Stuff Boston

Everyone has a favorite dive bar. Even the snootiest among us like to go slummin’ for happy hour every so often. And in Boston, there are dive bars aplenty. Take a crawl through the Bean’s (un)finest dives, and you’ll soon realize why so many of the clientele often look like they just escaped from prison. We’re talking small, dank, windowless spaces where the bathrooms haven’t been scrubbed in years and the air is thick with the acrid odor of cheap hooch and questionable decisions. Stick around along enough, and you’ll inevitably find yourself unwillingly paired up with a total stranger who feels compelled to share his life story — and the fascinating history behind his snake, anchor, and MOM tattoos. Does he want to beat you up, or make you his new best friend? Either way, go along for the ride (it’s easier that way).

In a city constantly trending toward the upscale while most of us are seeing our paychecks shrink (if we’re still getting them at all), dive bars are more than a setting for inebriated economic stimulus — they’re also freaking fun. Sure, you might sometimes find yourself one of the few folks bellying up to the bar — more often than not, it was just us and the plastic shot glasses during our run-through of local favorites — but if that means you and your posse can commandeer the jukebox all night or take your pick from the lonely barflies hankering for a kind word (assuming they can peel their foreheads off the bar to talk), then it’s a win-win. Or maybe you’ll land inside one of these joints on a thirsty Thursday, when loyal locals, impoverished students, and curious bystanders swarm in to get their drink on, eat greasy gobs of goodness, and maybe even play a game of daaahhts. For your reading (and drinking) pleasure, we’ve compiled a list of deserving dive bars that best capture the spirit of their respective neighborhoods. You want mah-tinis? We ain’t got no mah-tinis here, kid. Just dollar drafts, colorful characters, and good times. Dive on in.

And then take a shower. Quickly.

South Boston

Murphy’s Law (837 Summer Street, South Boston, 617.269.6667)

Finding a dive bar in Southie is like shooting fish in a barrel — and the barrel is filled with green beer. (And the fish look like they wear brass knuckles.) But while forbidding, steel-doored closets with a keg are a dime a dozen, Murphy’s Law is a classic South Boston dive that won’t get your knees knocking with the fear of ending up like a day player in The Departed. On the other hand, you may feel like you’re in a scene out of Gone Baby Gone, the directorial debut of Boston’s own Ben Affleck, which filmed scenes here (DVD copies are available behind the bar). Despite Southie’s surly reputation, there’s a sense of good humor at Murphy’s, from the row of superhero action figures (Superman, Catwoman, and Aquaman, oh my!) arranged in frozen combat on an overhead bar rail to the genial attitude of the staff. Any bartender who asks, “Ready for your next round?” when you’ve drank less than a third of your beer is our kind of dive dude. Need a drinking game? Play “Spot the Shamrock” by spying for as many clovers as you can, or marvel at the genealogical wonder of all the Irish last names scattered about, from the political bumper stickers plastered on the wall to the photos and news clippings on display by the tap.

Barfly Buzz: Look closer, jokers. Discreetly tucked away in the men’s bathroom is a fuse box. You didn’t hear that from us.* (*Note: STUFF is not responsible for any broken jaws sustained in the commission of drunken pranks.)

Mission Hill

Never before has the phrase “hole in the wall” been such an apropos description of a Boston dive bar. At Punter’s Pub, a relatively dark and dank spot near Mission Hill, the metaphoric becomes the literal: if you want food, you’ll need to shout your order through a small window in the wall to neighboring takeout joint, University House of Pizza (UHOP, if you’re from the neighborhood). If receiving your slice of pepperoni with the covert thrill of a drug deal doesn’t provide enough exuberant, sketchy pleasure, just bask in the no-frills glory of Punter’s. There are few bells and whistles here, merely a wide assortment of hodgepodge wood paneling, from the warped and occasionally uneven flooring that (literally) keeps you on your toes to the hard booth seating that creates the sore butts of a church pew and makes slouching an impossibility — an etiquette gift from the Drunken Manners Finishing School, perhaps. Combine that aesthetic with the classy addition of a Big Buck Hunter arcade game, and you have an inadvertently “rustic” aura … if you squint enough through the beer goggles. But don’t bother bringing your plastic to this woodsy watering hole — it’s cash only.

Barfly Buzz: If you’re going to party at Punter’s, do it with pitchers: the “Big Bertha,” a positively trough-sized portion of beer that’s approximately the size of four pitchers (and that requires a four-person minimum to order), will help make the Northeastern and Wentworth clientele look good faster.

