New BedFord Bar Flies

Mikey B's

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 21:44:00 +0000

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.

Pa Raffa's

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 19:59:00 +0000

For about a decade-and-a-half, Mr. Draft, Mrs. Draft and the adorable Draft children lived in the far northern reaches of upstate Vermont, minutes from the Quebec border. Vermont's charms are many-- the lovely vistas of the Green Mountains and Lake Champlain, quiet Norman Rockwell villages, Bernie Sanders, Phish, Ben and Jerry's, and some damned good maple syrup....but one thing it lacks is linguica pizza. When Mr. Draft would return on semi-regular visits to New Bedford to see Mama Draft, he'd be jonesin' for a linguica pizza....specifically, the crisp, thin crust, sausage-laden, tomato paste heavy variety served at Pa Raffa's. While Mama Draft ate the antipasto- a pile of iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers, hots, onion, black olives, ham, pepperoni, and some other tasty mystery meat, topped with olive oil and vinegar, and enough shredded mozzarella to smother a first-grader-- Mr. Draft inhaled the perfect linguica pizza.

When Mr. Draft hit Pa Raffa's on an official Barflies' visit, with Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Brew-haha, and new recruit, Mr. Pisswater, in tow, a linguica pizza was promptly ordered and quickly devoured.

Pa Raffa's is located at the crotch of Ashley Boulevard and Acushnet Avenue in the far north end. There is a full service bar but it is small- only four stools. But other than the Barflies, one suspects that most drinkers at the bar are only there while waiting for their takeout- be it pizza, subs, or Raffa's "bucket of spaghetti." Jess, the barmaid, was proficient and cute, and Pisswater lived up to his chosen moniker, drinking one of the macrobrew selections, while Mr. Mix sipped a rum-and-coke. The decor is faux Italian, plastic grapevines and the like, as well as a Pizza Delivery Elmo doll, sitting at one end of the bar.

As a bar, Pa Raffa's is a good pizza joint. As it should be. And all is right with the world. As a bar, it get a 3. But as a pizza joint, it gets a 8. And the linguica pizza gets a 10. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Brew-haha, Mr. Pisswater.

Black Watch Pub

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 20:35:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 18:31:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Mon, 04 May 2009 22:51:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 20:57:00 +0000

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

Waterfront Grille

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 23:06:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 19:25:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 18:41:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 15:25:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 14:34:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 22:40:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 21:00:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 19:46:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 23:06:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 22:31:00 +0000

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

Mee Hong

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 20:37:00 +0000

At the southern end of Route 18, at the intersection of Cove Street, sits the unremarkable little building that houses Mee Hong, a favorite South End Chinese restaurant. The four Barflies in attendance occupied 100% of the available stools at the bar that was about the size of an average kitchen counter. In all fairness, the Mee Hong is not truly a bar, but rather a good-sized joint with the afterthought of a bar, that seems to exist, primarily, as a mixing station for the restaurant's drinkers, and, perhaps, to idle away a few minutes with a fruity rum drink, while awaiting one's takeout order. But it is a very good spot to enjoy some lobster Rangoon or pork ribs (which Messrs. Draft, Mix, 3BOES, and Merlot did). There are no draft beers available, however there are a fair assortment of bottled beers. As is the norm for Chinese restaurant bars, Zombies. Love Potions, Scorpions, Volcano Bowls and the like are available, most of which seem to be made with an assortment of rums, fruit juices and coconut milk. Mr. Draft ordered the Mee Hong Gentleman's Special, which sounds like something that would be offered at the Foxy Lady, and it was a predictable and overly sweet cocktail concocted with two rums, a mai-tai mix, and a splash of Bols Apricot Brandy. (A note to the women: there is also a Mee Hong Ladies' Special but Mr. Draft - and not even Mr. Mix- was willing to cross the gender divide to indulge.) Mr. Mix ordered, and seemingly enjoyed, a coco aku, made with rum and coconut milk. The Mee Hong's resident bartender, Sara, did her job efficiently but she was not very conversational. The decor is an unfortunate mix of harsh lighting, quasi-Chinese kitsch, and bad diagonal paneling...but stick to the Rangoon, and all will be well. Good restaurant...not so good bar. As a bar, the Mee Hong is a 4. Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr, Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. 3BOES

