Beyond Packard’s Corner on the Green Line, and just far enough into Allston as anyone is willing to go, is the Harvard Avenue stop, a portal to a world of general lawlessness and debauchery.
This is not the Allston of the Boston University frat houses. This is the Allston of the 26-year-old bartender with a beard whom you feel like you see everywhere. You know, the kind who pays $500 a month for rent, lives off of Twin Donuts, Bon Chon and Pizza Days, and who walks past the Ska band on the corner of Brighton and Harvard Aves on his way into Blanchards for a 30-rack of Rolling Rock. This is the Allston of the tattooed barista who walks by Ritual Arts and has always wanted to go in, who waves at the giant smelly St. Bernard that sits by the door of the pet shop, who only takes the trek past Brighton Ave to Cambridge Street if she has enough money to go to Stingray tattoo and Buried Treasures. This is my Allston, this is my friend’s Allston, this is maybe not my sister’s Allston, but it’s home and I love it.
During the sunshine hours, the part of Harvard Ave that stretches from Commonwealth Ave and Brighton Ave is like a street in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Hipsters toting sweet vanilla lattes from Refuge Café pop some tags at the ever-stylish, way-too-expensive-for-a-bunch-of-hand-me-downs Buffalo Exchange, or enjoy a Tazo tea flavored swirlie from Fro-Yo World, topped with Captain Crunch. Brookline families trot down the street, turning the heads of the 20-somethings who wonder what kids are doing on this street and momentarily fear for their innocence. Kind homeless men drink coffee and smoke cigarettes outside of McDonald’s, only occasionally asking for money in between hailing to each other from across the street and helping some poor young girl in heels cross over the barrier of snow.
When the sun goes down and the respectable restaurants have already closed their kitchens, when the overpriced antique and furniture shops pull down their steel shutters to reveal Bob Marley graffiti, when the taps start flowing-- that’s when the kids come out to play, and Rat City is alive with the glory of being 21 and careless. There is no end to the choices of watering holes on this street and its peripheries, so let me give you a quick run down of some of my personal favorites.
The Avenue: Located on Comm Ave with an ugly blue awning, this dive bar boasts some of the juiciest burgers in town. Come on Mondays or everyday after ten o’clock (and really, why would you be out earlier than that?), and your burger is $1. I’ll have eight, please.
White Horse: Oh, so you wanna dance. If you’re a BU student, you will see at least 17 people that you know at this bar, which will either make it a great party or awkward as hell when you’re forced to make small talk because the dance floor is too packed to escape. I suggest you show up drunk. Also don’t even think about bringing your fake here; the bouncers will make sure to publicly humiliate you before taking away your ID. This place is no gem, but the music is better than its equivalent, TITS (known to no one as Tavern In The Square).
Sunset Grill and Tap: So. Much. Beer. Lots and lots of beer. They have Flemish styles, IPAs, Double IPAs, Belgian quads, Belgian triples, beers on cask, beers in a can, 40 oz bottles. They even have Meade! Can’t decide which one you want? Don’t feel like looking through the novella of small type that they call a beer menu? Thank god the bartenders know what’s up and are all incredibly pretentious because they can point you in the direction of the perfect brew for you. Just don’t ask for a Bud Lite.
Patron’s Mexican Kitchen and Watering Hole: You can’t get a Bud Lite here, either. Patron’s is Sunset’s skanky younger sibling. A bleach blond waitress in a tight black dress with fishnet stockings saunters about with jello shots, the hot bartenders undress each other with their eyes, and everybody’s having a good time. Drunken people yell at the bartenders that they much preferred the place when it was Big City because it had more pool tables, but they still do have four pool tables, which shift in rotation fairly quick. The kitchen, on the weekends, is open until close at 2am, so this is the perfect place to enjoy a $4 margarita and drunkenly munch.
The Silhouette: Now, the Sil is slightly off the beaten path, but worth the walk if you’re drinking on a weeknight and feel like kicking it with some hard-looking punks with hearts of gold. Plants line the windowsills, dart boards line the back room, and the saltiest, butteriest most delicious popcorn is served on repeat in this diviest of dive bars. If you have $4, you can afford to come here. $2.50 for a ‘gansett (that’s Narrangansett, for all of you who aren’t familiar with the slang), and leave the change for the adorable, 40-something year old bartender. Cash only, kids.
Standing on the corner of Brighton and Harvard Aves on a Friday or Saturday at midnight, you get swept away. No one is sober. Everyone is reckless. Drunk girls in heels sit on the sidewalk and laugh, some bros get in each others’ faces threatening a fight but never actually come to blows, a group smokes some cigarettes and a joint next to a police cruiser, people are stumbling out of Tedeschi with giant cans of Monster energy drinks and a bag of Funyuns. In short, class all the way. What’s not to love?