E. Boston
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Drinks and Drinking
• E. Boston •
I love a drink.
I love it. I don’t need it. I don’t require it. But I thoroughly enjoy having a beer or a cocktail, wine or champagne — whatever fits the occasion.
So here’s to drinks and drinking! Salute! Sláinte! Na zdrowie! Prost! Opa! … And there’s that standard toast of my lovely wife’s that goes: “Yippekiyaymother—–!”
However you choose to toast, raise a glass and recognize yourself as an art lover. Yes, an art lover. Even though they’re mass-produced, over-regulated and grossly over-taxed, alcoholic beverages are works of art. The history, the variety, and the processes that have evolved over the ages to provide the myriad possibilities available for our consumption are a testament to our capabilities as humans. (Pardon me while I raise my glass and take a drink.) From foggy vineyards with their tannins and palates and the hoppy, malty, ever-expanding universe of beer and microbrews to the Spirits World: every country on earth, ground up, cooked and distilled something in order to provide warmth, refreshment, comfort… and possibly inebriation. Old-world divine inspiration continues with modern science.
As vital as the artistry of producing wine, beer and spirits is to their enjoyment, they are nothing without culture and camaraderie. Where do you go for a beer? On what day? What time of day? Who’s tending bar? What’s on special? What band is playing? The variables are algorithmic. Depending on what you’re in the mood for will help you decide where to go and what to drink.
I was a child in the ’70s growing up on the north side of Chicago. Chicago is 228 square miles, laid out in a grid. The 0-point is at the intersection of State Street and Madison Avenue. All addresses increase at a rate of 100 to a block or 1/8-mile. The city reaches 9600 north (12 miles), 8800 west (11 miles), 12700 south (16 miles) and 4000 east (5 miles, all on the south side). Where I grew up is in the 4200 North block of Moody Avenue, 6000 west. What the heck does all this matter? Take a drink with me and venture on.
It’s said there are 10,000 bars in Chicago. Research in the Yellow Pages reveals 2,823 bars, 2,537 taverns, and 7,426 restaurants. A total of 12,786 establishments serve beer and liquor within the city limits. Account for double listing and we’re still safely within 10,000. That is a “bar” of some kind every .02 square miles.
This is where I grew up.
There’s not a bar on every corner, more like every 3 to 5 blocks. We knew them as taverns and your dad was a regular at one of them. They’re neighborhood joints. Regulars knew each other and each other’s kids. Even if your friend lived a few blocks down, your dads might not know each other, as they went to different taverns. The taverns had coolers and sold beer carry-outs along with milk, bread, bacon and eggs. My Mom would send me down to the tavern for milk and eggs and to tell my Dad that dinner would be ready at six. Sometimes she’d tell me to ask the barmaid to have my Dad pick up the grocery tab when he came in. Occasionally, if he was down to his last $10 of pocket money before payday, such surprise charges were an issue.
Taverns had simple beer signs outside, Old Style usually. No Budweiser then in Chicago. Taverns went by the owner’s name: Pat’s or Teddy’s, or by colorful names like the Sandbox, Third Base or the Six Penny Bit. Many had no name at all; they were just there. Tap beers came in mugs or pilsner glasses. Bottles with 6 ounce glasses, always. Booze was served neat, in shot glasses. Highballs were common. Regulars worked somewhere: teamsters, construction, the trades, etc. My Dad was a fireman and jack-of-all trades on his off days. You put cash on the bar, paid per round, and if you went to the restroom or outside, nobody touched anything.
My first tavern memory is of my Dad bartending at the Sandbox. He wore a white dress shirt and an apron. I played the puck game where you spread sawdust and slid them down the wooden lane. Later it became Teddy’s. Each summer, Teddy hosted a barbeque picnic for all the regulars’ families. It changed hands again, but poor ownership and a changing crowd scattered the regulars. Many migrated six blocks east, and after a period of settling in, our corner tavern was the Cabaret. Regulars used the side door. Entering via the front door let in light and street noise and caused heads to turn.
While underage, I never tried to drink or buy beer at the Cabaret. It would have been sacrilegious. I was “Little Boston” until I was 21 and bellied up to the bar. Years passed as my Dad and I spent time there. We even remodeled part of the bar for them. I stopped there for an Old Style the day of his funeral. He had retired to Vegas and I’d moved to California, so it was some years since I’d been in. I knew only a couple of people, but the beer was ice cold. Now that I live here, I’ve come to love a new range of saloons.
Depending on the season, day, weather, your mood, or what you’re thirsty for, there’s always some place beachside to fit your fancy. Thankfully we have a smorgasbord available locally for our pleasure. I’m always up for expanding my horizons, but here’s a short list of some of my local favorites.
Downtown Cocoa Beach provides dual opportunities for seaside libations, but I’m usually up for a cold Busch at the Beach Shack. You could also swing by Heidi’s (or, as I call it “The Schnitzengroovin’”) for jazz and cocktails, and White Russian discussions are best held at Casablanca nearby. If you’re not hip to White Cubans, but interested, a small number of us can fill you in. Jonathan’s is a cool, dark oasis with fresh-squeezed screwdrivers and greyhounds and the Cocoa Beach Brewing Co. back across the street has the only fresh brews in town. Surfer’s Sports Pub is funky and friendly with an A-plus brew selection. Rum Runners and Time Out are always nice stops and Rick serves up fine cocktails in the cool lounge Fridays at the Double Tree, but I drink Guinness nowhere but Paddy Cassidy’s.
I do know this about Cocoa Beach: If one knows the spot and schedules it out, you can go to church, get a haircut and a tattoo, buy a cigar, stop into a gentlemen’s club and stroll to the beach for a cold beverage with a beautiful ocean and beach view, all within walking distance. What a town!
I raise my glass to you.
Cheers!
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