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.

Black Watch Pub

Sociologists, historians, cultural scholars, and long-time readers of the New Bedford Barflies Post take note: this is the first bar that the Barflies visited and reviewed that had existed as another bar which the Barflies had also visited and reviewed. Take notes.

Not long ago, the Black Watch Pub, on Dartmouth Street, about midway between Cottage Street and Rockdale Avenue, had different ownership and a different name. It was, formerly, the After Five Bar and Grill. The After Five was unremarkable but its extensive beer selection etched it a rating of 7. Not long after the review was posted on this blog, a series of comments from one or more individuals appeared. Those comments were not simply about the bar but contained vicious personal attacks about the current owner. Whether those comments are justified or accurate is unknown but one thing is known: this space is an inappropriate channel for that kind of ugly acid commentary. The Barflies took a vote and unanimously decided to eliminate the comments that were determined to be of a nature best described as libelous, even if not in the strictly legal sense of the word. The First Amendment may guarantee unabridged free speech, but the NB Barflies do not. The commentator may have valid points- or may not-- and he is welcome to find another venue to voice them.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled review: the Black Watch presents itself as a quasi-Scottish bar (even though Irish flags hung in deference to St. Patrick's Day), and it comes across as patently false. New Bedford has significant populations of those descended from Africa, Cape Verde, Portugal, Quebec, England Ireland, Mexico, Greece, the Dominican Republic, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Puerto Rico, Italy...and bars that evolve from those cultural identities seem natural in NB and environs. Scotland...not so much. Except maybe as a "brand" appeal to make Robert Burns Day as commercially viable here as St. Patrick's Day or Cinco de Mayo. Please...if there is a significant Scottish population in this area of which Mr. Draft is unaware, apologies are offered. (And yes, to Mr. McManus of the near Cape, and your kilt...a nod and a glass of Glenfiddich next time Mr. Draft enjoys your company!)

The Black Watch retains the large draft selection that the After Five did, and that is the only saving grace. Andy, the bartender / owner, was certainly amiable and capable enough, but in all in all- the bar was virtually empty save for the Barflies and a couple of enthusiastic regulars, who were only too-happy to see some new faces. As the space is large, the sparseness of customers made it seem particularly vacant. And nothing kills a bar faster than a vacuum. Even nature abhors that. In fairness, the Barflies' visit was on a Wednesday night....maybe it hops on a Friday. But Mr. Draft doubts it. It get a very middle-of-the road 5...and fingers are crossed. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Elixir, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Tap.

Vasco da Gama Restaurant

Named after the famed 15th-century Portuguese navigator who circumnavigated Africa, the Vasco da Gama is an unapologetically sweet, beautiful, old school bar-and-restaurant on Dartmouth street, in New Bedford's south end. The small dark bar is charming in a low-key way, and the bar proper is separated from the dining area by a latticework divider. Mr. Draft was not impressed with the tap selection, but it was better than many, including Beck's Dark and Heineken to accompany the predictable Budweiser. The food that some of the Barflies indulged at the bar- particularly a nice platter of olives and salty cheese- impressed Mr. Draft enough to plan to return with Mrs. Draft to secure a table in the quietly romantic space behind the latticework and indulge in some of the Portuguese specialties, that include goat, rabbit, octopus, and an array of other options from the farm and the sea. The bar's lighting is tastefully subdued and appropriate for a date, or for just hanging out and chatting with some comrades-in-arms. The service was professionally friendly and friendly professional; and the crowd ranged from street-talkin' wannabe homeboy-wiggas to well-groomed suits, sipping cocktails while waiting for their take-out. The Vasco da Gama is one of those places that appears to work equally well as a neighborhood bar- albeit the kind of neighborhood bar that is worth driving across the city to hang out in- and as unassumingly formidable place to partake in a good meal. The old explorer's namesake gets a 7.5. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Elixir, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Mix.

