertainment, ranging from heavy metal to rap to stand-up comedy. Even karaoke. On the night of the Barflies' visit, it was quiet when we arrived--- just two customers nursing beers at the end of the bar. A dog was asleep on the stage. A barrel-bellied, no-nonsense guy who looked like he belonged on the set of The Sopranos kept an eye on things. The draft selection was limited but a few good ones were available, including the Newcastle that Mr. Draft ordered. The barmaid, a buxom brunette bit of eye candy named Kathleen, was friendly and quite talkative. Someone (Mr. Draft won't reveal who...) noted her thong strap rising above her low-slung jeans and she almost instantaneously became our favorite barmaid. Mr. Mix asked for "a sweet drink," but let Kathleen select and she served him...yes...wait for it...a Pink Pussy. Mr. Mix claimed to like it better than the one he'd had at the Catwalk several weeks ago, but that could've been the thong talking. The New Wave is a gritty, fun, no-frills place, much like the bars Mr. Draft used to hang out in Providence, back in his college days, when he was into...new wave. This bar would've received a 6, but the thong bumped it up to a 7. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot)

The Sixth Bristol Social Club

None of the Barflies had previously been to the Sixth Bristol, a
venerable, old Ashley Boulevard pub, with some reputation as a
political hang-out, so Mr. Draft and his colleagues looked forward to
it, noting with enthusiasm that Wednesday was karaoke night. Mr.
Merlot regaled us with tales of drunkenly singing karaoke Beatles
tunes, with an equally drunk friend, to a large gathering of (also
drunk) folk in mainland China, who cheered loudly, no doubt thinking
they were seeing Lennon and McCartney. Despite the urgings of Mr.
Draft, Mr. Cork and Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot refused to reenact his
Beatlemania moment at the Sixth Bristol. Which may have been for the
best, as the Barflies instead enjoyed the performances of some...how
shall I say this politely?....some Rubenesque young women. Very,
very, very Rubenesque.
The Sixth Bristol was dark but homey, and the barmaid was attractive
and pleasant. The draft selection was predictably macro-brew in
nature, and Mr. Draft opted for a CC-and -ginger. Mr. Mix noted a
sign advertising "chicken wings and a pickle" for $2., and soon, two
paper plates of the snacks were before us. It should be noted that
the cook was "off-duty", but sitting at the bar, and he immediately
went back to the kitchen to prepare the wings, when he heard someone
wanted them. The barmaid, perhaps aware of Mr. Merlot's karaoke
adventure in China (it may be on YouTube), encouraged the Barflies to
get up and sing. God knows we have the vocal talent, but we resisted
the temptation as we had not worked out any flashy dance moves.
The Sixth Bristol rates a solid 7.