Legends Sports Pub

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 22:36:00 +0000

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

Chuck's China Inn

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 18:11:00 +0000

There are a plethora of Portuguese / Portuguese-American bars along the Avenue and many of them are quite good. But barhopping to several of them on a single night, can be become a distinction-blurring excursion of too many fava beans on the counter, flaming linguicas, syrupy wines, a strange synthesis of the Portuguese and English languages (Portuglish?), and far too many attractive women named Maria that would mind-numb all but the most fervent Luzophiles.
Chuck's China Inn is the antidote. Chuck's has been a staple in the New Bedford restaurant vibe for many years, offering a full range of Chinese-American dishes such as the indefatigable General Tso's Chicken and the giggle-inducing Pu Pu Platter. (Well, it induces giggles in Mr. Draft's preteen son...but, then again, he also is quite amused by Provincetown's most common nickname.)
Passing by the hostess station and through two large dining rooms, the Barflies sat in the cocktail lounge, a visually-impressive, beautifully decorated little bar. It may be one of the last great hidden gems in the city's bar scene. The room seats only a few...perhaps less than two dozen...but it is worth squeezing into. The lounge features intricate lattice work, three-dimensional dragon heads, bare breasted women in bas-relief, and a bullet-proof looking bartender, beefy enough to bodyguard Beyonce. The bartender was affable and professional. The draft selection was limited to Samuel Adams' offerings-Cherry Wheat, Lager, and Octoberfest, but that was certainly adequate in a place that one could opt for a Zombie, a Love Potion or a Volcano Bowl. There is something oddly noirish about Chuck's....the cocktail lounge would look great in an old black-and-white movie, where Humphrey Bogart would fall for some stunning Asian girl, who'd dope him with powdered opium in his bourbon, when he asked too many questions. Even after that, Bogie would give this place a 9.
Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Elixir, Mr. 3BOES, Mr. Whiskey, Mr. Brew-haha
A last note: Mr. Mix and Mr. 3BOES would think Mr. Draft remiss and Luddite if he did not mention the patrons playing Grand Theft Auto on the bar's television screen.

New Bedford Sports Club

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 15:29:00 +0000

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.

Cafe Funchal

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 21:51:00 +0000

Cafe Funchal is like alot of other bars. But none of them is in the city of New Bedford.
Located on the corner of Church Street and Nash Road, having moved from a much smaller Acushnet Avenue location, Funchal is quite remarkable. On the night of the Barflies' official visit, it was, as it often, is quite busy. The main bar is situated in a cavernous room, with an incredibly lengthy bar and three (four? five?) large flat screen televisions hovering above, like quietly humming "close encounter" motherships. The exterior architecture and the unlikely location do not signal the handsome decor that awaits within. Besides the liquor bar, staffed by at least two very good bartenders, names unknown to Mr. Draft, there is an elegant horseshoe-shaped oyster bar. Mr. Draft is of the belief that perhaps the best accompaniment to a Guinness draft stout is a couple of iced oysters on the half shell, and Funchal did not disappoint him. The Cafe can be loud, but it is a good loud...the kind of loud that comes from people talking, laughing, flirting, and socializing. There is an extensive specialty martini list, and a phone-book sized menu, focusing in on some of the the best Portuguese food in the city. The Mr. Mix and Mr. Merlot...oh, the hell with this---Mr. Draft is just going to say it....Cafe Funchal gets a 10 for at least a half-dozen reasons: an excellent menu; professional and knowledgeable staff at the liquor bar and the oyster bar (c'mon, when was the last time someone could explain to you the subtle difference between an oyster from off the Rhode Island coast versus one from off Long Island?); a beautiful interior architecture; a jumping crowd; and bold owners with the balls to open a Tribeca bar in the north end of New Bedford!
Roll Call: Mr. Draft. Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr, Whiskey, Mr. Brew-haha, Mr. 3BOES

Regal Beagle

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 20:54:00 +0000

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.

