In Boston, the greatest
season of them all is fall. No question about it. However,
some still harbor notions that other seasons just might
reign supreme. In doing so, they make outrageous claims
such as there’s nothing quite like a beautiful snow
fall in Boston during a winter’s eve (yet it’s
much too cold for much too long to enjoy even the lightest
dusting), or that the variety of activities the summer
offers is second to none (though most notable about summer
here is the humidity, the traffic heading out of town,
and the smell of rotting garbage everywhere), or that
the spring is, well, OK, not even the most recent Boston
transplant would argue for that particular season. So
inevitably that leaves autumn, the season of leaf peepers,
cool breezes, apple picking, corn mazes, and Halloween
(unquestionably the greatest holiday of them all) as the
one time that even I, the most crabby of crabs, the most
salty of saltines, the most boorish of bores can cherish
living in the city. And because the fall is so magically
delicious, I do my best to make the most of it.
One event on my fall calendar that
is becoming a tradition is The Pumpkin Beer Tour.
The tour emerged in 2005 as a way to combine my love of
the bar crawl with my predilection for seasonal brews.
Somewhat surprisingly, it was a raging success with lots
of revelers joining at one point or another through eight
venues and culminating in an outrageous climax of ‘80s
dancing before a live band at The Common Ground,
one of my favorite bars in Boston. Though the seasonal
brews were not quite as prevalent as we had hoped, it
made little difference as the event was so much fun that
as soon as summer was winding down this year, murmurs
were already being heard regarding a sequel. But unlike
the sophomore jinx that plagues music groups or the sequel
sinkhole that is ruining the motion picture industry,
The Pumpkin Beer Tour 2006 was a raging success
that tread new ground while holding fast to the same principals
of festive revelry, getting new groups of people together,
and celebrating the same gourd grandiosity that made 2005
so enjoyable. So, without further adieu, here is how everything
went down on Friday, October 6, 2006:
The first bar on the tour was The
Littlest Bar, a bar true to its name with a capacity
of 40 and as much history as any bar in town. Though there
had been rumours circulating for months that the bar was
in jeopardy of being shut down I didn’t believe
it. After all, I’d been by the place a number of
times in the summer and as far as I could tell it was
business as usual. Not so on this particular day. When
I arrived on my bike at 6:00pm sharp the place was shuttered.
Of course, I instantly went into a panic. I dashed across
the way to Kennedy’s then over to Sidebar
but no one was to be found. I quickly wrangled 50 cents
from the CVS and put a pay phone call into our
primary pumpkin contact and headmistress, Alexis. She
answered on the third ring. After I told her what had
happened she shrugged me off and told me to head on over
to the second bar on the list. Everyone would figure it
out. Of course! So I bid one final farewell to The
Littlest Bar saddened by the fact that some on our
tour would never get to see it in its glory and headed
on out to destination #2.
The second bar on tap was The
Beantown Pub. Before I even got in the door I knew
my luck was changing for the better. While attempting
to show the doorman my identification, a corny looking
couple interrupted me, propositioning said doorman for
some directions. “Where do we get some Boston baked
beans?” the bespectacled touron demanded. “You
can order ‘em here,” the burly busker retorted,
“We’ve got ‘em on our menu.” “No
you can’t, we checked earlier,” replied the
man’s goofy looking lover. The doorman then pointed
behind him at the menu, snatched my ID, and whisked me
through, sparing me any more absurdity from this know-it-all
pairing. Ahhhh, it was good to be out on the town!
Inside, I met up with Alexis, Kristen,
Doug, and Meg who had been squatting at a table and were
already plotting their nacho order and sipping their brewskies.
Pumpkin beer was not to be found so I went with the flow
and ordered a Samuel Adams Oktoberfest. In no time we
were joined by the rest of our crew who trickled in one
by one: Michelle, Anne, Christine, and Bill. Nine strong
we quickly got acquainted, sucked down a few more brews
(I added a Harpoon Oktoberfest to my belly), and left
the after work crowd behind. It was a good time as always
at The Beantown Pub but generally preferable
when you can snag a pool table for some tipsy masse action.
The sun now set we oozed along up
the hill past the state house and into The 21st Amendment.
On the way we got our first taste of Doug and Meg’s
post-engagement Tom-foolery. They huggied and kissied
under a street lamp as Meg left her bald fiancé
for some quality time with her Babson buddies, all male,
of course. Doug, however, didn’t let her leaving
bother him. He instead rolled up his sleeves, wrinkled
his brow, and got himself into a prime drinking frame
of mind. Oh yeah!
The 21st Amendment immediately
became our dinner location seemingly by default. The multi-pronged
waitress attack left us with no choice as we began barking
drink and sandwich orders at all angles. I, however, abstained,
saving myself for the supposedly newly revamped Red Hat
food menu. Alexis disappeared for a time searching for
a money machine while Michelle grew truly impressed with
the place. I noted that whenever I thought about a bar
that was a “real Boston bar” I always came
back to The 21st Amendment. Michelle knew were
I was coming from and was happy to be experiencing a new
set of bars she had never visited. Anne, it seemed, felt
the same way, and also had some ideas about adding headbands
or something with flair to our soccer uniforms. Meanwhile,
Bill and Christine were pouring back the brews at a furious
pace and beginning to get ever closer to one another at
the table. Kristen, in contrast, was just sitting back
and soaking it in, enamored by Doug’s constant proclaiming
that he would be calling the shots at his upcoming wedding.
