Pizzeria and Pub, Profenno's has it all

A second chance, I found what I was looking for at Profennos.

Works hard, plays hard: Thatcher's in Gorham

September 15th is 2009's first crisp autumn night. The typical twenty something, confounded by the precise meaning of "young professional", is not immune to a bit of back-to-school nostalgia on such occasions, and I succumb entirely, eager to check out USM Gorham's new weekend playground, Thatcher's Restaurant and Pub.

The place is a bit of a freshman itself, having opened in January, but it's finally getting its turn at the college daze after older bro Thatcher's in South Portland blazed the trail. With a wide-open layout, tonight the brash younger sibling has its lights on at full blast, with a not quite octagonal bar gleaming like fresh powder at Sunday River.

For a place that would typically feature a sexier, more heavily shadowed lighting scheme it's a bit surreal to see the room cast in the flood of the house high-beams and buzzing Bud Light signs. This must just be the extended afterglow of the Pats' opening thriller from last night; bartender Kristi's #12 jersey corroborates as much.

There's no question that I would have handily squandered my education here if I were in college. Undone with a glance at one of those beautiful, frosty 25oz mugs, ($6.50 for microbrews, $5 for domestics), beguiled by the devilish rows of spirits, and tantalized by ridiculous app names like "Munchie Platter ($8.99 for deep-fried varieties)," it's clear early that this is the place you bring your best wingman-designated-driver.

Remember, its good form to save your most stand-up friends for the nights you expect to make the most bad decisions. "Yes, ma'am, for reasons quite out of my control, I'm going to have to order the Steak and Cheese Stacker ($8.99), the Fish-n-Chips ($10.99) and a bowl of that bangin' award winging chili ($4.99). Oh no, that's fine, you can bring them out all at once."

Tonight though, Thatcher's is lit a bit more like the college dorm study lounge. The bar is lined with the BoSox Bud Special, $2.75 for smalls and $4.75 for talls during game time. The molding around the walls is ornately hand-crafted with giant hi-def televisions, blasting the Sox game nearly 15 times over.

Behind me, there's an increasingly competitive darts competition, and outside of a cheery, all-female staff, there's literally 2 women among approximately 40 patrons. Tonight, Thatcher's Gorham has pulled off the improbable, a male-driven, beer-steered study hall, a veritable laboratory of sports and social analysis.

This is clearly not the pub's primary function, with vast square-footage for the requisite lovedrunk college courtships that will come to incubate here in the late September weekends. With $5 cosmos and margaritas on Ladies Night though, neither does the pub cater to a certain gender.

On an otherwise underwhelming school night, Thatcher's has offered a place for Mainers to mend their Pats-tattered vocal chords, and relive in relative clarity the weekend's multi-sport glories. The sensory overload will lovingly fill in all the sounds and pictures you wish you'd remembered.

All in the family: Parker's Restaurant

Not knowing quite what to expect, I arrive at Parker's (Steaks, Drinks, Good Times!) simply hoping the Red Sox put on a show. Admittedly, it's a good omen when I walk-in, sit down, and Boston crushes 2 balls out of Fenway Park on the enormous, loud screen in front of me.

My heavily bearded, lumberjack of a neighbor slams an enormous paw on the bar and roars "Get ouuuta heeere!" as though a bloodlust for all things Oriole had overtaken him. Nobody notices the outburst, in part because Parker's is this year celebrating its 20th anniversary of such displays. We'll call this Cheers parallel #1. In the fervor of the moment, I quick-grab the menu and scan for the sportsiest possible appetizer, in this case, the first thing containing the word "buffalo."

This appetizer menu is a treasure map to a beer lover. Speedy, smiling bartender Jessica tells me the most popular app is a mess-preference call between the Spinach and Artichoke Dip ($7.99) and the twice-fried, fiery Dirt Wings ($8.99/lb). She offers her favorite as an alternative, the tempting Teriyaki Bacon-Wrapped Scallops ($8.99).

But, home runs are home runs, so I've got the Buffalo Tenders ($8.99) on the way and a tall pint of all-American Harpoon IPA ($4.00) as the only thing between me and a sweet 3-0 lead. There's no fat on the draught beer list, with Maine-stays Shipyard Export and Allagash White bolstering the more crisp options Stella Artois and Miller Lite ($3.00).

The bar is by no means bashful, either, boasting a full wine list and an array of spirits to conjure any drink under the sun. The best part so far though? The people here are so engrossed in one another ($free) that they barely notice the on-screen heroics. It's a Tuesday, but it still takes a craning of the neck to find an empty seat. Classic prints of old maps, alleyways and architecture walk hand in hand with an unabashed passion for Boston sports. It's warm and welcoming, with a broad auburn bar and comfortable chairs. The effect is immediate, I dream of ducking into Parker's with the Pats deep in the post-season, seeking shelter from some Nor'Easter. Being here, safe, fat and happy, conjures those jovial tavern scenes from the hobbit movies.

As far as the bar/restaurant dynamic goes, with the Red Sox in the hunt, it's no contest as the NESN broadcast is providing the only amplified sound. The soul of the place is in the verve of bar-mode.

Notably, the babble of countless families, couples and business partners does not seem the least bit bothered by this. Truth be told, I had my Applebee's-gimmickry radar out, but I didn't need it, because Parker's is really just a fully-equipped community meeting place where fun is allowed. Everyone was calling across the bar, and there was also a notable preference for leaning-in at the restaurant's tables. Cheers parallel #2.

The tenders arrive, and to my shock, horror and delight, they are volcanically hot. I am grinning, eating, and sweating profusely all at once. In a heads-up play, Jessica brings me more napkins and a fire extinguisher. As this unfolds, my neighbor on the opposite side shakes her proud Rhea Perlman curls in familiar disbelief. "Sweet sweet Jessi" she says.

Men are muttering about middle-relief, hearty laughs are soaring to the rafters, and a regular is marveling is at her old friend, bartender Jessi, helping out the buffalo-sauce rookie. With a bullet, I give you your dark-horse Cheers of Portland. Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.

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