The Harp
163 Sunderland Rd., North Amherst
(413) 548- 6900
Open 7 days a week, 11 a.m.-1 a.m.
Entrées $5.95- $11.95
Perched on a small peninsula of lawn next door to Cowl’s Lumber on Sunderland Road, The Harp doesn’t look like much. A somewhat rickety house is home to the Irish pub, a destination for heavy drinkers as much as for people in search of a mellow evening out. The Harp is casual above all, and takes taking it easy very seriously.
The space is divided into two parts, each with a distinct vibe, and, seemingly, two distinct versions of “service”. The interior is pub-like and dark, plastered with beer ads. When we arrived, a small group of friends were seated on benches playing Irish tunes. The music, though it seemed authentic enough, was irritatingly loud inside. But despite the early hour and the grating jigs, the L-shaped bar was already surrounded by tired-looking folks nursing pints and half-heartedly watching games on one of several TV sets. Enticed by the lovely evening and the prospect of escaping the volume of the band, my friends and I chose to plant ourselves on the outdoor deck, where picnic tables were scattered along the unpolished floor.
The evening started off with a grouchy bartender who wouldn’t let my friend order a pitcher at the bar without seeing everyone’s IDs, and a waitress who had no patience with our leisurely ordering pace. But finally a crisp and budget-friendly pitcher of Narragansett appeared at our table.
Things began to look up when the food came streaming in. Our appetizer of fried calamari was surprisingly well executed, with just enough breading to give the chewy rings a complementary crunch. With a hit of lemon juice and a banana pepper aioli, the bite-size pieces made for a highlight of the meal. But the homemade New England clam chowder was disappointing, with far more potato than clam and an unpleasantly watery base.
Our entrées were equally unpredictable and inconsistent. The New Englander, a platter containing two hot dogs, baked beans and grilled New England brown bread, was pleasing in its familiarity, but not tasty enough to satisfy our desire for comfort food. The chewy dogs could have benefited from the flavor imparted by grilling, as could the right-out-of-the-bag buns. The beans were saccharine-sweet and lacked the nuance of spice that makes the dish famous in Beantown. Thank goodness for the grilled brown bread, still bearing the ridges of the can in which it had been steamed. Moist and well crisped on the outside, the cakey bread offered the classic flavors that the beans and dogs lacked.
The hamburger was a step down. The meat was rubbery, overcooked and unseasoned, and the color palette bored the eyed with no notable garnishes.
Costa Verde mussels, admittedly, was a stretch of an order at such an establishment. The garlic was overbearing with its near-raw sharpness drowning out the briny morsels. The linguica sausage was unnaturally pink and chewy to boot. Another strike.
But then there was the fish and chips. Oh, the fish and chips. There’s not much I won’t do for a basket of well-fried haddock and a plastic ramekin of tartar sauce, and this dish delivered. A beautiful golden coating encircled thick chunks of tender, flaky fish. The fries were addictively fat and crisp, and went down nicely with a second pitcher of Narragansett.
Our check took almost half an hour to appear after our meal, and the bartender didn’t shoot us a second glance as we filed out of the front door. The Harp harbors a bit of attitude, and maybe that’s part of its unadorned charm. Next time I’ll arrive with fewer expectations, sure of my order of flawlessly fried fresh seafood, and maybe with a few beers already down the hatch to give things a rosier glow.•
