BOSTON PUBLIC AT LOUIS BOSTON

234 BERKELEY ST., BOSTON. 617.266.4680. BOSTONPUBLICMEAT.COM

By MARK POLANZAK | Photo By India Newberry Clark

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Since Boston Public is in the Louis Boston building, and all I know of the place is that it's ragingly expensive, I call to find out if there is a dress code—like, no sneakers or something. The guy on the other end of the phone says: "Just think like a celebrity." I tell him that I'm serious and want to know if I'll be turned away for one reason or another, and he reiterates verbatim, "Think like a celebrity and you'll be fine." Oh shit is what I'm thinking, but I head over in a tie anyhow.

Drink 1: Lycheeni ($10.50). It's 9pm on a Wednesday, so I cut the place slack for sporting one lonewolf yuppie and two much older and wealthy-looking men at the bar. There's a lounge area, but it's only housing two blondes at the moment. Other than that, it's me, India (my girlfriend/photographer), Scott (the general manager) and Nancy (our barmaid). So far I have been handed two business cards: Scott's and Nancy's. Nancy's has her head shot on it. She's a model/actress. Nowhere on the card does it mention slinging drinks at Boston Public. Scott's card says Boston Public, but the email is to another business' website. Hey, India, where are we?

Drink 2: Captain and Coke ($9). My third business card arrives in my hand from Reese, a right-wing radio talk show host who sits down next to us and starts chatting us up. Scott, the manager, vouches for Reese, and I guess Scott's opinion matters to me now. I have never heard of this talk show, but I believe him when he claims to be the host, since I don't get a word in edgewise, nor the chance to turn away from the conversation for the next hour.

Drink 3: Slidecar ($14). I ask Nancy to make me something that will give me the most bang for my buck, and she takes it really fucking seriously. After five minutes of brow furrowing, she hands me a Sidecar with her own spin on it, so it's now called Nancy's Slidecar. John Bonham would have been proud of Nancy's concoction. I note that Boston Public's décor could be described as "mostly brown."

Drink 4: Strangelove ($14). I'm not sure of the exact contents of a Strangelove, but the drink tastes like smoke. Seriously. It occurs to me that the tab at the end of tonight's drinkfest will be more than what I'll be paid to write about said drinkfest. Nancy, for reasons unbeknownst to me, has become less and less attentive. There are probably only four more patrons in the bar, and I'm drinking the most, so I'm actually a little irked by her negligence. Also, I pick fights when I'm drunk.

Drink 5: Maker's Mark ($9.50). I'm sick of talking politics with Reese from the right-wing radio show; I'm a little miffed at Nancy for not serving my drinks more quickly, considering it was dead all night; I'm pissed at Scott, the host, who is now inviting my girlfriend out dancing at a club he MCs for. I'm about to get the tab and feel robbed ... but I'll be back, as soon as I can afford it.