Park Sports Cafe

In a rough-and-tumble neighborhood on Rivet Street in the south end, an unremarkable building houses the corner bar called the Park Sports Cafe. Less than two weeks prior to the Barflies' visit to the Cafe, there was a stabbing just down the street, a not unusual occurrence, and one gets the sense that caution be exercised when strolling around this area when night falls. But that said, there was something cool about this joint. Entered with a bit of unnecessary trepidation, Mr. Draft and his comrades were met with some good tunes emanating from the jukebox, and easily found seats in this comfortable, subdued, old school tavern. Mr. Draft was a bit discouraged by the draft selection- Bud, Bud Lite and Budweiser American Ale. Opting for the best of the three, Mr. Draft ordered the ale, Anheuser-Busch's recent foray into cracking the microbrew sensibility of like-minded drinkers. Unfortunately, the American Ale spout spurted, gurgled and refused to shut off, much to the distress of the harried barmaid, Heather, until a customer seated directly in front of the offending tap offered a strong arm to yank it back and stem the flow. Bud it was. The crowd was predominately older blue collar factory worker guys, wearing flannel shorts and baseball caps, with the exception of a young, hipster couple sitting at one end of the bar. They looked like no one else, but looked like regulars. The woman, cute and attractive in a dork-chic kinda way, with Clark Kent eyeglasses, had a streak of blond in her short cropped black 'do, and her gentleman friend, a tattooed dude who looked like Buster Poindexter with a long goatee. For moment, Mr. Draft was reminded of Williamsburg, the section of Brooklyn, a subway stop from Manhattan, that has become the home of thousands of hipster artists, musicians, poets and hangers-on, infiltrating the working-class immigrant neighborhood to create a new kind of melting pot culture. Perhaps...maybe...this is where the South End of New Bedford is drifting as well? This section of Rivet Street, with the increasingly popular Mexican restaurant and bar, Mi Antojo, a few blocks in one direction, and, in the other direction, the sorely missed Adega (soon to become the Fresca Grill), is morphing into some thing new and distinct for this City...hip. Mr. Draft's visit to the jukebox only confirmed the sense of imminent hipsterdom: is there another jukebar- outside of Williamsburg--- that has La Bamba, Tom Jones, and 10,000 Maniacs as options? It rates a 6.5...trying to be cool. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr.3BOES, Mr. Elixir, Mr. Sazurac.

Rose Alley Ale House

Although he may be loathe to admit it, it appears as though Mr. 3BOEs was somewhat ogling the barmaid at the Rose Alley Ale House on the night of the Barflies' visit. And with Mr. Mix alongside him as an impromptu wingman of happenstance, he may have even been "chatting her up," as the British say. And it is understandable, as Leeann was a very beautiful and gregarious redhead, and Mr. 3BOEs was fortified with a few in 'im already. But enough on 3B's vague flirtatiousness--- the Rose Alley Ale House is also beautiful and gregarious. Housed in a centuries old building, facing Route 18 and the State Pier, one door north of Cork, the Rose Alley is a brand new establishment, started by a trio of young entrepreneurs who have an obvious love for beer. Some time back, the building housed the infamous Cultivator Shoal, and local tales of it persist as a haven for drunkards, whores, brawlers, reprobates, smack dealers, knife wielders, thieves, con men and other riff-raff. But Mr. Draft cannot swear to the veracity of these claims...but folklore exists for a reason. (Bones found in the basement during renovations turned out to be of animal in nature.) In any case, the riff-raff are sparse in the Rose Alley...the crowd seem to be primarily collegiate or twenty-something, with a few old wankers like (some of) the Barflies thrown into the mix. The ale house is a two-story joint with an interesting quirk... light ales, IPAs, lagers, and a few other classifications served upstairs, while the downstairs bars offers "specialty beers". In truth, any beer can be ordered at the lower or the upper bar, and a member of the staff will retrieve it from either bar, but there does seem to a method to the madness. The beer selection is remarkably plentiful. Some of the downstairs offerings included Ommegang 3 Philosophers quadrupel brew, Victory Storm King (a Russian imperial stout), and Rogue Dead Guy malbock. Upstairs selections included Allagash Belgian White, Offshore IPA, Troeg's Hop Back Amber Ale, and a dozen others, as well the usual macrobrew suspects, Bud Light, Coors Light, and one inexpensive skunky favorite of Mr. Draft's- Moosehead, a steal for $2. Beyond the brews, the Rose Alley offers a concise menu of bar munchies, including about a dozen kinds of wings, served wet or dry--- that is, with sauce or a dry rub, including teriyaki and barbecue style, as well as the predictable- but excellently fiery buffalo version. There is a handsome sign above the door outside (and Mr. Draft knows a wee bit about signs), but the interior is a bit lacking in decor...and the right visual kick could add a sense of style, character and history. All in all, the Rose Alley Ale House is a welcome addition to New Bedford's ever evolving bar scene and it rates a well-deserved 9. Put some art on the walls...get a 10. And LeeAnn...Mr. 3BOEs lives just a few blocks up the hill...if you're interested. Pretty sure he is... Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOEs, Mr. Elixir, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Merlot