Brighton

Mary Ann’s (1937 Beacon Street, Brighton, 617.566.3253)

Everyone has hooked up with Mary Ann. No, really. Nestled like a windowless armpit in the crook of Cleveland Circle (and blessed with as appealing an aroma), Mary Ann’s is a dive bar that has been a living, breathing institution for local BC kids since the ’70s. It’s been far less popular with local authorities in that time, subject to numerous run-ins over its, shall we say, occasionally “generous” admission policy. Today, that means out-of-state license holders will even be required to “sign in” with their name, license number, date of birth, SAT score, list of extracurricular activities, and 1000-word essay on “a significant character-building moment” (okay, maybe just the first three will do) at the entrance. Even as recently as November 2008, Mary Ann’s was threatened with closure due to its failure to install a sprinkler system, which could usefully serve double-duty as a floor scrubber for this sticky, beer-soaked corral of co-eds (don’t worry — a system was eventually installed). Of course, skirting regulation seems to be another tradition here: a vending machine in the bar’s corner, one that looks like it hasn’t been restocked since the average customer’s date of conception, gets around Boston’s “must serve food” law for bars. Despite the complete lack of comfort, style, or drinks served in anything but plastic cups, there’s nowhere else in Boston where you will find a weekend line this long to enter a bar so unpleasant. Mary Ann’s might not be pretty, but she gives up a good time every weekend.

Barfly Buzz: Definitely use the bathroom before you arrive — the men’s room has three urinals crammed into a space that should probably accommodate one, resulting in an interesting level of intimacy when you and your buddy’s backsides high-five during busy times.

Bay Village

Jacques Cabaret (79 Broadway, Boston, 617.426.8902)

Here at STUFF, we’re all about opening hearts and minds, and stomping stereotypes under our pointy, fashionable heels. So to those who make the unfair presumption that all gay bars are chic, upscale repositories of lemongrass martinis and urbane sophistication (how dare you judge so!), please allow us to offer Jacques. Hidden away in the tiny residential neighborhood of Bay Village, Jacques is a relic from the Great Gay Life, P.W.G. — that’s “Pre-Will-&-Grace,” when queer subculture operated under a veil of dark mystery and sideways glances. Nightly drag shows from its cast of glamorous “gals,” including stalwart local legends like Mizery, Destiny, and Kris Knievil, combine riotous performance art with the boldest, baddest wigs and weaves (and, occasionally, unitards) this side of Vegas. But for a truly authentic experience, come on weekdays. Friday and Saturday nights are regularly co-opted by “bachelerotte and Bud Light hell,” as one queen described a recent influx of suburban interlopers, so it’s worth scoping the gender-bending regulars who stop by on, say, an ordinary Tuesday. They’re usually holding court — sometimes in plain clothes, sometimes in pleather — by the lone pool table or checking out the local bands that play in the small live-music room downstairs.

Barfly Buzz: Ladies (and “ladies”), always remember to wear underwear for a trip to Jacques. You might think going commando is cute, but more than once we’ve seen audience participation go awry when girls dragged onstage had their skirt hems flipped by a drag queen unawares.

Allston

Model Café (7 North Beacon Street, Allston, 617.254.9365)

Where have all the cowboys gone? They gave their slim-fitting, dark-washed jeans to the emo dude crying in the corner, that’s what happened. At the Model (pronounced “Moe-DELLE” by those looking to evoke tongue-in-cheek pretension), you’ll find the punk lifeblood of Allston saddled up to the bar and hooked into an IV of PBR. In terms of its minimal décor, think Urban Outfitters on a severe budget: plastic stools wrapped in leopard print, a crystal chandelier suspended from one ceiling (for the ironic-classiness factor), and wall art depicting an oversized grenade, to evoke that rock-and-roll aesthetic. Seating is scarce, and you’re more likely to find yourself milling between the two sparse, cavernous rooms, tapping your foot to a soundtrack of indie bands, than lounging in comfort with the hipster of your dreams — though you may find said skinny-jean-wearing honey once the night wears on, as the 2 a.m. closing time (not as common in the Allston ’hood as it is in downtown areas) attracts a late crowd. If you’re a people watcher, though, this is absolutely the place to be. Few other spots can paint as panoramic a snapshot of Boston’s underground music scene.  They’re all here — those who play music, those who watch them, those who sleep with them, and those who simply drink with them.

