It was a friend's 21st, so we all packed into cabs to go to the Allston bar where his fake ID had been taken just weeks ago. The stout bouncer at the Kells bar and nightclub had studied his driver's license and scoffed during the previous encounter. This time he allowed my friend entrance while gesturing toward the piece of magical laminated plastic, asking, "didn't I already take this from you?" His lack of a Bostonian accent was disappointing
Upon entering the establishment our olfactory bulbs were greeted with the smell of Asian cuisine wafting from the late-night kitchen, which told us this was no ordinary Boston bar.
While the birthday boy slumped a little and smiled at his barstool, I was nudged by the waitress who wanted to know which one of us was the new 21-year-old. I inconspicuously pointed to my friend, thinking she would bring him a cupcake with a candle, or a teriyaki sparerib, or at least a free Bud Light.
Regrettably, as it turned out, she was just curious.
We relented, and instead of splitting a free slab of Asian-flavored beef (which never showed up anyway) between the ten of us, we ordered some eight-dollar pitchers of Budweiser and a plate of chicken fingers that disappeared before the beer even touched the table. Luckily, however, our newly legal friend was on a liquid-only diet that night, so the food was only divided amongst nine.
With our stomachs not nearly satisfied, we grabbed some beer and walked around to the other side of the sleek bar, forgetting what night of the week it was. I swear I heard the screeching of the rubber of our shoes as we stopped suddenly and gazed around the room. Amidst careening Ping-Pong balls, we expected to see guys with Greek letters on their shirts proudly running about. Instead, we saw a few bold young ladies shaking their slender hips to G-Unit while their other friends sat on the sidelines, giggling and snapping photos with digital cameras.
At this end of the bar, the frat house favorite was underway and it looked intense.
It was like we had been traipsing through some old mansion and had somehow bumped into a secret passage mechanism with one of our plastic beer cups; it felt like we'd suddenly been spun into another world. Except, we weren't trapped in some fraternity house. All we had to do was turn on our heels, cover our ears to avoid the obnoxious sound of shoes turning on beer-flooded varnished floor, and re-enter the mellow universe we'd been enjoying on the other side of the bar.
Upon experiencing the breathing room on this calm side, my mind recalled past Friday and Saturday nights at The Kells -- nights when music spills from the DJ booth and shoulders gingerly bang shoulders while pushing up to the bar to get a drink.
The ease with which we caught the bartenders' attention and the swiftness with which we returned from trips to the diamond-plated, steel-walled bathrooms was certainly a reason to return on a weekday.
The headache my friend would suffer from in just a number of hours would serve as a stark reminder of that fact. Nonetheless, the black semi-permanent marker still hung out of his plaid pocket, unrelentingly making its way onto his forearm with each drink he took, from time to unnecessary time. The plate on our table was by now licked clean of its last few accompanying crumbs and the pitchers contained only the unwanted flat remnants of a good night out on the town. The televisions were still aglow and the hisses and hollers of the Beirut room said the Kells wasn't closing any time soon, but we still made our way out past the bouncer with the photographic memory, giving him a wink that said, "See you next time," as we moved on down the street to our next stop.
@jump:see LUSH, page XX<$>
@conthead:Like beer? Like beirut? Check out the Kells<$>
@contjump:LUSH<$>
@contpage:continued from page 5<$>
Edits: jk, ag, ME