Hibernia

Whenever Mr. Draft hears the term "Irish Bar", he is reminded of McSorley's Ale House on Manhattan's Lower East Side, staffed by first generation Irish immigrants, serving only two kinds of beer (no liquor or wine), and only opening its' aged doors to women in the early 1970's when required to do so by statute. It is quite possibly the oldest bar In New York City- though some at Pete's Tavern on Fifth Avenue may dispute that claim- and it may be Mr. Draft's favorite bar in the world...although Gritty McDuff's in Portland, Maine, and the Starry Plough in Berkeley, California are right up there. (The Plough, by the way, was rumored to be running guns for the IRA, a legend Mr. Draft chose to embrace in his younger days. And they served great fish and chips.)
However, most newer Irish bars seem to identify themselves Irish as a genre rather than as an ethnic by-product, looking forward to the money deluge of St. Patrick's Day, with the requisite green beer, corned beef and cardboard shamrocks.
Hibernia, in the space formerly occupied by Merlot (reviewed at any earlier date), may have a slightly higher pedigree. While there is nothing explicitly "Irish" about Hibernia- the name is the Latin term for Ireland- it is light years beyond its' predecessor as an inviting watering hole. The tap selection is broad and satisfying, and the decor is inviting- unlike the prior tenants. Hibernia offers good, simple pub food and the staff - including a quite capable and perky barmaid named Lindsay- are gregarious and proficient.
"Irish" bars tend to attract a high proportion of professionals from the worlds of law enforcement and fire fighting, and Hibernia is no exception. Unfortunately, Irish bars also attract large gaggles of politicians, as on the night of the Barflies' visit, when it seemed that most of the City Council was there. Now, that's a scary crowd. Hibernia rates a 7.5.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Moonshine, Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Sazurac

First Base Cafe

Located in a grungy, factory-heavy neighborhood on Cove Street, the First Base is yet another one of those places that appears intimidating and rough from the outside, but is not nearly as bad as one anticipated after one enters. Don't misunderstand Mr. Draft...there is nothing very nice or enticing about this joint, and it certainly isn't particularly inviting but it seemed reasonably safe to Mr. Draft, especially in the company of four fellow Barflies, one of whom is probably carrying heat. But that said, Mr. Draft would certainly not let Mrs. Draft go there wearing her sexy, little black dress or let his mom go there for a sombrero with twenty-dollar bills sticking out of her purse. In reality, the First Base is grey-beige drab and womb-like, if by "womb" one means a discarded, pissy-smelling, damp corrugated cardboard box. The bartender- although friendly enough- only gave his name as Machado. Whether that is his first name or his surname is unknown. His skills as a bartender were subpar...Mr. Mix ordered a rum-and-coke, but it appears that Machado ran out of Barcardi in mid-pour, as he seemed to substitute it with something vaguely berry in flavor. Not that it was a surprise, but the draft selection was quite meager, and Mr. Draft ordered a CC-and-ginger, but Machado didn't have ginger ale on hand, so Sprite was used in its' place, culminating in a cocktail that was simultaneously too watery and too sweet. Mr. Merlot asked for a Portuguese wine- don't have it- and was offered (and accepted) a "New York wine" dispensed from a cardboard box that was the size of a bathroom hamper. There were sandwiches available: cacoila or bifana for $2.50 or cheese for $1.00. Much to Mr. Draft's dismay, Mr. Mix actually ordered a cheese sandwich- which turned out to be a bland American cheese served on a dry bun, bereft of condiment or even a slice of onion. Mr. Mix couldn't eat it all, and his appetite is rarely lacking. Despite the First Base name, there was little or no baseball paraphernalia around...but Mr. 3BOES described Machado as "a foreshortened Joe Torre". Sport ignorant and sport apathetic, Mr.Draft had to utilize Wikipedia to find out that Joe Torre is the current manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers. That about as close to a baseball theme as the Barflies could muster. The First Base doesn't get to first base. It rates a 2.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Lupilin

