Blue Collar Trumps the Blue Bloods in East Boston

Santarpio’s
111 Chelsea St.
East Boston, MA



Santarpio’s is a slice of blue collar Boston at its most sincere.

Gruff no-nonsense waitresses.

Heavily tattooed patrons in wife-beaters.

The grill man barking orders in an unvarnished Boston accent.

And Suit757 in a suit killing time at the bar before my flight out of Logan.

Yeah, I stand out like a guy in a Derek Jeter jersey in the Fenway bleachers.

But that’s okay. I’m used to it.

Besides, I had heard that Santarpio’s served the best pizza in Boston.

I have to admit, I was a bit skeptical. I mean, Italians run this city.

Literally.

Tom Menino has been Mayor of Boston for the past decade.

Some of the greatest Italian restaurants outside of Sicily can be found in Boston’s famed North End.

And the blue blood refined palette of this city of the overly-educated demands all sorts of gourmet cuisine -- pizza being no exception.

So am I really to believe that the best pizza in the entirety of the Boston Metro area is served here?

At this dive bar located in what has devolved into a Third World neighborhood where the language on the street is more likely to be Spanish than either Italian or English?

But once I stepped into the dark interior of Santarpio’s it was like I was transported to another time and place.

The sweet smell of charcoal and grilling meat greeted me like an old friend.

Right next to the front door, an old guy was turning Italian sausages and lamb and steak skewers on a grill over an open flame.

Immediately recognizing me as one of those adventurous out-of-towners looking for Boston’s best pizza, he greeted me and invited me to find a seat at the bar.

“Whacha drinkin?”

The decidedly less friendly -- but efficient -- waitress slid me a Miller High Life while I perused the menu.

There wasn’t much to it.

Barbeque and pizza.

That’s it.

Of course by barbeque, they don’t mean Carolina pulled pork.

Barbeque at Santarpio’s is meat barbequed over that charcoal grill by the front door.

That smelled too delicious to pass up, so I ordered a link of sausage as an appetizer.

The perfectly char-grilled tube of meat came with some sinus clearing hot peppers on the side and a
big hunk of Italian bread.

Dense, peppery and soulful, the kiss from the flame made this one of the best sausages this self-proclaimed sausage connoisseur has ever tasted.

Unfortunately, the pizza only comes in one size -- large. Especially for one suit who just ate a quarter pound of grilled meat.

But there was no way I could come to Santarpio’s without trying the famous pizza.

My garlic, sausage and peppers pizza smelled like heaven.

Chewy in some spots and crispy in others, the crust was charred brown by the oven with bubbly pockets all around its circumference.

The garlic, oregano and green peppers packed a massive flavor wallop. So much so that the sausage seemed to disappear.

Literally.

Buried under the cheese, garlic and peppers, it was hard to tell if the sausage was even there.

Being a meat-in-every-bite kinda guy, I was a little disappointed with the scarcity of sausage.

The other quibble I had with Santarpio’s pizza was the texture.

Limp and messy, this is the kind of pizza you have to eat with a knife and fork -- at least until you get within a few inches of the crispy outer crust.

That’s kind of a bummer.

Somehow pizza just doesn’t taste as good when you can’t lift the whole slice to your face as God intended.

But those are minor complaints. Overall, this is darn good pizza.

Apparently lots of people agree.

Within minutes of bellying up to the near empty bar, Santarpio’s began to fill up shoulder-to-shoulder with regulars sporting thick Boston accents.

George Zimmerman, lottery ticket strategy and the Red Sox (of course) were the primary topics of conversation.

One old guy in a plain white tank-top sat down next to me with his significant other.

Clearly, he was a regular.

Clearly, she was not.

“I’ll take a cranberry vodka” she said.

The waitress shot back in a thick Boston drawl, “We don’t have no cranberry juice. Or any juice, for that mattah.”

“Ok. I’ll take a screwdrivah.”

“Did ya heah me? No juice!”

When the waitress hurried away to take care of more decisive patrons, the wife beater guy scolded her, “I told ya, don’t piss hah off!”

Little miss prissy let out an audible sigh, “Fine. Just give me a watah then.”

The waitress was much friendlier to me.

Glancing at my half eaten pizza, “You wanna box for that, hun?”

“No thank you. Just take it away,” I said after I couldn’t take another bite. “Where I’m going, I can’t take it with me.”

