Sometimes, a Hundred Taps is Too Much

I am a beer nerd.

I like beer. I also like beer bars, I like trying new beers that I have never had before, and get strangely excited when I see something new on the tap list. I like seeing something from a brewery that I’ve never heard of before, or trying a style that I’m not too familiar with.

Part of my life as a beer nerd is that I am a sucker for those click-bait “Best Local Beer Bars” lists. If you publish such a list, I will most likely read it.

I recently came across one such list on Thrillist, by Travis Talbot titled “The Best Beer Bars in 18 Boston Neighborhoods”.  It’s a pretty good list. I am more familiar with some spots than others, and there are a few that are still on my “get to” list (looking at you, Trophy Room) but overall I don’t think you can go wrong with any of these places.

Unlike Talbot’s list, however, many of these “Best Of” lists, are not written by locals, they are a result of a perusal of Yelp reviews, Google searches and fuzzy memories of a good bar someone went to once six years ago. Some writer from New York or Indiana or some such place makes a list and waits for his view count to grow. Talbot is a local guy who knows the scene here very well, but it’s true of a lot of pieces out there.

Many of these lists also promote a particular fallacy about beer bars: the idea that “More is better.” They find the spots with the most beer taps and decide that must be the place to go for craft beer. My favorite place to try new stuff, however, has about twenty taps, half of them devoted to craft beer, which are rotated regularly (often announced via a Twitter post, which makes me want to run there as fast as the bus will carry me).   Let me give you a short list of reasons why I prefer a smaller selection for my beer expeditions.

I don’t get overwhelmed with the selection. Talbot lists The Sunset Grill as the best spot in my neighborhood, and I can’t fault him for that. It’s a very nice place, many of my fellow beer nerds love it. I, however, often find the selection a bit much. With 112 beers on tap, the process of finding the right beer is sometimes just too much.

I get better recommendations at a smaller place. Many spots, particularly the bigger chains, don’t take the time and energy to educate their staff on the selection, and truthfully, unless your bartender is some kind of beer savant, no one can remember the ins and outs of over a hundred beers anyway.

A smaller selection means that a good bartender knows what is there, and can make recommendations. They can tell you the characteristics of the beer, knows the style, and compare it to something else.  If you are drinking with your fellow beer nerds (also known as semi-creepy wierdos at the bar), they often chime in to give thoughts on the selection. We are beer nerds, we talk about beer, it’s what we do.

Managing over 100 taps is a bitch. Everyone knows that a tapped keg has a shelf life. A well-run place can manage the tapped kegs and pull them, empty or not, when it’s time. A place that doesn’t put in the time and training to do this, however, means a skunked beer waiting to happen. A place with twenty taps, however, has a much easier job of managing things.

In my little drinking spot, changing the taps is a big deal. They announced it on Twitter like a baby’s birth, a sort of bat-signal to the beer nerds. The rotating tap systems means I know everything is fresh, the seasonals are up to date, and I’ll have something new and exciting to try.

There are many big beer bars that do a fabulous job of these things. The Sunset Grille in Allston Village and Lord Hobo in Inman Square are two great examples from Talbot’s list. I visit these places, I sample their wares, but my drinking home will always be the place with the twenty taps, and the staff that knows how to run them.

Where I’m Drinking – The Corner Tavern – Back Bay

The other day I told a friend to meet me at the Corner Tavern. I sat at the bar for fifteen minutes and got a text saying “Where IS this place?” He was across the street.

The Corner Tavern is a tiny spot tucked into the basement of a brownstone in the Back Bay. It’s terribly easy to miss this place, even if you are looking for it, and it would be terribly easy to dismiss it a dingy basement bar. Looks, however, can always deceive.

The Corner Tavern is a humble, unexpected bright spot in the Back Bay. Despite its location, in the shadow of Boston University, this is a bar for grownups. Maybe it’s because the place is too small to fit a huge crowd of “bro’s”, or maybe it’s because they don’t serve the cheap beer and nacho’s that are the siren call of the college crowd, but the Corner Tavern is a lot more adult than many of its neighbors. That is a good thing.

