Distance between Boston and Nashville: 1,104 miles.
Distance between Boston and this place: 0 miles.
You’ll take it.
Go ahead and make Loretta’s Last Call, a Southern-fried, live country music spot just a foul ball away from Fenway, expected to open by the end of the week on Lansdowne Street.
Once upon a time, this was La Verdad. The tacos... are dead and gone. But walk in and you’ll discover the kind of joint a young Johnny Cash would’ve gone to looking for trouble back in the day.
There’s wood everywhere. A 150-year-old wood bar lined by jars of moonshine. Wood-paneled walls bedecked with vintage beer cans, a Dolly Parton pinup and a giant American flag. And that wood stage at the center of the room surrounded by blinking lights: that’s where you’ll find live country, bluegrass and the occasional folk act three or four nights a week.
You’ll come here looking for post-Sox revelry with friends unafraid of fried things and twang. Pitch camp in a diner-style booth under a wall of country stars and generally help yourselves to moonshine cocktails, an extensive beer can list and three kinds of fried chicken—classic Southern, Memphis hot and buttermilk.
And “All Three,” which you just invented.
Distance between Boston and this place: 0 miles.
You’ll take it.
Go ahead and make Loretta’s Last Call, a Southern-fried, live country music spot just a foul ball away from Fenway, expected to open by the end of the week on Lansdowne Street.
Once upon a time, this was La Verdad. The tacos... are dead and gone. But walk in and you’ll discover the kind of joint a young Johnny Cash would’ve gone to looking for trouble back in the day.
There’s wood everywhere. A 150-year-old wood bar lined by jars of moonshine. Wood-paneled walls bedecked with vintage beer cans, a Dolly Parton pinup and a giant American flag. And that wood stage at the center of the room surrounded by blinking lights: that’s where you’ll find live country, bluegrass and the occasional folk act three or four nights a week.
You’ll come here looking for post-Sox revelry with friends unafraid of fried things and twang. Pitch camp in a diner-style booth under a wall of country stars and generally help yourselves to moonshine cocktails, an extensive beer can list and three kinds of fried chicken—classic Southern, Memphis hot and buttermilk.
And “All Three,” which you just invented.
