Tristan Eades
Google
Front Street Pub & Eatery: Refuge from Davenport's Sunday Night Apocalypse.
Picture this, held hostage at my father-in-law’s barbeque that started three hours late, we barely escaped in search of actual dinner. But this is Davenport, IA, where Sunday night dining apparently stops at 8pm like some puritanical curfew. I'm diabetic, increasingly cranky, and rapidly losing faith in humanity as each restaurant Google promises me turns out closed or about to close.
Then, shining through the dark night and screaming Honda Civics prowling the streets, Front Street Pub & Eatery emerges as our beacon of hope, just a short walk from the hotel. We braved empty streets and eerie pedestrian walkways to find ourselves as the sole patrons stepping into the warm sanctuary of Front Street. I wondered briefly if everyone else in Davenport knew something we didn't, like maybe Walton Goggins issued a city-wide warning, but we pressed on.
The servers were attentive, friendly, and assured us they weren't closing yet, despite the post-apocalyptic quiet of a Sunday evening. We settled in with cold beers. I chose the Goldilocks Golden Ale, smooth, drinkable, and diabetic-friendly enough that I risked (successfully) a second. It easily surpassed my usual "no-options-left Miller Lite" beer choices. My wife chose the Cherry Bomb Blonde with an ambitious plate of nachos, which looked spectacular and tasted even better.
I went with the blackened chicken salad, it was packed generously with fresh veggies, perfect for my blood sugar and tasted excellent. The portion sizes were good, and everything tasted great and the chicken was hot, so I had no complaints. Atmosphere-wise, it’s tough to judge a place when you’re literally its only clientele, but it seemed cozy, clean, and welcoming. It reminded me a bit of my favorite dive bar, Flapjacks in Berwyn, minus the grunge, which pleased my wife immensely but left me sadly nostalgic.
Interestingly, Front Street Pub offers a Pork Nacho Challenge consisting of a five-pound gauntlet thrown down to brave eaters aiming for immortalization upon the Champions Wall plus a T-shirt. Part of me expected Walton Goggins to stroll in, sit down across from us, tip his hat, and whisper with a smirk, "Think you're ready, friend? Few are."
Honestly, this pub saved our night from becoming a diabetic nightmare and existential crisis combo. I'd gladly return, preferably with time to sample more beers, while my wife braves the nacho challenge provided Walton gives the nod.
Highly recommended, especially if you find yourself wandering Davenport at night, questioning your life choices and praying something edible remains open after the clock strikes eight.