The crowd here skews older, more laid back, and friendlier. The small confines, combined with the flowing spirits, make it the kind of place where people have conversations with their barmates.   You’ll find yourself chatting with an old friend, an eccentric local, or, as on my most recent visit, an Australian tourist who was trying to understand the baseball game.  I’ve always had great service here, the bartenders are running a small bar and, as a group, are engaging and funny. They also produce what look like really good cocktails. As a beer man, I have no idea how good they actually are, but they sure do look pretty.

Jen K. on yelp

The food at the Corner Tavern is an example of what can happen when you get a good chef and let him run. Like the spot itself, the menu is small, but they seem to get everything right. I have been there a few times when the kitchen folk have come out to ask about my meal and talk about the menu. The place takes pride in its food and it shows. The menu is slightly upscale bar/comfort food made with fresh ingredients and something of a modern spin. Try the Tavern Tots, topped with a bit of fresh parmesan cheese and a nice spicy aioli, or one of the flatbread pizzas. If you are hungry enough, and not feeling too healthy, go for the meatloaf burger, served with bacon on top.  Check the specials, I had a rabbit stew there once that was outstanding.

The beer selection is nothing special, I think they have a total of six taps. They do have both Harpoon IPA and Dogfish Namaste on tap though, both of which work for me.

The Corner Tavern is a relaxed neighborhood place, with great food and an excellent staff. It’s a great spot to hide out after work. Or, perhaps, during work. If you can find it.

 

The Corner Tavern

421 Marlborough Street

Boston, MA

617-262-5555

Another Bar, Not My Own

There is a bar that I am fond of in a neighborhood that I don’t get to very often.  The other day, I found myself in that part of the city because of work, so I took the opportunity to stop by.

There is nothing particularly outstanding about this place, the food is pretty decent, the atmosphere is casual.  What draws me in mostly is the rotating taps they have, I always enjoy a chance to try something new and different.

I arrived just a bit early for the after work crowd.  My beer of choice today was Jack’s Abbey Copper Legend.   I was doing just fine, until the regulars showed up.

Like all bars, this particular one loves it’s regulars.  Bartenders will tell you how much they love the afternoon regulars, they are easy to deal with, they tip well, and they generally don’t bother anyone.  The late night party drinkers might be the big money, but the afternoon regulars keep the lights on.  I know this because I am currently a regular at two spots, my neighborhood local and a pub that is close to my work.  I am not, however, a regular at this place.

It started with just two guys at the end of the bar.  Another showed up.  The small crowd grew bigger.  A couple walked in with a baby, apparently the first time the crowd had seen the wee tyke.  Many oohs and ahhs and congrats and cellphone pictures later, and I was crammed in.  The guy next to me dropped his bag on my foot and neither acknowledged or apologized for it.

I said before, I’m considered a regular at a couple of places, and I understand that, as sad as it is, it gives you some kind of lame-o social status.  I’ve been hanging out at bars for a long time, I know the deal.  What it doesn’t do is give you the right to be a Douchebag.   It is a small bar, we were all crammed in, I get that.  What I don’t get is why these people were getting territorial and treating me as an invader of some sort.  All I wanted was an afternoon beer, I don’t think I was ruining your experience by not surrendering my stool to you and your chummy crowd.  I was half expecting someone to piss on the floor to mark the boundary.

So, world of beer drinkers, barflys, and regulars of all drinking establishments, remember the First Rule of Bar Etiquette: Don’t be a Douche.  If you are a regular, you don’t own the place, you don’t have the right to your usual barstool, and you shouldn’t treat newcomers to your little slice of paradise like they are spoiling your good time.  The point of a bar is for people to gather, and if gathering means that you are uncomfortably close to a stranger, or even drop your bag on their foot, a smile, a nod, or a “How’s it going?” to your neighbor goes a long way.  In bars, as in life, we are all in this together.  So try to be kind.  And enjoy your beer.