I just smiled, sipped my Sam Oktoberfest, performed my
old standby magic routine, and beamed innocently unaware
that by Sunday a tipsy Doug would be asking me to “stand
up with him” at his wedding. Ahhh, The Pumpkin
Beer Tour…
Inside The Red Hat we were
greeted by the best waitress of the evening. She was cute,
she was speedy, she was nice, and best of all she threw
out some Pumpkinhead Ale beer coasters that had all of
us celebrating with gusto. At last we would have a pumpkin
beer! But things were not as they at first appeared. The
waitress informed us the pumpkin beer would actually not
be arriving until next week. You win some and you lose
some, I suppose, but so far we were 0 for 4. I settled
for another Oktoberfest and on the merits of that particular
brew really started to feel the inebriation set in. However,
instead of consoling my liquid dinner with some much needed
starch, I instead turned my attention to writing Chris
Corde some postcards on the back of beer coasters. Alexis
provided the stamps, Anne provided the address and info
on his baseball pants, and I provided some zingers about
Jim Leyland and Chris’s baseball fantasies. While
that was going on, Rebecca and Niels had already joined
us and were helping in the encrypting of my bizarre penmanship.
Rebecca’s school teaching background and hence expertise
in unusual and juvenile penmanship proved invaluable in
saving me some face. I was tipsy, sure, but perhaps my
penmanship really was that bad…
The pitchers consumed, we made a mad
dash out the door… but not before I managed to reach
my dirty hands into the popcorn machine and pulled out
a few kernals for the road. God, I love The Red Hat!
Outside Kristen bid us farewell with
a quick flash of her leopard print jacket liner. Purrrrrr.
Niels and Rebecca, likewise, went off into the night,
all three proving invaluable additions to an excellent
evening. Yet for the rest of us, things were far from
over.
Our next destination, The Hill,
proved our least enduring. We walked in, we sat down,
and then we walked right out. The waitress was as confused
as I was but it all made perfect sense. The Hill
is really a horrible bar with little if any personality.
I have never liked it and only included it on the tour
because it was on the way. So be it. Easy come, easy go;
and it’s not like we didn’t have other places
to go!
The sixth bar on the tour was Harvard
Gardens. This was the swankiest bar of the evening
and the only one where we did not take a seat. The bar
scene is always kind of interesting and the drinks pretty
tasty so everyone was instantly happy. After discovering
from the bartender that pumpkin beer was indeed on tap,
I dug deep and bought everyone a pint. Meanwhile, Meg
returned to the fold presenting her fiancé a slice
of pumpkin pie packaged behind tight fitting plastic.
Doug oogled the pie eventually breaking down and licking
the whipped topping. In the background, Christine described
one time getting felt up by a gay man while Anne worked
her social magic with a group of Chris’s baseball
team. “She’s just helping Chris move up in
the batting order,” came Michelle’s witty
description of the scene. Unfortunately, Michelle only
really got in on that action at the end and only when
Anne introduced her to the dorkiest guy of the bunch.
Thanks for nothing! Alexis giggled and gossiped, Doug
continued lusting over the pie, and Bill got smoochie
with Christine whose breasts were now “up”
and in proper guy satisfying position. Resting my arm
if not my entire body on the high counter, I was plain
drunk and biding my time patiently before the pizza feast
I was planning in the deepest recesses of my mind.
Bar #7 was The Beacon Hill Pub.
A cross between The Mos Eisley Cantina from Star
Wars and just about every college bar you have ever
been The BHP is almost like a movie so bad its
good. Unfortunately, sometimes it is also so bad it’s
bad. This was one such night for the latter. After drinking
maybe half a Michelob Amber Bock (which gets my award
for most underappreciated cheap brew of all-time) and
getting stymied admission to the Hoop-It-Up basketball
machine, we ambled up Charles Street to our final destination
of the tour: The Sevens.
The Sevens is a great place
to hang out, socialize, throw some darts, and monopolize
the jukebox. I have never had a bad time there and love
reflecting on life whenever I find myself within its cozy
confines. Like clockwork, we miraculously found ourselves
a table and got to the schmoozing. Even more miraculously,
we had our biggest score of the night when the waitress
informed us that yes, they did have pumpkin beer. Eureka!
While the beer was going down, the quips slung back and
forth and Bill and Christine got closer and closer to
needing protection right there at the table. In all the
confusion and pandemonium Doug and I waddled next door
to Nino’s for some pizza.
“I need every slice of pizza
you have left!” I demanded at the confused counter
help. And every slice I did receive, which included 15
slices in my hands and twenty fewer dollars in my wallet.
But as I used to happily proclaim, “you can’t
put a price on fun,” and when that pizza arrived
next door our pumpkin beer loving crew ravaged it like
leopards pouncing a freshly killed gazelle. While Alexis
would later claim the pizza was “just OK,”
I begged to differ and licked my fingers with glee savoring
every mouthful.
And when all was said and done, so did everyone else,
bringing a bold, beautiful, and breathtaking conclusion
to another wondrous event.
Long live The Pumpkin Beer Tour!
Long live Boston!
And long live fall, my favorite New
England season!
Tonight’s Final Statistics:
7 Beers consumed (Samuel Adams Oktoberfest,
Harpoon Oktoberfest, Michelob Amber Bock, Unknown Pumpkin
Brews!)
2 matching tiny brown velour jackets worn by Michelle
and Anne
5 postcards mailed to Chris Corde
100 dollars washed away into the night
Song of the Night: The Killers – All These Things
That I Have Done |
