If you asked me last week about this place, my opinion would be quite different. By Sunday evening my mind was changed. By late Sunday evening, my opinion was going south again. I’ve leveled out a little and decided to give this place some time.

My quaint little town of Hamilton needs two things … more bars and less buttholes. Blue Smoke is a new bar/restaurant down the street from where I live. New bar, same old buttholes. The good thing is that it’s close. From my back yard I can probably drive a golf ball through their back door. I can walk there. And it’s close enough to the Black Cow and the Weathervane if I tire of the place.

The Blue Smoke sign has been up at the Hamilton Crossing center for months. They finally opened. I was researching this place and discovered Blue Smoke is somewhat related to Cala’s Restaurant in Manchester. I’ve never been there, but at least their website is cooler. A little heavy on the Flash vector graphics. But at least they put some thought into it. Blue Smoke’s lame web site mentions something about Alchemy in Gloucester. I’ve never heard of Alchemy until recently. I don’t cruise to Gloucester that often, but when I do I hang at Madfish Grille (overpriced mediocre food, but cute girls and great bands), Old Timer’s, Crow’s Nest, or Jazzy Joe’s. My friend was part owner of the Harbor House in Gloucester, but I have yet actually go there.

Anyway, my first impression of Blue Smoke was complete, yet controllable, rage! Blue Smoke opened on Tuesday, August 21st, 2007. I heard they had some sort of “soft opening” party the previous Saturday. How I wasn’t on the guest list is beyond me. So I try going there on there opening night. I assumed it would be busy.

I walk through the front door. There was a small excuse for a foyer then another door. That second door was locked. I’m like what the hell? I figured they were swamped and weren’t letting any new guests in the place. I can understand that, so I go away. I come back the next night. Same thing. I figured the opening must be drawing a huge crowd. Probably all stinky rich local drunk buttholes. No harm no foul. I go back again. Same thing. Now I’m starting to get pissed off. If they are so freakin’ busy that they can’t let any more people in, the least they could do is have someone stand there to greet and kindly turn you away.

So I try again … this time on Sunday night. God damned door is locked again. People are in there though. I can here the glasses clinking. And the snobby voices. Oh my God, I was fuming. I’m about to get in my car and crash through the front window when I notice some people walking out of a side door that looked like it led into the kitchen. I go over there, rip open the door and to my surprise, I was trying to get in the emergency exit the whole time! Now don’t I feel like the freakin’ asshole!!! To my credit, the door I was trying to go in actually looked like what would be the main entrance. The real main entrance looks like the side door to the kitchen.

So I head over and grab a seat at the bar. Whoever designed the bar has never worked behind a bar. Neither have I , but I’ve sat at enough of them to know when one is dysfunctional. Put it this way. The bar was so wide and the booze racks sitting at the knees of the bartender made it so that they couldn’t even reach out to me to give my food or drinks. The decor looked a little cheap too. From the time and money I heard they sunk into this place, you would think it wouldn’t look like PT’s Pub in Vegas.

I check out their selection of draft beers. Weak selection, but oh well. I did see Anchor Steam. I was like, SCORE! Anchor Steam is tough to find in the northeast I love Anchor Steam, especially with a good meal. It’s not the kind of party beer that you drink 30 at a time, but it’s still good. I read a great article about Anchor Brewing’s CEO, Fritz Maytag. Yeah, of the Maytag washing machine family. Inc. Magazine did a write up on Maytag lauding him as one of the most fascinating entrepreneurs. Check it out here.

The bartender asked me what I would like to drink and I told her it was nice to see Anchor Steam on-tap. But then I said, “I’ll take a PBR!!!” Now, normally you don’t see Pabst Blue Ribbon beer in a swanky north-shore bistro. I was in heaven. Not that I’m the biggest fan of PBR, but it’s dirt cheap beer that will get you wasted and doesn’t taste like piss. I order a PBR and browsed the menu.

Great looking menu. Lots of good stuff. Basically continental fare. Expensive though. It took me at least twenty minutes and three PBRs to finally decide on what to order. Now I went against my own personal culinary constitution and ordered roasted chicken. Roasted chicken in a restaurant usually sucks. It’s impossible to make it fresh which means it’s usually reheated. And chicken with skin and bones still attached is the cheapest meat in the world. But the roasted chicken was the cheapest thing on the menu at $18 (other than a burger.) Not that I was trying to be cheap, but I wasn’t in the mood for a $30 dinner.

It took what seemed like forever for the food to come. When it did, I was surprised that it was actually pretty good, for chicken. It was a bit dry though, probably from being reheated. Mashed potatoes were lumpy, but that kind of lumpy when you think they did it on purpose to be all rustic and stuff. Not bad, but come on … lumps? String beans on the side were great though.

So I’m nice and chubbed up and I ask for my bill. Well, apparently PBR draft beers in Hamilton cost $5 each. Are they out of their freakin’ minds? $5 … for PBR!?!?!? WHAT?!?!? I was pretty close to telling them where to shove the bill, but I kept my mouth shut since I didn’t have any bail money on me. People, PBR draft beers shouldn’t cost more than a buck-50. Maybe $2 for a bottle. The Lucky Dog in Beverly sells PBR draft pitchers for $6. I know, I know, the Blue Smoke Bistro isn’t a dive like the Lucky Dog. Well, it wasn’t much better when you really think about it. Seriously, after paying $5 for a PBR draft, I felt like that one girl did when Kobe Bryant got done with her.

If they wanted to be snooty and rape people on beer prices, why why offer Pabst Blue Ribbon on draft? I don’t get it. It’s a total frat house beer. It has no place in Hamilton. Seriously. Maybe some filthy rich butthole type from the Myopia Club are supposed to walk in there, see PBR on draft and reminisce about his rambunctious days as a youthful chap, sneaking cans of PBR into the dorm at Oxford with his glorious pals Rockefeller, Carnegie, Bartholomew and young Skeeter! Oh what grand old times I had with those chaps he’d say to himself as he whisks off his tweed coat and Sherlock Holmes hat. Clowns.

I should have known better though. How could I have actually believed for one second that I would be drinking an adequately priced PBR draft in Hamilton of all places? Stupid! Trust me, everyone in this town is a millionaire except for me. Maybe my brother isn’t one either, but at least he has a racial handicap to blame it on. Later! Yankees suck!