Where I’m Drinking – The Pour House – Back Bay

I recently had some business in the Back Bay. It was hot, I was tired and a bit frustrated, so I wanted to de- stress for a minute or so. I thought about places I knew in the neighborhood, I chose the Pour House.  

from twitter

The Pour House has, like myself, been in Boston for a long time. I haven’t been there for quite a while, and it was comforting to see that not much has changed. In fact, I can’t think of a damn thing that’s changed.

The Pour House has a very standard beer list, which seems to fit the character of the place. I ordered a Harpoon IPA, which is pretty much my go-to beer these days. Unexpectedly, the beer came in a twenty-two ounce mug.

“Wow, it’s a man’s drink” I said.

“That’s how we roll here.” The bartender said.

Let me be a beer nerd for a second. I prefer my beer in a pint glass. Sixteen ounces works just fine for fine for me. Judge my manhood if you must, but I just don’t drink fast enough for a twenty-two ounce beer. It often gets warm by the time I finish. This, however, is really my only complaint about the Pour House, they gave me too much beer. If that is my biggest problem of the day, it’s a good day.

The bartender was cute, engaging, and efficient. The whole staff seemed to be having a good time, which makes for a fun atmosphere. I was digging the 90’s music they were playing.

The Pour House is certainly the most dive-like place in the Back Bay, which means it isn’t very dive-y at all, but it attracts a diverse crowd of after-work people and students. There were a bunch of people down the bar caring musical instruments, I’ll go out on limb and guess they were Berklee kids. The other end of bar seemed to have a business meeting going on.

I sat towards the front area of the bar, the TV setup there was not very good for watching a game. It seemed the back part of the place was better set up. There were signs behind the bar claiming it was the place to be for Syracuse U. football games, so go Orangemen.

On a side note, I could not get a decent cell phone signal inside. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because although I do it all the time, I don’t really like being the guy sitting at the bar on his cellphone.

The Pour House is a good time. I don’t know if I would go too far out of my way to get there, but when in the neighborhood it is a good, comfortable place to stop in for a beer.  The staff is friendly and fun. There is nothing fancy or pretentious about the place, which makes it a welcome break from so many other spots in the Back Bay. Most importantly, the place has a soul and a character to it. It’s a place worth a stop.

The Pour House

907 Boylston St, Boston, MA 02115

@pourboston

 

A Grumpy Local’s Guide to Moving to Boston

You got the job, the internship, the coveted spot at your dream school, and you are moving to Boston the first of the month.  Congratulations.  Welcome.  

Your first day here will probably suck.  Boston is a funny town, in some ways, but it’s a good town. Here are a few tips to make it suck a little less, if not for you, than for me and my fellow locals. 

1. You can not drive your Uhaul on Storrow Drive.  You might think this is one of our funny rules, it really isn’t.  Every year, a few people ignore the signs and get their trucks stuck under a bridge on Storrow Drive.  It will be someone, if it is you the whole commuting world will hate you, and you will most certainly be mocked and humiliated, probably on local TV, most certainly on social media.
2. There will be no parking. There is a good chance you will be sitting in your car with all of your belongings for a while waiting for a parking spot.  Try to be accepting of this.
3. The traffic will suck.  One of the things about Boston that you will not realize until you drive here is that the streets don’t always make since.  Some streets change names. People park in the streets, people double park.  You share the lanes with bicycles (which may be moving faster than you).  Oh, and mind the city buses.  And try not to get hit by a green line trolley.
4. People will drive like idiots.  Some will be lost, confused, or overly aggravated.  Many are foreign students who have never driven in the US before. Others are just idiots.  Please, please, please drive defensively, knowing you are in the right will not rebuild your fender. 
5. If there is a no parking sign, DO NOT park there.  The tow truck  drivers wake up early.  They are ruthlessly efficient. We call it Allston Christmas, for these guys it really is like Christmas morning. Don’t mess with them.
6. Don’t pick up a mattress off the street. Bedbugs.  Better to sleep on the floor for a couple of nights.  If you think that’s common sense, you are probably right, but it doesn’t stop people.

