There was no denying it: the last time the boys had gotten together for a night out, it had been a disaster.
It hadn’t always been the case. We’d been out before and things had ended civilly. Nothing to discuss later. No stories to live down or scratch your head about. But the last time the whole gang went out, it proved to be a mistake.
We’re talking insults, vulgar language and fighting. Drinks spilled. Glass broken. Bodies under the table. No tip could truly cover the devastation. And while the staff and fellow patrons behaved admirably with pre-fab grins, no one was sorry to see us go. My wife and I considered never attempting another such outing.
But the other night, out of the blue, our neighbors—braver than we—suggested trying again. Maybe tonight things would be different, they reasoned: nothing could be that bad twice. Maybe tonight we could get through a meal out with our kids: two five-year-olds and a three-year-old. Maybe—and this was testing all limits—maybe we’d enjoy ourselves.
We agreed, but decided to change venues. There are a number of watering holes in the area that serve dinner and have a kid’s menu in close proximity to their beer list. The mothers unanimously decided the Northampton Brewery would be a fine alternative.
For most of my adult life, I’ve lived in proximity to either the Northampton Brewery or its cousin in New Hampshire, the Portsmouth Brewery. That brewery on the seacoast was where—fifteen years ago—my wife and I agreed, over oysters on a half-shell and a couple of pints, to get hitched. We had a seat in the window, near the bar.
At the time, the place might not have made the list of our top three favorite hangouts in Portsmouth, but we went to the Brewery often. All the time, really. Same with the Northampton Brewery. The place became the favored default. It felt comfortable and the beer was always fresh and tasty. It was a hip enough place for young adults to have a satisfying meal out with their new in-laws.
Turns out, it’s also hip enough for middle-aged adults looking for a place to bring their only occasionally tolerable children out for a better-than-decent meal.
We went early, and noting the brood, the routinely amiable hostess strategically situated us in a more sequestered position in the dining room by the entrance. We crammed the boys into the long booth and corked them inside with an adult at the end. The two five-year-olds were separated by the three-year-old. Though our tables met a wall and it appeared the kids were effectively routed from exiting that end of the bench, we knew better. I sat near the wall, keeping alert for sub-table activity. We distributed a batch of recently acquired holiday toys and got down to the business of consulting the beer menus.
Our waiter paused momentarily when he came to our table, seemingly daunted. But the boys were subdued at the moment, and he rallied quickly. Patience, a positive attitude, and a commitment to a clean exit are the key ingredients in family restaurant success, and our waiter was a pro. He was able to sort out conflicting drink preferences between the kids while answering the adults’ beverage queries with precision and good humor. Drink orders in hand, he was gone.
Beer drinkers are spoiled in Northampton. Despite a wealth of great local brews, it’s easy to be beguiled by the variety of imported options available. Beer snobs like myself keep bars and package stores competing to offer wider and more interesting selections. Sometimes it’s good to drink from the local spigot. Fresh—without having to travel—is always the ideal state for any beer to be served, and there’s only one brewery in Northampton.
As I’ve heard the gentleman proclaim on recent radio advertisements, the brewer at the Northampton Brewery is himself also a fan of Indian Pale Ales. Whenever I’ve been there recently, there seem to be several new and interesting IPAs available—some guest beers, but many interesting variations brewed on premises. As a beer snob, I’m excited by this kind of thing, and so are my friends.
That night I tried the Juggernaut and another rye-based IPA that was a deep red in color. Both were heavily hopped. Juggernaut—as its name suggests and advertising promises (‘Find a hoppier local beer!’)—is extremely hoppy. It’s less alcoholic than its intense taste suggests: around 7 percent, I believe. It has a fresh, exhilarating aroma, but the flavor is loud and takes a few gulps before you get the swing of it. Jess’ Good Bye Rye P.A. had a muskier, low-key taste, still strong on hops but with more of a burnt sugar aftertaste. I’d asked for another Juggernaut, but the keg had kicked, and I ended up being glad for the quieter, more balanced beer.
Overall, the evening was more quiet and balanced than we had any right to expect. We all got through our meals happily—I had their Green Mountain bacon and cheddar burger, my wife had the mussels, our friends had fish, it was dogs and a burger for the kids—and, miraculously, we found ourselves still there when it was time to contemplate dessert. Here our service faltered slightly: business had picked up momentum and other people’s meals took precedence over our chocolate chip cookies a la mode. The boys got restless, but insurrection was averted with the arrival of sugar. They got their fixes in silence.
The check arrived shortly thereafter, and we made a clean escape. Calmly we returned home, safe in the knowledge that our children’s sucrose-induced high would peak in private. We’d be able to let our progeny explode in the sealed containment of their own bedrooms, where there would be minimal collateral damage. We all counted the evening a success.
