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
Kirby's Irish Pub
William H. Carney Lodge #200 (B.P.O.E.)
First, a little history lesson, with the help of Wikipedia: William Harvey Carney was the first African-American to be awarded the Medal of Honor. Carney was born a slave in Norfolk, Virginia and escaped to Massachusetts through the Underground Railroad. He later served in the 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry as a sergeant, and took part in the July 18th, 1863 assault on Fort Wagner, South Carolina. He received his medal for saving the American flag and planting it on the parapet, and although wounded, holding it aloft while the Union troops charged. Recognizing that the Federal troops needed to retreat under fire, he wrapped the flag around himself and struggled across the battlefield, getting wounded twice more, before returning the flag to the Union lines. Later, he modestly said, "Boys, I only did my duty; the old flag never touched the ground." He died in Boston many years later, and is buried in the Oak Grove Cemetery. The west end elementary school, the Carney Academy. is named after him. As is the William H. Carney Lodge #200 (B.P.O.E.).
The lodge itself is like many neighborhood lodges, clubs and fraternal order meeting spots, in the sense that is a bit rundown and has definitely seen better days. The members of the Carney Lodge partake in a number of fund raising events and activities, including hosting a Christmas party for neighborhood children and seeing that they receive holiday gifts. Although open to the public, it is necessary to ring a doorbell at the Lodge to be admitted. The Barflies rang the bell, were welcomed in, and one Barfly guest was asked to remove his baseball cap in order to comply with the posted "no headgear" rule.
There were four or five patrons seated at the bar, all but one of African-American descent. The Barflies, by social circumstance and not by any design, are all lily-white. The Barflies membership, as it is, includes an openly gay man, a Chinese woman, a Jew, a Katrina-displaced New Orleans resident, and a first-generation Quebecois, as well as those of German, English, Irish and Portuguese descent. But, to date, no African-American, Latino or Native-American drinkers have joined the Barflies. (No application necessary...all are welcome- respond to this site in order to receive an itinerary!) All that aside, the Barflies were made to feel quite welcome.
Mr. Merlot immediately struck up a conversation with a female customer, who he had known for years, and she (Carol) also recognized Mr. Mix, having worked on the campaign of Governor Duval Patrick, alongside the politically outspoken Mrs. Mix. Other non-Barfly patrons, and the barmaid, Cynthia, were friendly and conversational.
Mr. Draft veered away from the beer selection, and opted for a CC-and-ginger, the whiskey dispensed from a lazy-susan type device that held the liquor bottles upside down and assured of delivering a perfect one-ounce shot. All the other Barflies, with the exception of Mr. Mix. drank bottled beer, and Mix settled on a White Russian. Mr. Mix also bought a cheeseburger, which he thoroughly enjoyed, and for which the proceeds from were to be put in the fund for the aforementioned neighborhood children's Christmas event.
Located on the corner of Cottage Street and Mill Street, the Lodge is not particularly inviting from the outside, but is comfortable and warm once within. The yellowed walls could use a paint job, and a few more beers could be offered. but it was an enjoyable visit. It gets a 6.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Moonshine
Sapatinha's Cafe
On the evening of the Barflies' sojourn into Sapatinha's, located in downtown New Bedford at the corner of Acushnet Avenue and School Street, there were only three or four patrons at the bar...and no bartender on duty, seemingly, as we sat on the stools. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Maria appeared. She was a friendly, middle-aged, self-depreciating woman with a plastic bag on her head. Really. She explained that she'd taken advantage of a quiet moment to dye her hair in the ladies' room, and she proceeded to serve the Barflies, with a Rite-Aid bag over her hair.
The draft selection was limited to Bud and more Bud, so Mr. Draft shifted to his fall-back choice, a can of Guinness. Mr. Merlot sipped a heavily fortified Portuguese wine, strong enough to strip paint off a hardwood floor. When asked by Mr. Mix for a "mixed drink, something creamy, sweet, no fruit juice," Maria suggested a Tequila Rose, which Mr. Mix ordered. It turned out to be a premixed cocktail, the color of Pepto-Bismol and the flavor of Frankenberry cereal, a strong artificial strawberry kick. Mr. Mix described it as "being offensive to the palate."
