And that, my friends, was probably the best burger I’ve ever eaten.

Take one look at me (Author’s Note: If Dave ever gets the bios up) and you can tell I’m a man who likes his meat.  Wow.  That sounded really bad.  Take two… annnnnnnnddd… ACTION.

Take one look at me (Author’s Note: If Dave ever gets the bios up) and you can tell I eat; a lot.  It’s gotten progressively worse over the past year because I introduced a new food group into my diet that I soak everything else in until I can no longer identify the intended taste: alcohol.  When I’ve been drinking I can house food like I’m a quirky, hyper-intelligent M.D. who plays by his own rules.  Already had dinner?  Doesn’t matter, I could always wash it down with a large pizza.  You better put some bacon and onions on that bad boy; if we’re doing this we’re doing it right.

One of my main vices when it comes to my non-purging form of bulimia is McDonalds.  Not only is it cheap and quasi-delicious, I feel like the drive through workers have never expressed frustration at my back seat additions cutting off their repetition of the original order; that or there really isn’t much of a difference between loogies and special sauce.  Either way it’s a win for everybody because: McDonalds gets my money, I get my sodium, and, considering that I’m an obnoxiously happy drunk, the driver gets a temporary reprieve from my harassment as I emulate the “Atomic Warhead” face while attempting to suck a milkshake down my straw like its water.

Why did I take two paragraphs to explain that I’m pleasantly plump?  Is it to provide proper context for my eventual early twenties heart attack?  Nope.  Is it because I’ve always wanted an excuse to look up the proper spelling of the word “loogie”?  Maybe a little.  The full answer, my dear reader(s) is that burgers go great with beers and, as stated in the first sentence of this post which, unlike you, I have not forgotten, is that the other night I had what might very well have been the best burger I’ve ever eaten.

If you aren’t looking (or just aren’t looking hard enough), you’d probably miss Abbey Burger Bistro while walking down an all too familiar part of Federal Hill.  “Man,” you’d say, “I’ve been looking for what seems like a full minute and Google Maps must have just given me terrible directions”.  Well, you’d be right.  The usually reliable Google Maps really did screw you over this time.  “Oh well,” you’d finally concede, “There’s the Cross Street Market, might as well just go to Pub Dog…”

STOP!  Well, actually, don’t stop because it’s right near Pub Dog.  But don’t go in there!  Stick to the plan!  Besides, you went to Pub Dog two nights ago you fat ass!  Mmm… garlic sticks… FOCUS!

Before you make it to Pub Dog you have to turn down the sketchy little darkened alley thing in between all the other bars, we’ll call it “Ben Roethlisberger's Fantasy Lane”.  Turn in and look for the bar in the back right, the one named after the title of this post.  You won’t be sorry.

I’ve only been there once and we grabbed the first table so I can’t really describe it as well as I can a place like Max’s or Pub Dog.  I know there’s a bar to the right, I know there’s an upstairs, and I know that this description sounds like someone slipped something into my drink (Author’s Note: Chris, you could have just asked or offered to buy me dinner or something).

When you open the menu you are going to be a little shocked so let me give you fair warning: THIS PLACE CAN GET PRETTY EXPENSIVE.  In fact, I would only recommend it (albeit strongly) as the jumping off point for the rest of a good night.  I had two beers and a gourmet burger and paid $27, which included a sizeable tip.  I know, that sucks, but if you pre-game (not to the point of deadening the taste buds) and head to Pub Dog right afterwards, that’s a night right there.

The Beer: They have approximately a dozen beers on tap (including Guinness for those of you with taste) and a whole heap of bottled beers ranging from $4.50 to $10.  While it isn’t Max’s, there is certainly enough to keep you interested if you were planning on making a night of it (my buddy Chris and I were more than willing to continue sitting and order another burger but we had to pretend we were just joking).  My friend Jess ordered a beer that tasted like fruit juice.  It was like a Capri Sun, only more satisfying because of the alcohol content.  Then again, it was kind of a let down not get to go all Norman Bates on anything with a yellow straw (Author’s Note: Through the bottom of the pouch because I was a badass in middle school).

