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Post Street Ale House

Look, we’re all about second chances here at ye olde SFB. And after our first disaster of a visit to the Post Street Ale House, we decided to give it another go. I mean, why not? Last time was opening weekend and all.

Yet here I am again, hating on the place. Has it improved? Yes, but only from “comically awful” to “comically bad.”

The Post Street Ale House calls itself an ale house. It’s right there in the title. That, to me, means they’re getting themselves into a social contract with the customer, a contract where they guarantee they know ale.

The Post Street Ale House does not know ale. Far from it. There were some limited changes to the tap selection since our last visit, which was more than three months ago. The selection wasn’t particularly great then, and, surprisingly enough, it hasn’t gotten better with time. About twenty taps, give or take, is not particularly mindblowing for an ale house at any rate.

The Post Street Ale House really does not know ale. If they did, they wouldn’t serve their ales at almost freezing temperatures. I mean, for heaven’s sake, if the Swinging Doors, which has been around since about the 1320s, can serve brews at a decent temperature, then a brand new swanky ale house should be able to do the same thing.

If The Post Street Ale House did know ale, they would have a selection of hundreds of ales on bottle. Of course, maybe they do, but they choose to hide the menu? I doubt it. Walt Worthy should get on his square feet and run down to Bittercreek Ale House in Boise. He might feel inspired.

The Post Street Ale House might not know ale then, though their food was marginally better than during our first visit. Not that deep fried pickles are amazingly exciting, but they tasted OK for what they were. The sliders, meanwhile, reminded me of the one time I tried a pre-made microwavable hamburger (it came with a bun and everything). It wasn’t good.

Nor were the sliders.

Nor is the Post Street Ale House.

Of course, nobody will care what I say. The place is jumping, so I guess people like it. But hell if it’s an ale house.