     8. Finally, Be nice to the locals. We are not really as mean and scary as we seem, but we go through this sh*t storm every year. 

And welcome, one and all, to my city. 

The Tail End of Summer

Just the other day, one of my favorite local spots sent out a tweet that they were changing the taps.  This is, for a beernerd like me, good enough reason to stop by a bar in the middle of the week. 

Then I saw it, standing tall amongst the Belgian Whites and Double IPAs.  It was a skinny orange tap.  Slightly round at the top.

It was a pumpkin beer. 

Summer, I was reminded, was almost over.  I checked the calendar.  Yes, it seems there is only a week left. 

I live in Boston.  In Brighton, to be exact, and the signs of the end of summer are everywhere.  Uhaul trucks clog the streets, abandoned furniture fills the sidewalks. Around here we call it Allston Christmas, as much of the furniture is picked up as soon as it hits the sidewalk.  If you are into old lamps, this is the place to be.  And surely as New Years follows Christmas, Moving Day follows Allston Christmas.  Leases all turn over on the same day in this town.  Nobody is sure exactly why, aside from that the colleges are coming back, but that’s how things work around here.  Everyone moves on September 1.

I’m a local here.  There aren’t many of us in the Allston-Brighton are, but we are here.  In the summer, we have the run of the town.  There are seats at the bar, there are easy tables at the nice restaurants, there shorter waits at the deli.  Service people are more relaxed and chattier.  Even the cops are nicer.  We are like the night watchmen of the neighborhood, keeping an eye on things until the neighborhood comes alive again.  It’s a nice way to live for a while, and, like summer, it can’t last.

Soon the students will return.  They will have too much money and too few manners. Those that are newly legal will puke in the streets.  They will hassle the bouncers who don’t take their IDs.  Someone will fall off a porch.  At least one idiot will get their truck stuck under a bridge on Storrow Drive. 

Locals pretty much have two strategies for dealing with the madness.  We get out of town, or we hunker.  It’s best to treat the weekend like a coming snowstorm, buy your bread and milk, park your car, and wait it out.  This year, I am hunkering down. 

I have a plan.  I will be at a favorite pub, sitting with the regulars, enjoying a summer saison while I can, and watching the madness of moving day.  The inexperienced Uhaulers.  The semi-terrified foreign student.  The frustrated parents.  The many, many license plates from New Jersey.  All will be navigating the confusing streets of my town, fighting for a space at the curd.  Tired, angry, dealing with whatever weather New England throws at them.  And I will be sitting on my stool, laughing with the crowd, watching it go down, and lamenting the end of summer.

Welcome to Boston.  You can’t park there.

Where I’m Drinking – Clerys

I take solace in Irish bars.  They are like going to Denny’s for breakfast, I go in not so much expecting an amazing experience, but I usually find a pleasant atmosphere and a satisfying time.  When I’m in a neighborhood I’m not too familiar with, faced with  choices of drinking venues, I always default to the Irish bar.  I know what to expect, and I’m comfortable there.  They are used to people like me. 

The other day, after spending a few productive hours at the Boston Public Library, I found myself in Copley Square.  There was an accident on the Green Line that day (my kind of luck) and I wasn’t inclined to cram myself onto the shuttle bus that replaced it.  I was hungry, a bit aggravated, and had no place particular to be for a while.  Which brings me to Clerys. 

Clerys is on the corner of Dartmouth and Columbus.  If it was on the other side of Columbus, it would be in the South End, but, alas, we are still in the Back Bay.  I don’t know if I would call Clerys an “upscale place” but it is pretty nice.  I like the big windows, open on nice days, there is some nice people watching along Dartmouth Street.

