WFTFT

I left Downtown Wine and Spirits and walked up through the slush back towards the T. I made a mental note of sticking to the side of the street with The Burren on it in an attempt to avert any further involvement with Jim and Kumar for the evening. With any luck they would still be down in Underbones harassing the Dogfish people. Unfortunately, lady luck was not smiling.

“Hey, you fucking chooch,” Jim yelled from the other side of Elm Street. I looked about quickly to see if there was a darkened doorway to duck in to, but Jim was already striding across the street, mindless of the traffic, and had me by the collar. “Get over there and pull Kumar out of that joint, he’s got my keys” Jim shouted, pointing to where he had yelled at me from, the Joshua Tree facade. Lord, that was the last place I wanted to be.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I stammered, “why don’t you just go in there and get him yourself? I’m done for the night,” I said as Jim politely dragged me over to the Joshua Tree.

“They said I’d had enough for the night, and then they go and let frigging Kumar in who was practically comatose,” Jim raged. I peered through one of the long glass windows that fronted the place but could make out very little because of the condensation that had formed on the inside. A thumping bass sound vibrated through the glass. I turned to Jim to argue with him, but it was then that I noticed he was wearing a Dogfish t-shirt as a DoRag. I decided I was better off inside with Kumar than outside with Jim.

I found Kumar propped up against the large, rectangular bar that overwhelmed much of the place, his back to me as I ascended the slightly inclined ramp up the hallway from the door, stamping off the street’s grime as I went. Kumar barely noticed me as I joined him on his left, a motley crew of students to his right snickering at some inside joke. Good thing Jim isn’t in here, I thought. Kumar had a full pint of something in front of him and I gave the 24 taps a quick scan: many of the local usuals like Harpoon, Sam Adams, along with some macro-swill. I spied a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale handle and ordered one of those from one of the fairly attentive bartenders, along with some waters for both Kumar and I. A food menu was lying on the bar and it didn’t take any time to see that it was the usual pub fare, with an attempt to gussy it up with some pasta dishes, but nothing more. The pint came expeditiously, and without Jim around and Kumar out of it, I found it easy to take in my surroundings.

A deejay was playing some pounding crap over the PA system, while four flat screen televisions were hoisted up on the walls with a projection screen in the back of the place. It looked like you could seat about 27 comfortably at the bar. In the front area, that which I had tried to peer through from the street, were a number of tall tables with chairs to look cool sitting at in the summer when the windows are opened, and probably good for people watching, but not recommended for a brew-drinker of any quality. The back had booth seating and a shelf along the left wall made a good place for standing with a pint when crowded. That wasn’t necessary at this late hour, and in this weather. The painted black exposed ductwork and trendy hanging lamps gave the place an ominous feel, while the worn wooden floors and an exposed brick wall on the right were the only comforting aspects of the entire establishment.

Along with Kumar and I and the sniveling group on the right, there was maybe fifteen other people in the place with us. Still, it was a mixed grill of men and women and the animale were well into their dance of a thousand snakes. Definite meat-market, most of it spoiled and rotten, flies buzzing about ravenously. The only reason I could think of for coming here was maybe to ditch folks not interested in beer to run around the corner to The Burren or Redbones, but nothing else. I had to get out of there. I polished off my pint, hoisted Kumar up, and fled outside to find Jim across the street talking with the bouncers at The Burren in their long hallway, their voices rising. I couldn’t believe our luck, but didn’t think twice about it as we scuttled down Elm Street, Kumar limping along behind me in a daze, Jim’s keys in his coat pocket.

What a relief it was to enter the warm confines of Downtown Wine and Spirits. Having just left the maniacal Jim and somewhat stuporous Kumar at Redbones, it was pleasant not to be in a position of needing to constantly look over my shoulder and run interference for them.

Downtown Wine and Spirits has undergone a transformation, some might argue Kafkaesque (I being one of them), over the years. With new management taking over the place some time ago, there seems to be less space for fine brews. Of course, I had been coming here since back in 1996 when I lived in the Davis Square area for a number of years, pre-Joshua Tree, Diesel Café, and the ubiquitous Starbuck’s. Perhaps it is all just a matter of reconfiguring shelves, but there is at least one less aisle of bottles with the new layout. Nonetheless, Downtown is part of the Davis Square Bermuda triangle comprised of Redbones and The Burren; it is an area in which you can find yourself lost in a short period of time if you are careful enough.

There seem to be three distinct areas of the store. Ignore the first two of liquor and wine and walk to the left and back of the store upon entering. Here is where the good stuff is. Immediately in front are a rack of bombers that include offerings from the following: Cisco, Allagash, Stone, Rogue, Berkshire, McNeill’s, Bear Republic, Anchor, and Stoudt’s. There are also nice displays of the Smuttynose Big Beer series, Ommegang, and the full Unibroue line. To the immediate left of these displays are the domestic micros in two walls of coolers and two island shelves of unrefrigerated offerings between them. Among those represented: Stone Cat, Weyerbacher, Dogfish, North Coast, Brooklyn, Geary’s, Paper City, Smuttynose, Otter Creek, Casco Bay, and others. The coolers were filled with the like, some imports, and sixers and cases of macro-schwill that I didn’t bother to look at. On the immediate right of the aforementioned bombers are two long shelves of imports, with many countries receiving their fair share of space. Of note were: the Hitachino line including the 2004 Anniversary, Gose, Harvest editions 1997-2001 inclusive, the Trappistes Rochefort and St. Bernadus lines, Chimay, Corsendonk, Sam Smith’s, Young’s, Fuller’s, and other items often only found at nearby NERAX, which is when the triangle becomes a deadly quadrangle.

In the greater Boston area, Downtown ranks right up there with the Marty’s in Allston, and Charles Street Liquors as must-stops. On this evening I didn’t pick anything up as I’d consumed enough already, and was hell-bent on nothing slowing me down on my return trip to the subway. Little did I know what lay ahead of me.