You and raccoons... don’t have much in common.
Oh, except for a tendency to show up in solid new gastropubs.
See for yourself at The Seven Dials, an inconspicuously located gastropub replete with housemade charcuterie and the beer that goes with it, soft-open now in the Gables. (This way to the slideshow.)
When you picture one of those Spanish-style condo buildings in the Gables, you probably aren’t thinking, “Hey, fantastic spot for some cold pints and duck jerky.” Probably. But you should be. Because the Minorca is now conveniently housing a gastropub filled with bric-a-brac, chalkboard menus and wallpaper featuring raccoons getting properly soused. (There they are. The raccoons.)
The guys behind the place have brought you Sra. Martinez and The Local. Should bode well for the charcuterie board you’ll be ordering—all laid out with soppressata, pâté and bread from Zak the Baker. Stuff that just calls for a saison with a few comrades from work... or for a Friday date night with your favorite cured-meat aficionado.
Before you leave, ask the guys here about their clandestine Saturday morning activities. Something about a secret soccer-watching breakfast club.
Hopefully it won’t conflict with your other secret soccer-watching breakfast club.
Oh, except for a tendency to show up in solid new gastropubs.
See for yourself at The Seven Dials, an inconspicuously located gastropub replete with housemade charcuterie and the beer that goes with it, soft-open now in the Gables. (This way to the slideshow.)
When you picture one of those Spanish-style condo buildings in the Gables, you probably aren’t thinking, “Hey, fantastic spot for some cold pints and duck jerky.” Probably. But you should be. Because the Minorca is now conveniently housing a gastropub filled with bric-a-brac, chalkboard menus and wallpaper featuring raccoons getting properly soused. (There they are. The raccoons.)
The guys behind the place have brought you Sra. Martinez and The Local. Should bode well for the charcuterie board you’ll be ordering—all laid out with soppressata, pâté and bread from Zak the Baker. Stuff that just calls for a saison with a few comrades from work... or for a Friday date night with your favorite cured-meat aficionado.
Before you leave, ask the guys here about their clandestine Saturday morning activities. Something about a secret soccer-watching breakfast club.
Hopefully it won’t conflict with your other secret soccer-watching breakfast club.
