A republished piece from the patriarch of the Restaurant Fiction.

 June 14, 1895

  The quintessential spot for celebration is along the dirty Charles River. Cut through the Union Station streetcars, horse carriages, factory mills, peddlers, and civilians upon the newly built tavern called Cheers.

Does Boston need another spot to paint one's nose and cheeks red? The answer will always be yes.

Cheers fits in with the rest of the marketplace and it’s plain as Jane wooden interior is ease to the eye.

The blend of the academic, the working Irish man and every class, color, and creed in between chase Irish whiskey with refreshing Sam Adam’s lager and fill the air without shame. Their inebriation maintains a certain level of class. No one’s blacking out, but some might make wrong decisions.

One who visits Cheers must abide by their code: have an open mind, common decency, and plenty of wits.

Cheers has the legs to not only stand for the time being, but for the rest of eternity.


 ATMOSPHERE:  A no-frills stronghold filled with the lifeblood of Bean town. 

SERVICE: Knowledgeable, attentive, and trustworthy. 

SOUND LEVEL: The cleverness of the conversation and jokes has the ability to only last 30 minutes at a time.


DRINKS: Beer, rum, whiskey, Mead, and cider.

PRICES: US currency only

OPEN: Only at night when the candles are lit. Closes when the candles blow out.



WiFi: No

Restrooms: There are plenty of outhouses in the back alleys.

Smoking: Yes

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