I find Irish bars comforting because there is a sameness to them.  There is nothing that makes Clerys really stand out from a standard Irish bar, due probably to the fact that this it one of those dreaded corporate-branded bars, but that is OK.  The menu is standard pub fare, but the food is quite good, well prepared and with fresh ingredients.  The french fries are quite good, and the philly spring rolls are my favorite thing on the menu.  You can’t really go wrong with the burgers and sandwiches.  They have a lobster quesadilla on the menu.  Lobster isn’t really my thing, but it is something different.  Again, nothing outstanding or really unexpected on the menu, but everything is pretty good. 

The crowd is a bit more diverse than you might imagine.  Clerys is, at the end of the day, a neighborhood bar, and they take a bit of pride in that.  Given that we are two steps away from the South End, the crowd seems like a pretty good representation of the local population.  Clerys is also two steps away from Back Bay Station, so there are always people wandering in pulling their luggage as well. Every time I go there, a sports team of some sort shows up, which might be pleasing to you if you enjoy drinking with sweaty men in soccer jerseys.  The yuppies are also pretty prevalent here, which can be mildly annoying at times, for me at least.

The service was fast, friendly and efficient.  The bartender was engaging and happy to talk about the beer selection, the menu, and the Mets game.  They kept up with the orders and greeted a good number of regulars while I was there. 

The beer selection was pretty standard, typical of these corporate places, but there was enough variety to keep me happy.  I do wish they had a better TV setup at the bar, as I didn’t see a really good spot anywhere to settle down and watch the game. 

Clerys is a fine, if somewhat standard, neighborhood Irish bar.  The location is great, and the service outstanding.  When I’m around, and I need a little comfort, I’ll be back.

Clerys Boston        

113 Dartmouth Street, Boston, MA 02116
Phone: (617) 262-9874

@ClerysBOSTON

Where I’m Drinking – Loretta’s Last Call

 Many years ago, never mind how long exactly, I was visiting my brother in Memphis.  A very nice city full of very friendly people, only a few of whom took Elvis way too seriously.  I did the tourist thing during the day, he recommended meeting at a local bar near his work.  As is my habit, I sat at the bar and chatted up the bartender.  She got a kick out of my accent.  A very friendly middle aged couple at the bar asked where I was from .  “Boston.” I said, with a smile, politely as I could.  “Oh.”  the woman said.  They both backed away.  My adventures in southern drinking.

I don’t try to be a Masshole, but what can I do?

I recalled this story when I pulled up to the bar at Loretta’s Last Call, a newish place just outside Fenway Park.  Loretta’s is a “theme” bar, a southern-country thing.  Moonshine, mason jars, southern-style menu, and of course, a giant American .  Cause, you know, America. 

From eater.com

I am not a southerner, nor am I from the country.  I don’t drive a truck or own a dog.  Nonetheless, I will guess that any southerners who ventured into the place wouldn’t find it too authentic anyway.  The place reminds me of one of those “authentic” Irish bars where they can’t pour a decent Guinness. Like all of the places on Landsdowne St., this is a corporate venture,  I suspect everything in the place was ordered out of a catalog somewhere.  None of this means it’s a bad place, just that it is what it is. 

From the Loretta’s website

                             

Overall, my general sense of the place is “A good time.”  Give those corporate honchos a bit of credit for at least coming up with something at least a little different.  It has a small stage and live music, including an open mike night, which I always have to support.  I tried the lobster grit cakes, my friend had the fried pickles, both of which were very good.  My friend enjoyed the cocktails, and she was quite excited that they had PBR tallboys.  The tap selection is not too extensive, but they have Harpoon IPA on tap, which is all I really need anyway. The band was just getting started as I was leaving, but the room sounded pretty good, and people were certainly enjoying themselves. 