It was a damn shame too.

Next time I’ll bring some help along with me so none of that pizza will go to waste.

So does Santarpio’s really serve the best pizza in Boston?

Not that I’ve tried every pizza in The Hub, but I kind of doubt it.

But Santarpio’s is still worth the stop on the way to Logan for good pizza, the best “barbequed” meat in the city and a true slice of Boston blue collar authenticity you sure won’t find on Beacon Hill.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt

The Publick House Won’t Let You Down

The Publick House
1648 Beacon St.
Brookline, MA




In case you haven’t noticed, as Suit757, I get around. I’ve been to some of the coolest bars and restaurants in all 50 states.

So you’re probably wondering, “Suit757, don’t you ever get a bit jaded about all these exciting places to eat and drink?”

And I have to admit, there is a bit of that “been there, done that, bought the shirt” mentality that can seep into my road weary consciousness. (I have an entire closet full of t-shirts.)

But there are still a few places in America I get excited about.

REAL excited.

I’m talking school-girl-at-a-Justin-Bieber-concert excited.

Deprive-myself-for-24-hours-in-advance, pack-a-supervalue-pack-of-BC-Powders and clear-my-schedule-the-following-morning kind of excited.

The Publick House in Boston gets me THAT KIND of excited.

The dark candle-lit Old World ambiance of this place and world class beer selection make it a premiere destination for serious beer drinkers.

Not “I’ll take something that tastes like Blue Moon” beer drinkers.

I’m talking REAL SERIOUS beer drinkers.

The best beers brewed on Planet Earth. Beers you can’t find anywhere else. Poured into appropriate glassware specifically designed for each beer.

Beers like Houblon Chouffe, Piraat and Gulden Draak, my three favorite beers from Belgium – a proud specialty here at The Publick House.

Belgian beer tastes different from beer brewed anywhere else in the world.

Usually well balanced between hops and malt, Belgians typically let the alcohol and yeast shine through with a sweet fruity taste.

The Publick House is so famous for its wide selection of draft Belgian beer, that it really is obligatory to begin with one.

My Houblon Chouffe looked beautiful sparkling in its specially designed glassware in the fading twilight. Crisp and refreshing, but with a powerful 9% alcohol punch, it slid right down.

Despite the “Dobbelen IPA” label on the Houblon Chouffe glass, this Belgian is smoother and less hoppy than its more aggressive American Double IPA brethren. It may claim the IPA label, but Houblon Chouffe is still a Belgian at heart.

As if to test my theory, I moved on to the American microbrew portion of The Publick House beer menu next and ordered a double IPA called “Mongo” brewed by up-and-coming San Diego brewery, Port Brewing.

Now that’s a hoppy kick in the pants!

The Publick House is known for its fresh Belgian beer on draft, but sometimes a bottle-conditioned Belgian can be ever better.

So I opted for a Belgian classic, St. Bernardus Abt 12, a dark but fruity 10.5% alcohol package of liquid heaven.

After three high potency beers, I desperately needed something to line my empty stomach.

While I’m sure the rest of the food on The Publick House’s menu is delicious, I’ll never know. That’s because I always get the famous gourmet mac and cheese made with five types of Belgian cheeses melted into a crock full of orrechetti pasta.

I occasionally wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat dreaming of this dish.

Best of all, you can add meat, seafood or vegetables to your mac and cheese for a truly over-the-top dish of comfort food.

Most folks pick one add-on.

But not Suit757.

Maybe it was the three near double-digit alcohol beers on an empty stomach, but I just couldn’t decide.

Top notch bacon? Andouille sausage? Caramelized onion?

“What the hell. Give me all three!”

My waitress looked a bit stunned as she scribbled my order and tallied all my extra add-ons.

I have to admit, her reaction gave me a bit of buyer’s remorse.

Would it be too much meat? Too greasy? Too over-the-top?

Would it be worth nearly twenty bucks for a modest-sized crock of college student fare?

When she slid my steaming mound of gooey cheese, meat and pasta under my nose, all those apprehensions disappeared into the night.

Worth. Every. Penny.

Holy St. Bernardus!

This was one of the most fantastic dishes that has ever graced my taste buds.

The melty cheese and noodles were luxurious. The bacon added a smoky essence to every bite while the andouille sausage contributed a zesty kick of spice.