Sapatinha's is a rather nice place, dark and quietly elegant, with plush seats and the illusion that it is twice as large as it actually is, due to the placement of a large mirror on the back wall, an illusion only broken by the realization that the exit sign is in reverse and there is a guy at the other end of the bar who looks just like you. Two televisions played, one broadcasting Jeopardy! and the other airing American Gladiator, appealing to both the Apollonian and the Dionysian sides of the cafe's patrons. A hand drawn portrait of Mother Theresa hung behind the bar, as did a Red Sox banner, touching on all things holy.
A sign hung over the bar that read: "Credit is for banks not bars. If you ask me, I will throw you out." Sapatinha's will likely not be a beneficiary of any $700 billion dollar bailout.
The cafe was quiet that evening, but Mr. Draft suspects that Friday and Saturday nights are more vibrant. Sapatinha's gets a straightforward 6.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr, Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Moonshine
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.
No Problemo
After a dry summer hiatus, the Barflies have reconvened, and the membership has grown. The usuals suspects have returned, for the most part...Mr. Cork, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Mix, Mr. Sazurac, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Elixer , and Mr. Draft, the primary contributor to this blog. Mr. Greyhound is MIA, perhaps in a blue funk about the closing of his beloved Merlot (on William St.) or frustrated that most bars don't keep grapefruit juice in stock. Mr. Martini is unavailable as he is presently teaching a class on usual gathering night (that guy's priorities are seriously fucked up!) However, two new recruits have entered the fray...Mr. Brew-haha and Mr. Whiskey.
This expanded group made it's first stop No Problemo, at the corner of 
William and Purchase Streets in downtown New Bedford. No Probelmo has been a fixture on that corner for a number of years serving some damn good burritos, enchiladas and other Mexican foods. Recently, the small establishment doubled it's size, got a liquor license, and put in a pretty good bar. And that bar is an very good addition to the downtown drinkin' scene.
The bar itself is a classy brushed copper. The walls are painted in an earthy shade, something Sherwin-Williams probably calls "terra cotta" and those walls are decorated with an array of kitschy, fun and stereotypically south-of-the border icons:the ceramic head of a Mexican wrestler, a black velvet matador painting, an O'Keefian cattle skull, and the inevitable saints.
The bartender. a young and capable server, was knowledgeable about the beers and made suggestions. He served a young and hip crowd (except for the Barflies- most who aren't "young"---there are actually a couple of Barflies who are also members of another hallowed institution---AARP, and as to "hip"...remember the old, classic Tower of Power funk hit What Is Hip?...well, some Barflies remember it...and, just asking, what's a "Coldplay?" But, I digress...
Mr.Draft was disappointed that there were no drafts available, but there was an extensive bottled beer list- 41-count 'em- 41 beers were available, including the common macro brewery offerings , as well as Anchor Steam, Sierra Nevada, Smuttynose, Lienehfiugel's, Modelo Negro and a host of others. Mr. Mix, as could be expected, indulged in a bit of fruity pink liquid, that looked like a Shirley Temple, but was, in actuality, a Watermelon Sangria, and enjoyed it like any good girl-drink drinker would. Despite calling himself Mr. Whiskey, Mr. Whiskey drank bottled beer, but he has admitted to a love of Jack Daniels, so it is expected that he will earn that moniker in the upcoming weeks. Mr. Merlot enjoyed the red he was served, happy that it wasn't a tiny bottle of Sutter Home. Of course, No Probelmo serves some great bar food, and the 'Flies shared some guacomole and chips...special guest and Honorary Barfly, Mr. Lupulin (Hop Oil) - now in London- had what is likely to be the best meal of Mexican food he will have until he returns from across the Atlantic.
The younger Barflies didn't seem to be bothered by it, but there was a happily loud and steady din of conversation and subdued music, that made it difficult for the curmudgeonly, old bastard contingent of the Barflies to carry on a conversation of their own.
No Problemo is a vibrant and welcome addition to the downtown NB bar scene and it rates an 8.
Roll call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr, Merlot, Mr, 3BOES, Mr. Elixer , Mr. Sazurac, Mr. Brew-haha, Mr. Whiskey and Honorary Barfly Mr. Hop Oil.
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)
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)
