The Dry Dock Restaurant & Tavern
84 Commercial Street
Portland
774-3550
To my adoring fans:
I regret to inform you about the terrible meal I was served on Wednesday night. You see, I took a little trip down to the wharf to grab up some eats, but my indecision was killing me and I couldn’t choose between The Dry Dock and J’s Oyster. Just then, I remembered the recommendation my buddy Paul gave me (Paul is an ex-staffer for the Free Press). In short, ladies and gents, Paul is a bastard. We’re glad he doesn’t work here anymore to taint our review decisions. Jerk.
Upon entry I was promptly seated and asked about a libation preference, which impressed me. I said that I needed a minute, but when I got ten minutes instead of one, I was frothing at the mouth and approaching a seizure. Beer! I don’t know if it was the fact that I hadn’t slept the night before, or whether it was the zeal from the beer arrival, but I managed to knock it over reaching for my second sip.
Has that ever happened to you? It’s like watching liquid gold run out of your cup and your wallet. I thought I was out of luck. But no! My waitress, having a giant heart, replaced my beer in minutes! That is the only time that has ever happened to me. This amazement would not be the tone for the rest of my meal, however.
Needless to say, my food was not all it could have been. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, especially about a restaurant that is such a favorite around town, but the following is one man’s story about one man’s nachos.
They were crumby. And by “crumby” I mean both bad, and broken into bits. Yes, the unfortunate truth is that it seems my order of black bean and veggie nachos was built from the last of a bag of corn chips — I mean corn bits. How does one dip the undippable chip? I ended up eating the pine-flavored salsa with a fork. Yes, the salsa carried a flavor reminiscent of Pine Sol. At least I know they have clean floors.
Aside from the cleanliness of the joint, they did have a killer soundtrack. The whole time I was in there they played a steady diet of funk that pinnacled with Michael Jackson’s “Blame It on the Boogie.” For those of you in the know, you know how kick-ass old school MJ can be. I pondered all this while I waited for my “World Famous Dry Dock Steak Burger” and watched as the Red Sox were losing to Baltimore 7-1. The pain continued.
And it didn’t stop there; the burger came out, and before it hit the table there was trouble. I had asked to sub onion rings in place of French fries, but apparently that didn’t register with my waitress. A rushed side order was placed as a result. The side of mayonnaise I ordered was missing, too, although I didn’t bring it up.
When at long last I sunk my teeth into that meat sandwich, I was not greeted by the familiar warm squish, but instead by charred crumbling burger. Alas, the hamburger that I had ordered medium came to me over-well.
I am not trying to stir up controversy; I like to be able to write nice things about restaurants. But in my opinion, when you are spending eight to ten times the money it would cost you to put together the same food at home, you should get what you want. I’m not an asshole, I’m just being fair.
In summation, I may never dock it at the Dry Dock again, with one exception. There is something that I have failed to mention, which is the keystone in the appeal of the restaurant: the double-tiered deck out back that’s open in the summer. It looks out onto the wharf and the harbor, and it is kind of nice to sit out there and drink some beers on a hot day.
But don’t go inside. The ambiance in the dining room is quite different; the abundance of plant life is enough to make you feel like you’re in the Hanging Gardens.
The d?cor gets a 5. The food was iffy, at best: a 4. The service was less than average, but the free beer saved it: a 7. The composite score for the Dry Dock is a 5.
Joe Reynolds can be contacted at [email protected]