The Food: You are presented with a number of set options (one of which I will be going back to try [roseda beef, smoked bacon, and creamy peanut butter burger]) but the most fun is the “Build a Burger Menu” which allows you to check off delicious options to your little heart’s content.

Choose a meat option (including lamb, wild boar, turkey, bison, veggie, etc.) and then some toppings like chili, bacon, avocado, or, my personal favorite, a fried egg.  Warning, your aforementioned little heart may begin to struggle with the added cholesterol.  You need to choose some bread too, so how about an English muffin?  A pretzel roll perhaps?  Then just check off the fries.  You know you were gonna do it anyways, don’t try to blame me.

Okay so gourmet burgers are not a new idea, neither is providing extravagant toppings to allow me to feel classy with slathering everything in peanut butter.  Still, Abby Burger Bistro did it right.  Everything was perfectly cooked, appropriately portioned, and simply delicious.  It helped that the low-key, pub environment accented the great food.  Just like at Pub Dog, I felt free to fully enjoy the company of my friends rather than try to compete with the sloppy people passing out/fighting/screwing/puking right next to me like at some Federal Hill establishments (cough cough MOTHER’S cough cough).

I’ll definitely be going there again and, since you probably know me if you’re reading this site (Author’s Note: Hi Mom!) you should totally come with.  If you could do me a favor and arrange your visitations in shifts I wouldn’t feel quite so fat keeping my seat and ordering a second burger when new company arrives, it would be much appreciated. 

I just wasn’t yet sure how to express my sadness at the closing of the DuClaw Brewing Company restaurant and bar on Thames Street in Fells Point.

Sorry, that was an inappropriate and insensitive lede. I should explain.

I completely understand why the Fells Point location of this Maryland brew pub shut down. It’s just unfortunate that it was shut down for some of the same reasons that I loved the place. It was always quiet. It was always a relaxed atmosphere. It was never hard to get a seat at the bar.

The food was OK and the beer was great, especially when the price of drafts got cut in half Thursdays after 10 p.m. DuClaw, for that reason, was my Thursday night haunt. And as empty as it usually was, it did sometimes feel like I was a ghost in an empty tavern.

But I enjoyed having a few Hellrazers and ordering up a basket of Misfit Chips with a side of chipotle mayo one-and-a-half beers in. Some nights one of the Baltimorons would meet me late. Other nights, I’d sit there and happily watch whatever was on TV or read the sections of the Washington Post I didn’t get to earlier in the day. Before it got cold, you’d find me sitting on the edge of the patio closest to Thames, chatting it up with the smokers and watching passersby.

I won’t go so far as to say I owned stock in Duclaw; I tried for happy hour prices, drank slow and rarely ordered an entree. But they might have considered charging me rent at one point.

My 21^st birthday was at Duclaw in Fells Point, the handpicked location of my first legal drink in any bar or restaurant. I don’t remember how many folks made it out, but it was a big table and I enjoyed sampling everything the place had on tap before ordering a few of my favorites pint-sized.

Even though I insisted on eschewing the traditional “Go out and get krunk!” for one’s 21^st, I enjoyed sitting at Duclaw for a few hours with my pretty blonde girlfriend, football friends, high school friends and work friends. And I’ll insist forever that the stomach ache that kept me up at my girl’s place the entire night was induced by too many chips, not too many stouts.

Duclaw was the place where I formed my first real bond with a bartender, a special relationship that was characterized by sharing a few laughs, forgetting to ring up a few beers and usually neglecting to bring my chips until after the second time I asked. He treated me kindly, and I’d like to think I did so in return.

Because the restaurant was owned by the Duclaw Brewing Company and only sold those delicious beers, the folks that did join me at the bar were mostly older and always beer snobs, and I had more interesting conversations sitting on the patio and at the bar there than I’ve had in some of my graduate school classes. Everyone’s got a story, and I heard plenty of them in my roughly 18 months of consistent patronage.

Some of my tastiest cigars have been finished while sitting on one of the benches near DuClaw. One Baltimoron in particular knows what I’m talkin’ about.

