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All the World's a Pub
My weekends start to stretch from Thursday through Monday.
By Hannah Wallace
Since discovering Shakespeare’s (the pub on Osprey, not the playwright) wondrous “Around the World Beer Club” in December, I’ve had trouble rousing the troops to join me there. But drinking every kind of beer in the place to join that hallowed club is my New Year’s resolution, dammit, and I’m not giving up that easily. (However, pursuing this goal on my own would, I believe, be a mistake.) Finally, last Thursday I’d set my mind on a post-work pint and a crock of cheese dip, and I kidnapped our copy editor, Megan, (and fellow Stetson alum) to keep the turn of tippling with me.
BITTER & TWISTED: A beer much like me among Shakespeare’s 80 selections.
BITTER & TWISTED: A beer much like me among Shakespeare’s 80 selections.
Then I convinced another beer-drinking buddy to come with me again on Saturday (hey, I’m making up for lost time). That evening started off with Shakespeare’s nastier selections—i.e. the wheat beers (Blue Moon tastes like bologna to me, and I will brook no other interpretations)—and ended with cheese fries. Good times.
Twelve beers down; 68 more to go.
Between those two caloric extravaganzas, Friday a group of us girded our humble wallets to treat ourselves to a meal at Selva Grill. We made New York-style dinner reservations (that is, we couldn’t get in until 8:45), but the beef ceviche and duck with a beer-infused risotto (I feel like Judi Gallagher all of a sudden) were well worth the wait. I spent the meal crouched over my plate muttering, “Holy crap, this is good.”
Selva’s owner, Darwin Santa-Maria, came out to greet us during dinner—apparently my buddies Big J and Little J know him through their jobs at a Sarasota contracting company. And as it turns out, our other dinner companion has a…well, let’s just say, close connection to another successful downtown restaurateur. I guess I wasn’t as far removed from downtown’s in-crowd as I’d thought.
From Selva we hiked up to Esca, and I’d love to know what was up with the jackasses in that crowd. First off, some random guy jokingly accosted Big J—who did not come about his nickname lightly (heh); the man used to be a bouncer. With a large angry man in his face, said random guy soon regretted that attempt at entertainment. And as for the sideburned little weasel who approached me—at 1:45, while I was in line for the damn ladies’ room—to tell me I looked manly? Dude, if I hadn’t needed to pee so badly, I would’ve ripped that earring out of your lip and used it to disembowel you.
Manlier than you, certainly.
Anyway, Mama always used to say, “Don’t end your blog angry,” so I’ll happily note that Mama and I, along with the Asolo’s other stage manager, ended the weekend (er, started the week?) on a lovely note with a Monday-night outing to the Bahi Hut. Mai tais with Mom make everything right in the world.
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