Formerly Piratz Tavern

Piratz Tavern, last seen getting some un-helpful aid from reality TV show Bar Rescue, is shutting down for good this weekend. Having eventually made good on my promise to give it another shot, I'm not too disappointed by that news, even if my second visit proved more pleasant that my first. The place was cleaner, service was quicker, the server remembered my orders (that seems like a low bar, but I was sitting at a table with fourteen other people, all working off separate checks), and the pirate-y banter was kept to a minimum. It may not have made for a great night out, but I didn't leave wondering what the hell I had just experienced, either.

The "if you don't like it, you can leave" arguments have persisted, among both staff and regular patrons. It's not a good look to cavil at this stage but self-restraint is not my strong suit and I'll never get this chance again: you shouldn't have to "just know" that most of the menu is best left ignored. And while a person may have a better time if they're willing to go with the flow until there's enough booze in their bloodstream that they can ignore the awkward interactions with the crew, it's not fair to expect anyone to know that going in. That is, you shouldn't have to show up tipsy in order to have a chance at a better time--it's not your cousin's dry wedding.

Lastly, the origin of "grog" is less appropriate than one might assume. It was named for a substance first brewed by the British Royal Navy (mortal enemies of pirates, basically) and introduced by Vice Admiral Edward Vernon, nicknamed "Old Grog" for the grogam coat he wore. Vernon started cutting his men's rum rations with water and lime juice to prevent spoilage as well as ongoing discipline problems among the men (and it was later found to prevent scurvy). Men who remembered the older, purer (and no doubt more satisfying) ration took to calling it "grog" and the name stuck long after those men were replaced by younger sailors with no memory of how good things used to be (scurvy-resistant though those new men were). Grog, then, is a slur for watered-down rum introduced by a well-meaning British naval officer. Not something I'd be eager to drink, but to each their own.

All that said, Piratz has gotten enough crap for wanting nothing more than to be a fun place to gather, with Bar Rescue being just its most public chapter. Looking back on that episode, I'm still not sure whether Jon Taffer was trolling the Piratz crew or whether, in attempting to air out the piratey-ness that he never quite comprehended, he had concocted the worst possible idea to turn the bar around. It's especially confounding when you watch other episodes of the show and see Taffer competently (if loudly) remaking bars without lurching from one gimmick to another. Or maybe having personal experience allows me a level of insight that I'll never be able to have with the few dozen other establish Bar Rescue has profiled. Corporate Bar was a thoroughly terrible idea--at least a Pirate gimmick is vaguely appealing.

Taffer sees bars as a money-making venture, full stop. Tracy Rebelo and her staff--along with their most faithful patrons--saw it as a place for fun. No gimmick was going to make the two sides understand one another. Cue reality television.

For my part, I'll never understand why a bar needs a gimmick at all. Its neighbor across the street never did, unless "noisy but with a good beer list" counts as a gimmick. But even if Quarry House never opens its doors again (and you can support them here), downtown Silver Spring is not losing its status as a bar haven. Because it never was one. It's a late-to-bed suburb with aspirations toward to an upscale nighttime destination. When its residents want to drink out, we take the minutes-long trip into the District. The bars lucky enough to survive here make a lot of coin as twenty-somethings become thirty-somethings and want to have their cake and eat it, too.

Goodbye, Piratz Tavern. You were never for me, but you never tried to be. You knew what you were and what you wanted to be, save for one brief, strange experiment. There's something admirable in that. I'll have a glass of (undiluted) rum in memory of that. And try to not remember all the other stuff.

Who Wants to Hang Out on Thursday?

Hey, everybody. I'll be reading live and in person at Upshur Street Books on January 22nd. That's tomorrow if you're reading this today, today if you're reading this tomorrow, and yesterday if you're reading this on Friday (in which case, you can ignore this and enjoy your weekend). We'll be starting around 7pm and going until they kick me out. Come talk with me, check out Nos Populus, and support a small, local bookstore. All in one crazy* Thursday night.

aois21 will also be in attendance, if you're a writer looking for some guidance.

Hope to see you there, hiding in the back, desperately hoping not to be noticed and called on to speak up or do something else potentially embarrassing, as I'm sure many of my readers will. That's how I'd approach it, anyway.

*The author will not be held responsible for the level of craziness to be found at the advertised event.

New Holland Night Tripper

I don't like coffee. The look I get when I tell people that is just about worth the near-constant caffeine-deficiency. "You've just had bad coffee," they tell me. "So have you," I sometimes reply. They shrug it off and tell me I'm wrong. Delusion brought on by addiction is a sad thing to witness.

But that said, context matters and sometimes the bitter coffee bean is more palatable. Desserts, obviously: tiramsu, ice cream. But what I love more than dessert (or, better yet, as a dessert) are stouts and porters, many of which have coffee bonded deep into their DNA. And I don't know if it's the thick body or the alcohol or the fact that it's cold enough when I'm drinking them that I just don't care, but they work in that context. I don't demand that all coffee rise to the heights of a Founders Breakfast Stout or, in this case, New Holland Night Tripper (both, coincidentally, Michigan-natives). But aiming for even a standard coffee stout-level experience would give Starbucks a lot more of my money (though probably a lot less of everybody else's).

Night Tripper pours that sexy none-more-black shade of black that's standard among the style only because nature cannot produce a darker color. It's topped off with a thick, tan head (yes, I read that, too).

There's little scent here, but given Night Tripper's coffee-heavy bent, it's probably for the best in terms of this review (if New Holland cares about my grade, which they almost certainly don't).

As I sometimes fear, the coffee is strong in this one. But, as stated, it works well here--allowing the beerier elements to stand and be counted while being just present enough to augment the favor, rather than dominate. It runs at 11.5% ABV, but doesn't taste it.

Heavy bodied, Night Tripper finishes dry and tantalizing, if not thirst-slaking (but, then, this is beer--it's not meant to do that). I find that stouts often leave the drinker with the sense that they'd like more, but don't need it. This continues the tradition.

Overall, a welcome addition to the style, even if it doesn't push any new boundaries (or perhaps especially because it doesn't). There are times when that's welcome and times when it's not. But a beer that does an ordinary thing to near-perfection usually is.

Grade: A-