Some of my finest decisions have been made while sitting on a stool at DuClaw, sometimes alone, sometimes with one or two of the Baltimorons. The place was like most people’s showers in that quality thinking took place. It was unlike most people’s showers in that I wasn’t (usually) nude and didn’t (generally) have beer poured on me from an overhead pipe.

It was, simply, just my kind of place. I don’t like loud music. I don’t like standing all night. I don’t like obnoxiously drunk people dancing. In short, I don't care for the 20-something bar scene.

I like running into an old friend. I like making a new one, if only for a beer or two. I like reading the sports section at 10:30 p.m. with a different kind of brew than I read the A section with in the morning.

So excuse me if I seem a bit dejected. I beg your pardon if you catch me staring off wistfully down Thames. DuClaw now joins Max’s Cigar Shop – another Fells favorite – as a victim to the economy.

At about 11:25 on the last night DuClaw in Fells was open, I walked behind the bar and poured my last pint, then nursed that drink for the next half hour. I wished luck to the now out-of-work bartender, shook his hand and left before midnight. I didn't shout farewell or pump my fist, I just walked out. Simple and understated. Kind of like my bar.

As you may have guessed, the new categories underlining the banner at the top of our site were my idea.  Originally when I was typing my request to Dave (Author’s Note: Like you ever entertained the thought that I did the technical stuff myself, I’m a social worker) I had an additional category for “Food”, differentiating it from the existing “Bars”. 

While these categories could clearly be combined into one, making that cut to me was like Sophie’s Choice.  I punched walls, I cried, I ate, I drank, the latter two making the decision ever harder. In the end, I decided that I could still talk about restaurants under the bar section, even if it meant a bit of confusion for any alcoholic readers who might wander in and out of A-1 Pizza and Subs in a drunken rage.

But what if there was a place that could adequately fit both descriptions?  Wouldn’t it justify my choosing between my two children of alcohol and fatty-fatness?  I hope so because that place, to me, is Pub Dog.

Let me start off my review by saying that I hate Towson.  My thoughts on a FederalHill/Columbia institution may seem unrelated to that hive of scum and villainy, but I need to establish what my preferred “scene” is.  I can’t stand any bar that transitions to a nightclub by charging a cover and forcing you to hear nothing but the pounding rhythms of a DJ, who looks as though he gets paid in upside down visors and aviator sunglasses, while you gulp down Miller Lite from a plastic cup.  I recently went to a bar like this in Frederick where, upon showing your ID, you got marked with a stamp that says, “Get Drunk, Get Laid”.  Ergo, I now hate Frederick too.

Pub Dog is not such a place.  While located in Federal Hill, the place in Baltimore I’m least likely to be found on a Friday or Saturday night, it comes across from first entrance as something a little different.  There are only two small “bar areas” with the traditional stools positioned for prime access to the alcohol, the rest is booth and table seating as found in a restaurant.  While there is music playing in the background, it’s just enough to cause the occasional gyration as opposed to irrevocable hearing loss.  The patronage is a bit older than most of the readers of this site are probably used to, more the upper-twenties to mid-thirties than anyone out to celebrate a twenty-first. 

What’s that? You don’t care whether or not a place is low-key when, no matter your surroundings, you are invincible with a beer in your hand?  Good news for you my not-quite-an-alcoholic-because-let’s-face-it-all-bets-are-off-until-you-turn-twenty-eight-better-make-that-thirty friends: Pub Dog is the ideal place for the writers and friends of www.thebaltimorons.com (tell your other friends), because it is a form of brewpub.

Just the term “brewpub” is like a chorus of angels to the ears of beer snobs everywhere (Author’s Note: We’re a real group, we have Membership Cards and Code Names and everything) who seek a product that demonstrates its quality by not coming in a thirty pack.  Please note that, as former college students, no one from this site would ever doubt the cultural importance of cheap beer, the ability to imbibe quality beer just happens to be one of the two major perks of finally receiving your degree (Author’s Note: The other perk is never having to sleep in a twin bed again).

Pub Dog has eleven main types of beer as well as “Mixed Breeds” which are combinations of any two.  The drinks are served in pairs ($4 [no mixing and matching within the pair]) of small mugs, each individual glass constituting approximately a can.  I am always surprised by how much I appreciate that they use actual glassware no matter how crowded things get, it just makes it feel like you’re actually having a drink as opposed to a big gulp of social lubricant.