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

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.

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.

Mi Antojo

Located in an old storefront that looks like it was shipped in from a San Antonio barrio, Mi Antojo is located in a rundown, tenement-packed neighborhood, right off Route 18, on Rivet Street. And it's a fun bar, and even better restaurant. As there was not a draft to be had...but plenty of bottled and canned beer-Corona, Dos Equis, Negro Modela among them- Mr. Draft settled for a Red Eye, a half-and-half mixture of beer and tomato juice, supposedly popular in Mexico, although the tomato juice is often substituted with Clamato, and a shot of tequila is often added. There was a language issue...the barmaid, Roxie, spoke no English and the Spanish of the Barflies is weak. Luckily, a friend of Roxie's- a woman by the name of Gloria- jumped into the fray- and translated the orders for Roxie, who did an adequate job. And Roxie was cute.
Unlike, No Problemo in downtown New Bedford- which the Barflies are quite fond of- there is nothing trendy or Mexican nouvelle cuisiney about Mi Antojo. It is decorated in the manner I expect a Mexican restaurant - in Mexico- to look like...without wrestler's masks or other tongue-in-cheek kitsch. The sides sampled at the bar- a thick, chunky guacamole and a esophagus burnin' salsa were excellent.
Visit Mi Antojo , drink at the bar...eat some good food with it. As for the language barrier...Mr. Draft just doesn't care when it's this authentic. It get an 8.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Mix, Mr.3BOES, Mr. Elixir, Mr. Moonshine

Dipper Cafe

Although the Barflies have a hardcore core charter membership and a morphing collection of characters who come into the group, this collection of imbibers cannot be considered a motley crew, or degenerate reprobates, in any way, as Felix the bartender choice to serve us, despite the sign warning, "We reserve the right not to serve undesirable persons." Yes, the New Bedford Barflies have achieved "desirability". Of course, this was not at the Ritz-Carlton or the Russian Tearoom...but at the Dipper Cafe, a venerable, old and comfortable tavern on Purchase Street, somewhere between Glaser Glass and the Lebanese Kitchen. The Dipper is a laid back and friendly joint, with a talkative and curious group of regulars and a laid back bartender- Felix- who did his unflustered best to make Mr. Mix a girly-drink. Buttershots poured into a Pepsi created a "caramel cola" and Mix drunk it like a man. A girly man.
There were no draft beers to be had, so Mr. Draft opted for his usual fallback cocktail- a cc-and-ginger- while Mr. Moonshine, Mr. 3BOES and Mr. Elixir drank, respectfully, a Sam Adams, a Corona, and a Heineken.
The Dipper has all the usual tavernly accoutrements: a pool table, a couple of booths, the prerequisite dim lighting, dark wood, and an old-school menu board (but, sadly, food is only served between 11:45 a.m. and 2:30 p.m.) It has its' charms, not the least of which is the affable and conversational nature of the regulars. It gets better than middle-of-the-road 6.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Elixir, Mr. Moonshine.

