An exhile afternoon at the mall (Gran Plaza) should have led us directly to a good time sports meal at Boston’s, the games pizza fun stop for families and friends. I foolishly drove all the way down the Prolongacion to the Glorietta of Fakey Ruins where we spun around and hauled ass back, past the Burger King Glorietta to the home base of Michael Jordan memorabilia, the endzone of cheesy bread sticks, the three point line of blue adult beverages. I’m saying we went back to Boston’s.

Malcolm’s stoplight Coco Snap had not sated his thirst/hunger and we knew we needed to carb up before diving into the Departments of Delight that is Liverpool. We have been to Boston’s before, again after a trip to the mall; they just make sense together. Don’t pity or mock us, we went in with our eyes open. This time to the other side…

Okay, there isn’t anything dark or mysterious about the bar part of Boston’s. It was early in the evening, which was one of the reaons why we had landed there, and a few families were enjoying a night out. We decided that it feels more like Anywhere, USA than even one of the American chain restaurants, with its team jersies, iconic photos and oversized booths. I wondered why they advertise “Pasta Tuesday” written just like that in English, and Malcolm suggested that it is too nonsensical to translate, but as a meaningless Americanism, you know what you’re going to get (what you’re getting, by the way, is a choose-your-own-adventure of noodle and sauce options.)

The chalk written sign above the bar says to ask about their pitchers (jarras) of beer. We chose a dark (obscura) XX which Malcolm offset by making his a chelada. We ordered banderillas de pan fresca (garlic bread twists) to start. In a place like this, you know you’re there for the apps. Yeah, I said it. It’s tacky, but it’s totally true.

It is important to know when to go to Boston’s and why. If you like loud, sticky children and Chicago-style saucy pizza, go on any Saturday afternoon. I do not happen to care for those things (being not yet married and a New Haven girl at heart) so for me a greek salad was a better choice. Malcolm did not order the Mama Meata Calzone, as I had hoped, but was pleased with his choice of a chicken and ricotta stuffed bread, made better by the bolognese dipping pot. My salad included kalamata olives and a feta-ish cheese served over crisp vegetables. We were tempted to end the epic meal with cheese cake wraps or a millionaire margarita (made with Don Julio Reposado) but opted instead to roll ouselves over to the game room for some video arcade racing action.

Everything was just as we had anticipated: filling, silly, and fine. Exactly what the body and spirit require in the wake of an afternoon lost in the consumer labyrinth of Gran Plaza mall. If you live here and are feeling nostalgic for there, go to Boston’s and have a sundae as big as your ass. If you finish it, it’s on the house.**

* This is not a recommended analogy for your SAT prep
** The only lie of commission in this entire article

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