Don't let the rack of ribs overshadow what's on tap: Norm’s East End Grille

Since going to Norm East End Grille's for BBQ is like watching the Sea Dogs play or hopping the ferry to Peaks in this town, it may not be immediately seen as a place to go get your libation on. After all, those massive racks of ribs have a way of overshadowing what's on tap and/or occupying all the space inside you to put anything.

For this reason, I figure it warrants a closer look. Just who is the supporting cast for the star bar-b-que? What are the pieces of Norm's popularity, and can a well-meaning visitor pull off a "couple of drinks" followed by a massive mess of food?

I notice the steep, bright green steps up to the bar area, worn in the center from the love of a lot of hungry feet. I'm a big fan of the upstairs bar anyway, it always feels removed from the rest of the world just enough. The lights are nice and low, but the bar glows neon, which allows the room's gift for contrasts to shine.

For all of Norm's exuberance on the dinner plates, there's just as much discretion to be noted in the décor. Between two ancient brick walls, there are four, framed movie posters (Trainspotting, Raging Bull, Usual Suspects and 1968's Bullitt with mean Steve McQueen) presented neatly in a line. The tables in the dining area are armed for sauce and stains, proudly wearing their red and white checkers, and practically screaming "Eat on me!"

The bar though, is like the really quiet, interesting guy standing behind the loud, drunk popular guy at a party. You know how some bars are stocked like they're prepping for Prohibition? Norm's has one of each of all the bottles you could want, but not two. They make feisty creative drinks with their own names, like the East End Margarita ($7), and pour Maine beers out of subtle, central taps at the elbow of the corner bar. The highlight of the whole scene? The tunes.

When I hear a favorite indie song that has no business playing in a restaurant, bartender Chris points to his iPod and grins "Yup, we're the jukebox. We pick the playlists." The staff feeds off the personal touch, busy bustling about but whistling and humming all the while. Sure beats Don Henley wailing on Sirius at Chili's. As an added counterpoint to the typical head-bangers sports bar, the lone, muted television is tuned to the Discovery Channel. Much respect to the bar that treats its TVs as an ornament, rather than a focal point, isn't the whole point of drinking so we can interact easier?

Of course, Norm's is Norm's, so after a couple brews, my buddy and I throw our own discretion to the dogs and courageously go halfies on the BBQ Sampler ($17.95), a monster of 2 rib racks, sausage, a half-chicken, steak tips, and the trusty palette cleansing cornbread.

The secret of this place is that BBQ is the absolute best when it comes to late night munchies, and getting a grip. If exercise and a healthy diet add years to your life, better than pizza, burgers, or nachos, Norm's no-joke applewood smoked meats add drinks to your night.

Long standing traditions at Pat's Pizza in Yarmouth

Owners since 1978, John Kyle and son Chris have kept the "family" in the business.

Traditional Irish meets local Maine at South Portland favorite: The Griffin Club

Eddie Griffin, legendary Maine personality and philanthropist, opened the doors of his new cast-Irish pub in 1969. Humbly, it has sat on a beautiful South Portland peninsula, right there on Ocean Street for forty years. It has played host to famous Boston ballplayers of the 70's and 80's, and plenty of Eddie's favorite, the prizefighters of the day. Today, it stays afloat through a mutual labor of love between ownership and long time patronage.

"The characters make the place," offered the bartender, also named Eddie. "People been coming here for 40 years like clockwork. Stop by on a Friday, when the sponsor girls come in and they try to get people to drink, y'know, something different. It just isn't happening." Glancing around, it's no wonder the locals don't budge. Laminated into the bar is a vintage 60's colored wide-shot of the South Ireland coastline. The photo is just one piece of the paean.

There are laminated leprechauns, bits from Yeats and Joyce, clovers, you name it, Eddie literally brought the idea to the table. The Griffin Club celebrates a lot more than just the ol' emerald glens, too. For one thing, emblems of Christmas, Halloween and St. Patrick's Day all hang about uncaringly at once. Why not look forward or backward to all the holidays all the time? I order a Newcastle, an ale of the dreaded Brits, but on sale today for $3.00 a pint.

As far as food, there's no menu, but there's always something around to snack on. Today it's complimentary little bags of Doritos, as well as a plastic pumpkin pail full of mints and matches. Around the holidays last year, the Griffin Club had put out little bowls of a regular's homemade Chex mix. It was fantastic, but that's beside the point. Griffin's is the type of local fixture where the neighborhood brings in their famous Christmas Chex mix to be sampled by all.

There are 2 pool tables, with plenty of room to gather round, as well as weekly karaoke on Friday nights. This a hilarious image somehow. Such a close community, bound-tight through hurricanes and snowstorms, deaths and births, for forty years, comes to have belly laughs at one another singing Kenny Rogers through Bud-goggles every week. In one lonely looking corner, bartender Eddie hesitantly shows me founder Eddie's clearly curated photo collection, wary that damage will come to it somehow.

A giant, stoic Ted Williams, Eddie with his arm around Jim Rice, all autographed, all in pristine condition. In the Seventies, the Griffin Club was hip, a hot spot in all of Maine. Now, with the news of health care reform cranked up on the lone large TV, and dozens of breast cancer posters lining the opposite wall, the pub serves a more sacred human need. The bar is arranged in a rectangle, so everyone can see across and holler at everyone else. T

rusting in fellowship, and cold Guinness, today the Griffin Club is the meeting place, without pretense, where the real-life community conversations happen.