1741 Reviews
Downtown St. John’s, where the Rock really rocks. With all the bars, bistros, pubs, public houses, taverns and trattorias from which to choose, what’s a simple mainlander like myself to do?* I have one word for you. Or is it two words? Ok, it’s two words but together...
Last time I was in St. John’s I walked the Rock for 30 minutes to Bannerman’s on a cold rainy night, passing a number of lively pubs on the way, only to realize that I had missed last call. Talk about cranky. But just like a wasted away Jimmy in Margaritaville,* I...
Experiencing a few of the seven deadly sins* may have you temporarily in seventh heaven,** but eventually it doesn’t matter how many sevens you roll, your luck will run out. Having seven 7’s would definitely qualify you for one of the sins, but I think (hope) I am...
Ever get thinking while you’re drinking? Me too. Some days it seems like it’s all oysters and no pearls. I got thinking that it’s high time I was due for a pearl. But be careful what you wish for. In Steinbeck’s “The Pearl” Kino finds the pearl of his dreams, but it...
After an afternoon playing golf with Mr. Mulligan* during which the heat was not beat, I needed an icy cold brewski to banish the triple bogey blues. I came to a cold and crushable conclusion, a sleek slim silver can of Cool Beer in my cooler, as cold as a walk on the...
The old fella on the can is engaged in a heated Pickleball* volley. A Shake and Bake with a spin and a smash, no holds barred and no prisoners taken. A Chainsaw serve followed up with a Nasty Nelson that leaves you in a Chicken Wing and next thing you know you the...
It’s the first of September and we know what that means don’t we. It means October is only 30 days away and we know what that means, don’t we. Ommpahpah ear worms, lederhosen rashes, and festbier festering. Yes, Oktoberfest looms large. Our friends at Something in...
Brit: I took a stroll down the promeh-gnawed and there was an add-vert-ess-ment for a herb scon with a choice of eye-thur bah-sil or toe-mat-oh. Yank: I took a stroll down the prome-nayed and there was an adver-ties-ment for a erb skown with a choice of ee-thur...
Back in the early 50’s if someone called you Comrade or a Red and old Joe McCarthy heard about it, your ass was grass.* Frank’s Old Comrade is a red ale, but that doesn’t make it a communist beer, does it? Me, maybe I’m a columnist, but I was never accused of being a...
Here’s the thing. I have had an ongoing struggle with vanilla in beers, and most of the time I wish they would just extract it. When it comes to brewing with the fickle beans, subtle is the approach that wins the day. Enter Rorschach’s Decadence series. The word...