Jump into the way-back machine when you visit this brewpub. It's like a trip to the '70s singles scene. Only the hanging ferns are missing. Instead, you'll find hopeful hangers-on yakking into cell phones on the patio or vying for elbow room at the bar, where there's a lavish selection of imported brews. The regulars are mostly middle-aged cubicle cowboys scoping the scene for younger, cooler women (there are a few) and gingerly checking their comb-overs for strays. If you can ignore the swingle aspect and the loud retro tunes (Stevie Wonder, early Madonna), there is a terrific Mex-Caribbean menu here. We were happy with the just-right pile of seafood nachos, and the po'boy burst with crispy bites of shrimp tucked into a buttery French roll, accompanied by a pyramid of delicate gaufrette potatoes. The generously sized grouper sandwich comes grilled, blackened or zinged with jerk seasoning. There's barely room for homemade coconut ice cream and warm Key lime pie, but they're worth stretching the waistband.
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