Every time I’ve gone there I’ve always gotten the Black Dog, their “traditional velvety Irish Stout”, which is basically the Pub Dog equivalent of Guinness.  While it doesn’t taste quite as good as the true Black Stuff, their beer has a quality not found in Guinness that may cause people who don’t like stouts to give it a chance: it goes down like water. At a small sacrifice to complexity of flavor, the Black Dog has a very smooth taste that allows you, the discerning beer drinker, to throw them back on pace with the rest of your party who has opted for the Blond Dog, their Bud Light equivalent.

Now, ask yourself: what could possibly make your local watering hole better?  The answer lies in something that takes the experience of getting inebriated to a whole new level: pizza.  That’s right, Pub Dog is both a brewpub AND a gourmet pizza joint (all of the pizzas are under $10).  Wait, come back!  At least have the good manners to finish my review before you shove some poor designated driver in the front seat of your car and force him, at gunpoint, to accelerate towards Cross Street. 

If you were to look up reviews for Pub Dog on the Internet, you would notice that some people have made disparaging remarks about the quality of the pizza.  The truth is, if you’re sober enough to write a coherent review you are not eating their pizza in the way it was meant to be experienced.  Beer and greasy food are like milk and chocolate syrup, both will make you fat in excess, but combine the two and you can be both fat AND happy.

Also, Pub Dog is not the place to get a pepperoni pizza.  When you have options that include smoked gouda cheese, Kalamata olives, and fresh basil, why would you limit yourself to something you can get inside of a Totinos Pizza Roll (Author’s Note: Was anyone else absolutely, positively sure it was “Tostinos”)?  Have the Fuzzy Dunlops to branch outand try something different!

That being said, every time I’ve gone there I’ve ordered the “Original” Wing Dog Pizza to go with my Black Dog beer (Author’s Note: I have an almost legendary fear of change). The Wing Dog is described on the menu as “Buffalo wing sauce, mozzarella, green onion, smoked gouda, and spicy marinated buffalo chicken with cool ranch dressing.  Other acceptable descriptions include: six slices of heaven, The Greatest Show on Crust, and motive for homicide.

It is the classic fat kid’s dream of loving pizza and loving wings but hating the arduous process of eating both of them separately.  Enter the Wing Dog Pizza and the realization of a child’s dream, made slightly wet by the additionof ranch dipping sauce.  Sure, maybe it’s a little greasy sometimes but, as I said, the pizza is to be experienced rather than tasted, and the buffalo chicken has just enough kick to jump start drunken taste buds.

Not that Pub Dog is perfect however; no bar will ever obtain that title.  During its busiest hours it can be tough to find a seat and having to stand negates the relaxed atmosphere.  People who are insistent on the brand versions of beers (i.e., Guinness, Bud Light, Yuengling, etc.) may be a little disappointed that they can’t get the exact same familiar taste; they just don’t carry them.  Also, if you’re sitting on the stools downstairs (particularly during a week night) the bartender will probably pour you a few shots of Grand Marnier (the owner’s favorite brand) on the house.  Oh wait, that’s just one more decidedly good thing.

• Pub Dog has two locations: 20 East Cross Street in Baltimore (which is open from 5pm to 2am everyday) and 8865 Stanford Boulevard in Columbia (which is open from 11am to 2am everyday). 

• The beer comes in two glass orders for $4 and the pizza, which serves one (Author’s Note: Maybe two if you have self respect), is under $10. 

• Happy Hours are from 5-7 in Federal Hill and 3-7 in Columbia and feature $3 for two beers and $1 off all appetizers.  

(Author’s Note: What I figured we could do with these restaurant/bar/beer reviews is to open up the comments section to other patrons.  If you have been to Pub Dog before and have tried something else from the menu or even if you have another take on what I discussed, feel free to put up a mini-review [Author’s Desperate Plea: It would be much appreciated].  In these tough economic times people don’t want to spend their hard earned money on crappy food and drinks, let’s help each other out.  Come on gang, let’s work together to figure out how to get drunk and fat in Charm City!)