Down the shore
I stopped in last night at Megan’s Good Grub & Pub, Atlantic City’s first so-called “American gastropub.” It’s on the Boardwalk next to the huge empty lot where the Sands stood (and where the $1 billion Pinnacle casino was to be built till the economy took a dive).
The good news is the food is excellent. I had a plate of shrimp and grits ($13) that was outstanding. It reminded me of a dish of savory polenta, only nuttier. I’m going to ask Mrs. Sixpack to try her hand at it.
The place bills itself as a pub, but it has less warmth and character than a TGIFriday’s. It’s decorated with the kind of wacky decor that seeks to be ironic but comes off looking like the owner gave the company credit card to his girlfriend and sent her to the Rt. 70 Flea Market.
And the beer? It’s all crap on tap, which means they’ve likely cut themselves a nice deal on kegs. As for bottles: lots of Bud stuff, plus Magic Hat #9 and Sam Adams Boston Lager - nothing unusual there. Also, no Jersey microbrews, which means the distributor has his head up his ass.
But then it takes a weird turn: I actually had to ask the bartender what that bottle was behind the bar, next to the SNPA.
“Um, you mean the barleywine?”
“You’ve got Bigfoot Ale in bottles? Who the hell drinks barleywine on the beach?”
A closer look at the bottle lineup also revealed S.A. Imperial Stout and Ommegang Three Philosophers. That’s three bottles in the range of 10 percent alcohol.
When they’re still sitting there, untouched, 3 months from now, the owner’s going to say, “See, nobody drinks good beer at the shore.”
I finished up and headed down the Boardwalk to Firewaters (inside the Tropicana on the lower level near Hooters), where they’re serving no fewer than 4 German hefes on tap. Now, that’s beach beer.
Leave a Reply