Waterfront Grille

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

Royal II Restaurant

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

Claudio's Cafe

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

Club Sport Madeirense

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

Tilia's Cafe and Restaurant

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

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

Davy's Locker

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

Restaurante Alianca

According to veteran Barfly Mr. Cork, the food is excellent at the Restaurante Alianca. But the assembled group of Barflies was out to drink, not to eat...but that said, the aroma of codfish emanating from the kitchen was appealing, as were the posted menu offerings: calamari, fish cakes, shrimp cakes. The bar side of this small, south end restaurant was packed with regulars, who were friendly and jovial. The barmaid was a stunningly beautiful young woman named Lisa, who reminded one of the Barflies (who shall remain nameless) of a young Sarah Palin, but Mr. Draft thinks that particular Barfly may have been on the way to inebriation. Lisa actually looked more like Diana Prince- and if the dear reader does not know who she is, then that reader needs to familiarize him / herself with silver age DC Comics. Alianca had a dismal draft selection- Coors, Coors, and more Coors. Mr. Draft settled for a bottle of an imported beer called Super Bock, which, if taste- or lack thereof- is any indication, may as well be the Coors of Portugal. The light in the cooler behind the bar was bright enough to serve as a beacon to ships coming into a fog-laden harbor, and if that light were dimmed, the room would seem less harsh and more comfortable. Mr. Draft will return to the Restaurante Alianca, with Mrs. Draft (and perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Cork) some evening to try the great-smelling codfish, but as a bar, the place only rates a 5. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Cork, Mr. Merlot, Mr.3BOES, Mr. Whiskey, Mr. Brew-haha

South Side Annie's

More or less verbatim dialogue:

Mr. Draft: "Give me a Stella Artois."

Hilda the barmaid: "How about 'Hello...how are you?...May I have a Stella Artois, please?' "

And so, Mr. Draft received a quick lesson in conversational barroom etiquette at South Side Annie's and the Barflies were off to a good night. In reality, the Barflies approached Annie's with a bit of trepidation, as it is one of those bars that is often buzzed by, in a rather rough south end neighborhood. But as is often the case, our apprehensions were unfounded. Up until about eight years ago, a place called the Owl's Nest existed in that space, and that place had a reputation deserving of trepidation...and caution. But now, the roughest element seems to be Hilda's lesson in manners. South Side Annie's is actually a very warm, inviting dark wood saloon, which has a large television screen positioned above the bar, and an adjoining game room with pool table, video games and Foosball. The bar is festooned with an admirable collection of license plates from many states, and a digital reader board, which emits messages concerning specials and a quote-of-the-day. Mr. Draft enjoyed his bottle of Stella Artois, not overly disappointed that the draft selection was limited to Sam, Bud, Bud Lite, and Coors, as an adequate selection of bottle beers was available. Mr. Whiskey embraced his moniker and ordered a Jack-and-Coke. South Side Annies also gets a nod of approval for the traditional bar room offering of pickled hard boiled eggs, as well as stuffed peppers, as low-cost snacks. On the night of Mr. Draft's schoolin' by the cute and sassy Hilda, pitchers of Sam Adams were available for $5.00. Pleasantly surprised by all that awaited within South Side Annie's, the Barflies give it an 8. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Whiskey, Mr. Brew-haha