Best of all, the caramelized onions balanced everything with a sweetness that elevated this dish to the Comfort Food Hall of Fame.

I knew I needed a special brew to accompany my self-created masterpiece.

Something smoky and sweet and savory, just like my gourmet mac and cheese.

I found my answer deep in the bowels of The Publick House six page beer menu.

Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier Urboch.

Translation: Kick-ass German smoked beer!

Yes. The beer is smoked.

Well, the malt in the beer is smoked, more specifically.

If you are a beer connoisseur looking to try something different, you have to try a good German rauchbier like Schlenkerla Urboch.

Like smoked country sausage in bottle, rauchbiers are almost exclusive to the German town of Bamberg – and The Publick House, luckily for me.

My first whiff as I poured this dark beer into my glass instantly brought me back to some long ago Boy Scout camp fire.

Unlike some American smoked beers I’ve experimented with in the past, this real deal German smoked beer doesn’t skimp on the smoke.

It’s like drinking a pack of Marlboros. But in a good way.

And the perfect compliment to my bacon and sausage studded mac and cheese.

At this point in the evening, it was WAY past the point of time to retire to my hotel room.

Then I remembered that I was taking public transportation this evening.

Transporting my drunk ass back to my hotel room is one of the few good uses I can imagine for massive taxpayer subsidized enterprises like Boston’s venerable “T”.

“Hey, this is MY piece of the bailout,” I rationalized to myself as I perused the menu for one good night cap.

Sensing a rapidly approaching law of diminishing returns, I knew I should tone down the exotic flavor and high alcohol for something my altered palate could still appreciate.

So I opted for a classic German pilsner, Kulmbacher Edelherb Premium Pils, served on draft in a traditional glass German stein.

American mass-produced watered down light beers like Miller Lite claim the “pilsner” label, but that’s like referring to SPAM as an ethnic delicacy.

Kulmbacher is what a pilsner REALLY tastes like.

Crisp and dry, with a nice hop kick, it was a perfect ending to one of the greatest beer drinking experiences of my life.

As I stumbled through the Brookline darkness to the Green Line station a block or two away, I had a big sudsy smile on my face.

Despite all the build up, excitement and anticipation, my evening at the world famous Publick House lived up to my heightened expectations.

Exceeded them, in fact.

That’s what makes The Publick House a true “bucket list” destination for serious beer drinkers the world over.

So I’m telling you. If you love beer like I do, get here now. Plan your vacation around it.

Even the most jaded among us won’t be let down.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Beat Down in Boston

Parish Café
361 Boylston St.
Boston, MA





Wow. That sandwich kicked my butt.

That doesn’t happen very often to Suit757.

Sandwich 1. Suit757 0.

Like a proud eating Marine, I never leave food behind. But I’m convinced there is no human alive who could finish this lunch.

“The dbar” was at least a full pound of breaded, fried veal cutlet topped with bacon, drippy, melted gruyere cheese, tomatoes, capers and smothered in a mustardy remoulade sauce on a crunchy baguette.

It was unbelievably good.

Just lifting the gooey mess off my plate and opening my jaws wide enough to take a bite was challenge enough.

The crunchy deep fried baby cow was tender and delicious – especially covered in melty cheese and enough condiments to demand a stack of extra napkins.

My “dbar” sandwich was named after a bar in Dorchester, whose chef, Chris Coombs, invented this decadent monstrosity.

That’s the shtick here at Parish Café.

The menu lists a dozen or so sandwiches created by gourmet chefs from all over Boston.

Eating lunch at Parish is like attending an all-star game for sandwiches.

You can get a gourmet BLT. An over-the-top steak and cheese. Even a $35 bacon lobster roll.

It’s like show-and-tell for kitchen show offs. Boston’s best chefs try to top each other in culinary creativity.

If your sandwich for the gods still isn’t enough for you, Parish also offers a nice selection of appetizers and local microbrews.

I opted for a Trinity IPA brewed down I-95 in Providence, Rhode Island. With a nice hoppy kick, it complimented the kaleidoscope of flavors in my lunch perfectly.

As if all that wasn’t enough, my sandwich came with cole slaw AND homemade potato salad.

For some unknown reason, I decided what I really needed was an order of onion rings too.

Thank goodness I got the “half” order.

Thick and crunchy in a scratch-made beer batter, these were top notch onion rings, especially dipped in the accompanying homemade chipotle aioli.