Barfly Buzz: Despite its name, the Model Café doesn’t serve food. But next door you’ll find Grasshopper (1 North Beacon Street, Allston, 617.254.8883), a vegan restaurant beloved by the scenester set. When in Rome …

Cambridge

The Cantab Lounge (738 Mass Ave, Cambridge, 617.354.2685)

Are you the kind of lounge lizard who finds yourself bemoaning that there “just aren’t enough good bluegrass joints around these Yankee woods?” Do you gurgle with excitement at the notion of a resident funk band named The Chicken Slacks? Do crusty regulars, dusty decor, and barrooms so narrow and crowded that you’re bound to butt-dial at least half your phonebook leave you breathless with anticipation? Are you still reading? Then the answer is yes, and the destination is the Cantab Lounge. The Cantab is a pretense-free counterpoint to the average Cambridge watering hole, where academics converse while warming the stools with their WGBH tote bags. Instead, live music on a nightly basis makes it a place to dance and listen, not see and be seen, though the rotating genres are certainly a reflection of Cambridge’s eclecticism. There’s open mic on Mondays, bluegrass on Tuesdays, and live soul, jazz, R&B, and funk throughout the rest of the week. And downstairs, Club Bohemia plays host to poetry slams, underground comedy, and assorted local bands. It’s one of the few dive bars you’ll find where the variety of music rivals the variety of cheap beer.

Barfly Buzz: You want character? Candido (“Candy”) Delgado has been Cantab’s house guitarist for more than 30 damn years. He performs with The Fatback Band on Fridays and Saturday, and he hosts Candy’s Jam on Wednesdays and Sundays, when guests can tote in their own instruments and sign up to play alongside the acts.

The Fenway

TC’s Lounge (1 Haviland Street, Boston, 617.247.8109)

If dive bars had theme songs, then the act of entering TC’s Lounge would be accompanied by the porn-funk mantra “bow-chicka-bow-wow.” Tucked away on a side street by Berklee College of Music, TC’s looks like Applebee’s on Viagra and cheap liquor, and it’s overflowing with tchotchkes, bric-a-brac, and a whole lot of junk that screams “pure sex, man.” An arcade claw game is stocked with porn DVDs as prizes, souvenir panties are for sale behind the bar, the ceilings are lined with yellowed movie posters of frat favorites new (Mall Cop) and old (soft-core pinups of girls with perms, leg warmers, and, not infrequently, boxing gloves), and the entire place is wallpapered with dated Polaroid pictures of the debauchery of yore. If there was a mattress with a Penthouse underneath anywhere nearby, this would essentially be the college dorm room of your sketchy older brother who woos chicks with the aromatic freshness of his aerosol deodorant. A tired-looking condom dispenser in the men’s room encourages guests to play it safe, assuming these prophylactics don’t crumble to dust when exposed to light, and a surly sign mounted atop a corner keyboard gives a different anatomical admonition: “Please don’t put your beer — or rear — on the piano!”

Barfly Buzz: There are some offerings for G-rated entertainment, like the handful of video games and the Lord of the Rings-themed pinball machine. But if Gandalf gets you hot, you’re cut off.

North Station

Penalty Box (65 Causeway, Boston)

It’s small, it’s shaped like a square, and there’s a general sense that a fight is about to break out at any given moment — ah yes, the Penalty Box is aptly named. If the family-friendly redevelopments at Fenway 2.0 have led you to believe that sports fans aren’t still a bunch of swilling hooligans either a) drowning their sorrow in too much beer, or b) celebrating their triumphs with too much beer, then the Penalty Box is the sticky-floored antidote to Fenway’s increasingly squeaky-clean rep. If the player photos scattered about don’t make it clear enough, this slightly scary little spot over by TD Banknorth Garden is where Bruins fans gather to watch the game, pound back (more than) a few, and grow increasingly volatile with each bad play — and those are just the hockey moms. Celtics fans, you’ll find teammates in drinking too. But by and large, this no-frills, no-nonsense watering hole is best regarded as a place to drink on the cheap before, after, or during a Garden event — the beer here is less than half the price you’ll find inside there, and if the added cost is a dirty pair of sneakers, so be it.

Barfly Buzz: Bring plenty of cash, not just because cards aren’t accepted, but because the Penalty Box’s ’hood becomes hobo row after sundown — you may need to evade a few vampires shaking Dunkin’ cups to gain entrance.