Goodbye Jacob Wirth

 Boston isn't known for it's cuisine.  Please don't send me emails about baked beans, toll house cookies, parker house rolls, boiled pot roast, cod or white clam chowder.  I'm from around here and I know all of these things but except for the clam chowder, none of these things is really succulent.  There are good restaurants in Boston but, needless to say, most of them don't capitalize on the "New England" aspect of their kitchen.  Durgin Park is an exception, but they are in the middle of a tourist destination (the soundtrack of their website is worth the click).

Jake's Black Label Sausage.   This should be the title of this post because this is what I ordered at Jacob Wirth for lunch.  Whatta wurst!  The sausage and a pint of Narragansett left me full as a tick the rest of the day.  This was one nice grilled sausage served on a toasted bun with sauerkraut but I don't go to Jacob Wirth for the food.  I go for the atmosphere.  The place has changed little over a century.  I like that.  I like looking over bygone momentos and looking at the scrollwork that supports a pressed tin ceiling.

I like it as much as I like my 'Gansett, Neighbor.  I wholeheartedly agree that you're not from New England if you aren't drinking the Official Beer of the Clam (this digression, including illustration, is copyright Narragansett Brewing Co. PR)

I love old things that have withstood the test of time.  I'm no Renaissance Faire aficionado or colonial re-enactor but I like anachronisms.  I liked the Dutch Tavern in New London.  I love Boston's landscape and I look forward to participating in the ongoing traditions that make up New Orleans.