Boston Strong

Cambridge Area- another first for me, the second in a month, a trip to Boston for Merchant Risk Council (MRC) Platinum meetings. One of the problems with two day conferences is the schedule is so compact that extra curricular activities become draining due to draining the local brew night after night. Any organization who can successfully predict the city where the final World Series game would be and the winning team was the home team has my loyalty. When it's the Boston Red Sox and it's been 95 years since they won a title at home and the beginning of the year started with a terrorist attack which spawned the movement, "Boston Strong" - yes the vibe was electric and emotional. 

As we walked ignorantly towards a cigar bar, about 5 blocks in downtown Boston, I started to notice make shift memorials that seemed like the roadside type and they increased as we walked. As we ran into a large storefront under heavy construction, I still didn't realize where we were.  Once seated at an awesome Eastern European cigar bar, I asked our waitress, "our we near where the marathon bombing took place?"  "Are you near" the waitress asked... "This is ground zero, I couldn't hear for four hours when the bomb went off and we were inside..."  Apparently the storefront under construction had been blow to pieces along with limbs, lives and what Boston knew as relative safety. 

So why not a Sam Adams?  I'm usually not a branded guy but something seemed right about this staple and this joint. Boston is awesome!  In my opinion far better than Manhattan with the same options for food, drink and culture. I even like the Boston accent better than the ones attached to the sadly more experienced victims of terrorism in the big apple. But who the hell cares about accents, let drink!

We quickly progressed past the Boston Lager and to Black and Tans while getting down to the thumb burning nubs of our big city-priced sticks. Fantastic smoke though and since we hadn't even checked in yet, we strolled out and back towards the Boston Park Plaza Historic Hotel. Walking across the street helped us to understand the scale of the explosion. Somehow it looked smaller on television. It was a huge fucking blast. Once again and with respect to the friends we lost and those who lost parts of themselves, it's a miracle more were not engulfed in the attack. 

Boston Strong was in the air. No way the red birds win game six. Not possible. And what would happen in this radically unified city if the bearded team wins it?  

The hotel was swank and wreaked of century old heritage and use. Like historic buildings and potential dates at last call the closer you got to the hotel the rougher it became. Now don't get me wrong, I'm just as succeptable to the last call rule as most but this hotel was awesome and beautiful. Everything was exclusive and expensive. Heavily accented doormen, black towncars lined for a block, martini bars sharing hallway space with espresso carts, and what I thought was an unusually high amount of foreign speaking guests checking in. 

My room? Well, the smallest hotel room I have ever stayed in. Not like it wasn't worth the $249 a night but a single bed, RV space for a bathroom, a water heater control dial on the wall and $12 a day WiFi. As the first day of the conference wrapped it was time for a sponsored happy hour before two sponsored dinners at local swankity swank swank restaurants. I appreciate any organization that runs an open bar for 400 for two hours, but the best I could do was Jim Beam and coke. An easy grocery store level drink to swallow primarily because it was chasing lobster rolls and blue crab cakes down my hatch. Incredible food layout. Had not experienced this level of hotel prepped food in mass- ever. 

Skipping not one but both hosted dinners seemed bold and Independant as we walked back through ground zero to the cigar lounge for night two. Unlike yesterday, we were rolling in around 8p and it was standing room only with Russian speaking cliques huddled everywhere glued to sports center. After smoking the equivalent of 7 cigars but only lighting one, we left in search of Irish food and drink. O'Connors?  That qualifies, right?  Bam, another round of Black and Tans with a side of Jameson. A pile of fish and chips and several rounds reminded me/us that day two of working was approaching and at 46, ensuring responsible participation was going to depend on sleep. 

Our rogue choice of skipping the hosted dinners, came back to bite us as stories of lavish spreads and rooftop bottle services around Boston permeated our arrogance and hang over. I still smelled like ashtray from last night and I had thoroughly rinsed with both water and fabreeze. Breakfast was again, sophisticated with a poached egg, salmon, grey poupon thing and several styles of freshly stuffed sausage, smoked in differing types of wood. Off to the convention hall...

A 1927 Grand Ballroom, that was every penny of perfect, like a movie set, ridiculous but engaging as key note speakers ran through global payment and risk strategies from the stage. Lunch was an noticeable increase in expense as porterhouse chunks set on garlic mash waited for the guests. Perfectly medium rare and addicting in both taste and presentation. Heavy lunches thin out afternoon attendance, but once again the mastery of production of the MRC staff got most of the attendees into the Ball Room to finish the final day of meetings. 

Perfectly cued, the music ran up in volume as the host and Academy Awards level announcer directed our attention to the back of the room where giant partitions were opening revealing a perfectly set happy hour lounge. Not a rented room that felt like a low end wedding reception, rather a decorated, lit, ambiance that connected a 20 person wait staff to the attendees. Not one but four staged bars themed from general spirits to martini bars to craft beer tables.  The food?  I have forgotten what the names of the dishes were, but it contained a vast Mediterranean layout of salads, chunk meats and smoked cheeses.  I laughed a bit at a lonely nachos bar in one corner until I went over and grabbed a plate only to have the chef grab it back and freshly BBQ shrimp, chicken and beef to top my drunk ass plate of hoity-toity nachos. Simply ridiculous and unlike the first nights "Jim Beam" open bar, this one had the big bottles out.  Vodka, scotches, bourbons, oh my!

Look, it's been quite the week despite having to pay attention a good portion of the time. The finally was pending because the Red Sox were just taking the field and we had tucked into another Irish bar six blocks from Fenway before it became standing room only. Are you kidding me Victorino?  I've watched two games all year. The first one you went Grand Slam and the second you go one foot from Grand Slam and put 3 on the board???  Holy shit, your a God of the off season much like Freese was a couple of years back. 

Boston bars do two things well. One, they know their clients and two, they pour. When the audio from the broadcast suddenly disappears and the Drop Kick Murphy's come on, it seems like a west coast buzz kill until the entire bar starts singing and pounding their fists into the tables.  Then the braodcast comes back up and a sudden inspiration to drink more starts. The final three outs were expected with a 6-1 lead. The final out erupted inside the bar and out as everyone poured into the streets to experience the redemption that sports can bring to a long, dark year for our Bostonians. I however am a visitor much like the Cardinals, but in full support of this team, the people and the culture of America's top city. 

Boston Strong!