I love a place with a jukebox. From eater.com

The service was friendly and efficient.  We sat at the bar, bartenders were busy but happy to answer questions about the drinks and the menu.  And maybe I’m a cad, or a prude, but I have to say the bartenders were quite good looking, and a bit underdress.  I hope they won’t make those poor young girls to dress like that through the Boston winter, thy are likely to catch a terrible chill. 

Loretta’s is a nice place and a good time, it won’t be a regular stop for me, but it’s a good option when you need a change of pace.

Loretta’s Last Call

1 Lansdowne Street • Boston, MA

Today’s Reason to go to a Bar – Happy IPA Day!

BucPABIIMAEC7FVBucPABIIMAEC7FVThursday, August 7,  is India Pale Ale Day.  I must admit it snuck up on me this year. 

I did an exhaustive (two minute) search of the internet to find the origins of IPA day, only to come up empty.  As to the origins of IPA’s, it seems the British used to ship it to the troops in India, and added extra hops to help it survive the long journey.  I like the idea that, at some point in the long history of the British Empire, at some point “Better Beer for the Empire” was a national priority, but I digress.

Emily Ragle

I have been drinking IPA’s for years, but all of a sudden they have become trendy.   In general, I try to avoid trendy things, but I’m OK with this one.  The fact that this is now the “cool” beer means that all the craft breweries are chasing the trend, and some are producing really good beers.   My go to continues to be Harpoon, which strikes a nice balance between good flavor and drinkability.  It’s also a local beer, which I try to support when I can. 

I’m also enjoying the whole “West Coast IPA” thing, a slightly lighter style, with citrus flavors.  Citrus (and fruit in general) doesn’t always work for me, mostly because the brewmasters overdue it with the flavor, but the West Coast style can be tasty and refreshing if done correctly.  My favorite West Coast IPA comes from Lagunitas Brewing in California.

So grab someone you love, or like, or can put up with for ten minutes or so, and celebrate IPA’s.  If nothing else, it might get you out of the house.

Goodbye, Joey’s

“I think you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.” Randy Newman

Joey’s Bar in Brighton Center is officially closed.

A woman I worked with lived in Somerville, we were talking about places in my neighborhood and she told me her husband liked Joey’s.

“Joey’s?”  I said, “It has three barstools and a dart board.”

“That’s why he likes it.”

Joeys/facebook

That kind of summed up Joey’s.  It was a little neighborhood spot, taking up a storefront near the corner of Washington and Market Streets.  It was a dark bar, a good place to drink in the afternoon and avoid the sunlight.  There was no judgment from the crowd there, no one asked or cared why you felt the need to start drinking at noon.  I don’t think I was ever in there when there wasn’t at least one incident of someone who had been “banned” trying to come in.  Old time bartenders would politely request that they “Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”  It wasn’t a rough place, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a baseball bat behind that bar somewhere.

I can’t say that I was a regular at Joey’s even though it’s right in my neighborhood.  I did stop in from time to time.  It was a true neighborhood spot, you could go there after a hard day’s work and not worry about stinking up the place.  You could go wearing sweatpants, unshaven, wearing your ratty old sneakers.  You could show up still hungover from the night before, it was all good.  It was a good spot to pregame, sip a few cheap cold ones before you got went out for real.  The walk up the misshapen steps to the men’s room was always a good test of your general sobriety.  There was always someone ready to play darts, usually badly.

Joey’s/facebook

Joey’s didn’t have food, they didn’t serve craft beers, it was what it was.  I don’t think I will miss Joey’s so much as I’ll miss what it represented.  Joey’s neighborhood watering hole that didn’t aspire to be anything else. Sometimes that is where you want to be.  Brighton used to have a lot of those.  I won’t waste time complaining about the colleges moving in or gentrification or the upscaling of the local bar scene, change happens,  but these places seem an endangered species.  Over the past month, I’ve heard rumors of three different local places that are about to be closed down and sold.  These are places that local working people go, and the college kids go to drink cheap, and the yuppies come to slum.  There are damn few of them left.

Fare thee well, old friend