Though there are many Thursday-night drinking incentives to choose from, such as ladies' night at Buzzard Beach and jukebox night at Dave's Stagecoach Inn, one of our favorites is martini night at McCoy's Public House. That's when all of McCoy's martinis, the names of which sound like illicit drugs or something porn-related, are $6. As an added bonus, the Sunday through Thursday special of $2 pints after 10 p.m. is also in effect. All of this lushtasticness is accompanied by the jazz sounds of Greg Meise and his friends, which makes for a mellow time. Kevin Kimm, the general manager, says the combination tends to draw an older crowd "just because of the jazz and the prime-rib special and the martinis -- it's a nice atmosphere."
We've always been fans of McCoy's food, but we also like its woody décor, which reminds us of being in an intimate ski lodge. However, the Research Assistant thinks differently. "Don't you think there's a vague T.G.I. Friday's vibe?" he asked on one recent Thursday. "But they have good drinks."
That they do. We started off with a Cream Dream, McCoy's version of the Dreamsicle-like martini made with Belevedere vodka, orange juice, cream and Grand Marnier. It was plushly orange, in an Orange Julius sort of way. We were also pro-McCoy's XTC martini, made with Absolut vodka, blue curaçao, Malibu rum, orange juice and pineapple; the blue curaçao lent a slight bite to the tropicalness of the Malibu and pineapple.
Ever mindful of the "liquor before beer" rhyme, when the clock struck ten we switched to the suds. We started off with a Flaming Dr Pepper -- a shot of Bacardi 151 and amaretto lit up and dropped into a glass of McCoy's own Hogpound Brown, which then froths up and tastes like its namesake drink. And we were enamored of the Shandy, a veddy British drink that mixes the brewery's Landing Light ale with lemonade. It was refreshing and light, tasting mostly of lemon but with a touch of honey.
Perhaps it was all the drinks, but during the course of the night, we couldn't help but notice that Greg Meise's guitarist looked like Donald Rumsfeld. He had a similarly fake grimace-smile. As the band was breaking down its set and Rumsfeld carted out an amp, RA observed that "In a year and a half, he'll have Iraqis doing that for him."
Although we'd rather have this Rumsfeld doppelganger than the one now in charge, all we know is that if the terror alert goes any higher, we'll be drowning our fears in martinis, regardless of whether it's Thursday.