Inner Bay Cafe and Grill

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 23:38:00 +0000

Across from the dike on Cove Street, there sits a small, elegant, old brick building that houses one of New Bedford's most charming bars...and there's a restaurant there, too. Years ago, Silmo Coffee Syrup was manufactured in that building, and a generation of New Bedford children- including Mr. Draft- gulped down countless glasses of coffee milk made with that sweet stuff. Now, the Inner Bay is in its' place and producing some sweet stuff of its' own. As Mr. Draft's tastes have matured away from coffee milk and toward good draft beers and old-school martinis, he ordered an Absolut martini. A very cute and gregarious barmaid, Gloria, proved to be quite skilled in her profession, making an excellent martini, so dry it was crispy, by doling out the vermouth with an eyedropper...clinically efficient and oddly elegant. Mr. Mix's tastes have not matured much beyond coffee milk, and perhaps in homage to the days of Silmo, he ordered an espresso martini...which is more akin to an Awful-Awful from Newport Creamery than a classic cocktail. But, it was pretty and he thoroughly enjoyed it.
According to Gloria, Thursday is poker night--- and on the night of the Barflies' visit, it was Texas Hold'em Night, but the Barflies exercised fiscal restraint and did not head upstairs to partake in the games. But that option, the Ms. Pac-Man game by the door, the fava beans served as a bar snack, the impressive menu, the comfortable and tasteful barroom, and Gloria herself won over the Barflies. The Inner Bay rates an unequivocal 9.

Roll Call: Mr. Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot, Mr. Whiskey, Mr.Brew-haha

Mi Antojo

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 22:36:00 +0000

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

Union City Bar and Grill

noreply@blogger.com (mr.draft) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 21:38:00 +0000

New to the city bar scene (having been around for about nine weeks as of this writing), the Union City Bar and Grill, located in what-used-to-be the Main Event, on Union Street. The Union City Bar and Grill is ripe with potential...for good or evil. Let's start with the good: it is freshly redecorated, it has a spacious dance floor, a potentially romantic dining room, and some kick-ass deep-fried mozzarella. But there was no one to enjoy the new decor, no romancin' and no one dancin'. And only a couple of Barflies were scoffing the cheese. Mr. Draft engaged in a conversation with the cook, who assured him that reggae nights and other musical diversions would be soon coming.
Now for the evil...well, maybe, not really evil, but certainly misguided: other than the aforementioned personable kitchen personnel and five Barflies, the only other people in Union City were a sweet, 21-year old, mind-numbingly buxom barmaid (Sarah) and a chatty, lecherous old goofball customer (Kevin).
Now, if Union City were a sitcom, Sarah would be Suzanne Somers' Three's Company character, but with shorter hair and a fuller blouse. Kevin would be played by the bastard child of Cliff Claven and Barney Fife, with a little bit of Rush Limbaugh thrown in. As might be surmised, presidential politics was the conversational topic, and Sarah's naivety (she had concerns about Reverend Wright!) and Kevin's low key viciousness (complaining about New Bedford welfare "dregs") led to a heated debate, with Mr. Moonshine coming to the forefront as left wing spokesman for the left-leaning, Obama-supporting Barflies. In actuality, the spur-of-the-moment political banter made for an interesting time.
But, with a little planning and a lot of luck- especially in these dire economic times- the Union City will catch on...music, dance, a bit of a crowd....and the entertainment won't have to fall to Sarah and Kevin.
With due respect for the "newness" of the place and the audacity of hope for the Union City Bar and Grill's success, it gets a 5...with fingers-crossed.
Roll Call: Mr, Draft, Mr. Mix, Mr, 3BOES. Mr. Elixir, Mr. Moonshine