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

Pour Farm Tavern

Located midway between Union Street and William Street, on Purchase, sits one of the city's newest drinking establishments. And it's a very welcome addition. Mr. Draft and the rest of the Barfly crew comfortably ensconced themselves at the staid bar, tended to by a competent young man by the name of Jesse. The Pour Farm is warm and inviting and Mr. Draft was impressed with the draft selection. Many bars in New Bedford serve beer on tap...the Pour Farm does it with a zymurgist's zeal. The on-tap selection includes Guinness, Harpoon UFO Raspberry, Cisco Whale's Tale, Brooklyn Brewery Pilsner, and for the feeble beer aficionado, Coors Light. But Mr. Draft opted for the seasonal offering from Dogfish Craft Brewery, a small and adventurous brewery, based in Delaware. It was a bit pricey at $5.50, but Dogfish's Punkin' Ale was a hearty, chewy brew, with a strong pumpkin pie kick, and hints of cinnamon, nutmeg and coriander.

In the name of full disclosure, Mr. Draft must confess to a previous life as a maker of tap handles. Customers included the aforementioned Dogfish Craft Brewery, as well as Wolaver's, Magic Hat, and Otter Creek. But Mr. Draft knows no loyalty and is a bit of a beer whore...whoever is making the best brew in any given season and at any given location--- that's who gets Mr. Draft's lovin'. But that said, Dogfish is consistently good-- in the bottle and especially, on tap. And the Punkin' Ale is a beauty. And so is the Pour Farm Tavern. It is a highlight for the beer connoisseur, New Bedford's answer to Portland's Gritty McDuff's, or Burlington's Vermont Pub and Brewery.

Mr. Draft has no idea what the other Barflies drank. Or even if they were there.

The Pour Farm rates a strong 9, with a suggestion or three on how to up the score to a 10...

1.) Start offering some good, simple pub grub--- keep it simple and beer friendly- fish and chips, an Angus burger, some bangers and mash, a good Caesar salad (which means with anchovies), and the like.

2.) Hire bartenders who have extensive knowledge about beer (or the willingness to get educated on the subject) and can talk up the offered brews, asking customers what they like, making suggestions, able to explain the difference between an IPA and a pilsner. This would go along way to making the Pour Farm the '"go-to" place for smart and serious beer drinkers in NB.

3.) Stock a pile of the Ale Street News and/or the Yankee Brew News by the entrance. Leave an issue or two of Draft magazine about for visitors to peruse. Play up the commitment to GOOD beer, for all it is worth. Build it and they will come!



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

Hungry Whale

At the corner of Elm Street and Pleasant Street, directly across from the New Bedford bus station, is the Hungry Whale, a bar so nondescript as to lack a sign indicating its' name. The Hungry Whale, had been, in a previous life, a bar called the Blue Moon Cafe, and it went by another name (or two) prior to that. It has a dank and seedy look to it from the outside, and passing through the door does not allay that sense. It looks- and feels- like the kind of place that a brawl could easily break out in, and that may have something to do with its' proximity to the bus station and the transient nature of the clientele. However, there did seem to be some old men, sipping their Buds and watching the Red Sox, and a couple of younger guys playing pool, who were probably "regulars". The Barflies, if nothing else, can be described, collectively as "irregulars."

The barkeep, a jovial young guy named Rick, with the mullet from hell, noted that it was karaoke night but the Barflies didn't stay long enough to partake and/or enjoy. No drafts were available, and the bottled beer selection was merely adequate. The saving grace was some bottled Guinness Stout, which Rick apologized for--- because they weren't cold. However, Mr. Draft, Mr. Cork and Mr. Sazurac prefer Guinness at room temp, and the rest of the 'Flies drank Coors, Corona and the like at an appropriately cold degree. Except for Mr. Mix, who drank an exotic cocktail known as a"jack-and-coke."

The Hungry Whale is unremarkable in decor...bland sheetrock, macrobrew neon, a pool table, and a lottery ticket vending machine. The service is okay, the selection minimal, and the female customers non-existent (on the night of the visit, in any case.)

It rates a four...it just ain't trying. But maybe, it doesn't want to...

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

addendum from Mr. Mix
The captain's chairs that were thoroughly broken in at one end of the bar were extraordinarily comfortable. Also they are raised up so when you sit it is perfectly level for the bar. A small touch that shows what the bar was many many years ago.

