Three sexy lady bartenders were sporting their Halloween accessories, and the Dolphins-Patriots game was on several TVs, but I only had my eye on the majestic pretzel in front of me. It flaunted its beautiful golden-brown crust and stared back at me defiantly as if to say "I'm bigger than your face, bitch!" Served on what seemed to be a banana holder, the dangling delicacy came with two zesty sauces: pimento cheese and honey-mustard. Forget the low-carb diet. Screw the calorie count. That pretzel was mine to devour.
If there is a "How to Run a Successful Bar for Dummies" handbook, the owner of Firestone Public House surely has followed the instructions to a T. Spacious indoor and outdoor seating areas. Efficient staff. Sports on TVs. Guaranteed crowd-pleasing menu. Enticing happy-hour selection. As long as the country isn't in recession, and there are sports lovers, drinkers, and hungry people in town, this mirthful place probably won't be short of customers.
Needless to say, our time there last night was all smiles and no frowns. The Patriots were kicking the Dolphins' sad behinds, as we enjoyed our beer, fried-chicken gumbo and grilled salmon drenched with decadent citrus butter. The salmon had that perfect charred taste. The gumbo, although not tasting or looking exactly like the authentic version one would get in Louisiana, was delicious enough for me. Without that extra-crispy fried chicken, though, the dish might not have been as memorable. And how was the pretzel? Its quality was as impressive as its size. Enough said.