I made it about three quarters of the way through my sandwich before the piles of meat, cheese, bread and gourmet condiments finally took their toll.

Sweating under the noonday summer sunshine on Parish’s sidewalk patio, I really WANTED to finish every last bite.

But I couldn’t.

I have to admit, I felt like a failure.

Suit757 doesn’t fail at lunch very often. In fact, it’s one of the things I’m pretty good at (along with beer drinking and avoiding airport naked scanners).

Looking around the patio at all the other suits enjoying their gourmet lunch, I couldn’t help but feel a bit envious.

Can you imagine having a lunch place this good within walking distance of your office?

Of course if I ate here every day for lunch I’d need gastric bypass surgery.

Definitely an “I deserve this today” special occasion lunch spot.

You know, to celebrate a big account, a major victory, Barney Frank’s retirement from Congress.

Or just another stop on my Suit757 itinerary.

But there would be no victory for Suit757 today.

Like a pair of inept Chinese badminton players, I felt a profound sense of shame.

I let my country down.

But unlike those badminton players, I will live to fight another day.

I’ve just got to regroup. Refocus. Prepare for the next meal.

Sounds good.

Hmmm. So where are we going for lunch tomorrow?

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Coasting in Celebration

Celebration Town Tavern
721 Front Street
Celebration, FL

Alcohol: several beers on tap
Hours: 11 AM-2 AM, Sunday 10 AM-2 AM
Food: New England-style pub food

One underrated thing in a restaurant is clarity of purpose.

After all, people are rarely in the mood for "a gloppy mishmash of different concepts smashed together."

You can be in the mood for a greasy spoon, or a Italian, or for barbecue, but not usually for a place that makes half-hearted attempts to be several things.

That's not to say fusion's bad -- one of the better places I've been lately was a place called Draft Barn, with 22 beers on tap, 140 in bottles and most of the food is Hungarian-influenced.

The main soup on the menu is goulash, and the signature dish is the Draft Barn Burger, which is a half-pound cheeseburger with Hungarian sausage on it.

Unfortunately, my cell phone (with its camera) died mid-meal, so a review of that particular establishment is going to have to wait.

Instead, I'll review the Celebration Town Tavern, which variously bills itself as a sports bar, a family restaurant and a Boston seafood joint, none convincingly.

I went to the place with a large group, so there was a wait as they pulled our tables together.

So I got a beer at the bar outside with a couple other people.

There were only five beers on tap at the bar outside, but the bartender could only tell me that one of them, Celebration Ale, was "really strong" and that she didn't like it.

She fetched a sample, but only after I'd already ordered a Guinness, which was a pity, because it was actually pretty good.

Shortly thereafter, our party was seated, and I discovered the Boston theme in the menu.

Being in the same town as Disney, there were several touristy places on the same public square, along with outdoor ice skating and people movers that looked like trains, I had certain expectations as to carrying out a theme.

It would make sense for it to be Boston to the hilt, featuring a host dressed up as Tip O’Neill telling incoming patrons that we’re all friends after six. . .

. . . or at least Wally the Green Monster.

At least have the servers speak in a bad faux-Boston accent.

Or have more than a handful of the "99 bottles of beer on the wall" be from New England.

Maybe serve some Long Trail or Shipyard, neither of which made their cut, while numerous microbrews from other parts of the country were on the list.

After all, if a place is flying its seafood in from Ipswich, MA, it should play up the New England connection a wee bit more than just putting the baked beans in these weird pots I've never actually seen in New England.

Since I wasn't in the mood for seafood, I ordered the blackened prime rib sandwich.

The bread had about a perfect crusty to chewy ratio, and the cheddar cheese on it was sharp.

The blackening on the meat was also good, and it was otherwise tasty, but there was a slight problem: thin-slicing.

I don't know of many people who want thin-sliced prime rib -- I, Suit603, prefer a nice, thick cut of meat.

It would have been much better if they'd sent it out as a half sandwich with the same amount of meat on it.

As for the fries, they really weren't very good, and their tastiness waned rapidly as they cooled, kind of like McDonalds.

And then the place describes itself as a family restaurant, and it’s just way too much of a sports bar to really fit that description.

All in all, there's potential here, and they do some stuff well, but they need to improve the execution to be worth going back to.

It feels like they're just coasting on out-of-towners.

Rating: Wouldn't Wear the Shirt if They Paid Me.