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)

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)

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)

Marshall's Pub

Over twenty-five years ago, Mr. Draft spent a summer working with Mr. Cork, doing some construction and renovation work. One hot Friday afternoon, a coworker and colleague (who shall be referred to as Mr. Nose Candy) who lived in South Dartmouth, invited the two future Barflies to join him for lunch at Marshall's Pub, on Rockadale Avenue, near the corner of Dartmouth Street. Mr. Draft, Mr. Cork and Mr. Nose Candy enjoyed a couple of cheap cold Buds (yes...Mr. Draft used to drink Bud before he became a beer snob) and ate the great lunch that the place was known for- a traditional New England clam boil. It was inexpensive and perfect...a cup full of hot steamers in a salty broth, accompanied by drawn butter, and served with a piece of linguica, a hotdog, a few white potato halves, and a cob of corn. On the occasion of the Barflies' more recent visit to Marshall's Pub (it has a sign depicting a cowboy-town marshall's star badge), it was not a hot summer afternoon. It was a cold and rainy February night. A clam boil was not on anyone's mind. The draft selection was the usual dismal array of macro-brewed swill (yes...Bud was still on tap) and even that selection was winnowed down by tap lines gone dry, upside-down plastic beer cups over the tap handles indicating empty kegs. Mr. Greyhound once again was disappointed by the absence of grapefruit juice, and once again, he had cranberry juice splashed in with his vodka. His moniker made need to be changed to Mr. Cape Codder. When Mr. Mix asked the curmudgeonly woman behind the bar to recommend a mixed drink, she snarled that she didn't drink and she wouldn't make a recommendation. Her attitude was less than inviting. Marshall's interior is as equally drab and forgettable as its' exterior. There is little reason to return...unless that clam boil is still available...and it's August.
The Barflies were underwhelmed and give Marshall's a 4. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Greyhound, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Mix, Mr. Cork)

Libad's Bar and Grill

If Mr. Draft's memory has not been diminished by over-consumption, Libad's, located about midway on Brock Avenue in the south end, was, in an earlier incarnation, the Beaumont Social Club. As a north end boy and a downtown college lad, Mr. Draft has only limited knowledge of the drinking establishments of the city's south end, primarily the missed and long-gone Smuggler's Den and Billy Wood's Wharf. And no knowledge of the Beaumont at all. But Libad's turned out to be a pleasant surprise. As the Barflies gathered outside, parking on a side street, note was taken of a large faux lighthouse attached to the backside of the building (and probably housing some esoteric piece of equipment), that was topped with razor wire. But it wasn't so ominous inside. The crowd was a good mix, with diversity in respect to ethnicity, race and gender. A few patrons played pool, some sat at tables, and a few were comfortably ensconced around the u-shaped bar. Large paintings of Bruce Lee and Jimi Hendrix (or Bob Marley?) hung on one wall, and the draft selection was more than adequate. But Mr. Draft opted for a cocktail, and ordered an Absolut martini, as did Mr. Sazurac. However, the young barmaid, Kristin, admitted that she had never made a traditional martini (as opposed to the many fruity and flavored martinis now common just about everywhere). She didn't even know where the vermouth was located, and the manager had to find it for her. As could be expected from a first-time martini-maker, it was less than an optimal drink. The vermouth floated on the vodka like oil on vinegar and it was a bit hard to drink...but Mr. Draft was a good sport and drank it anyway, hoping that her skills in this area improve. The Barflies felt quite comfortable in Libad's and Mr. Mix seemed particularly enchanted by the place, mentioning he'd like to come back on a Friday night, when the mechanical bull was available. Libad's actually offered a list of activities for every weekday night: Monday is free jukebox night, Tuesday offers tequila specials, Wednesday is the night for free pool, one dollar drafts are available on Thursdays, and of course, the aforementioned toro is the Friday highlight. Libad's also offered a hefty menu of pub food, including quahogs, onion rings, buffalo wings, pizza, and assorted burgers, sandwiches and salads. The mechanical bull balances out Kristin's heavy-handedness with the Martini & Rossi Extra-Dry, and Libad's gets a 7.5. (Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Elixir, special guest Madame Mai-Tai)