Mad science unfolding under your feet: Federal Jack’s Brew Pub

If, say, you're caught in a terrible snow/sleet mix on the sometimes endless Maine Turnpike, it may be time to take a regular-guy pitstop. Among your options are Kittery's outlet riches, Ogunquit's charms, and others. The best place for the freshest beer, however, is a little waggle off 95N to Kennebunkport, to Shipyard's birthplace, the mighty Federal Jack's Brew Pub.

My date and I are savvy to the homemade ales, the massive Shipyard factory down the road from us on Munjoy Hill is a front for where the real brewing happens. While many fruits of the Kennebunkport Brewing Company (bottles of Shipyard, Eli's soft drinks, and other merchandise) spring from the massive Portland facility, one of Maine's finest craft beers was actually hatched here in this Kport basement. So too, are its new or limited run beers devised in this space under the watchful eye of brewmaster Alan Pugsley.

Settling in for the world's greatest people watching (it's Thursday night Karaoke) I order the Old Thumper, which I like ok out of a bottle, but today it's the "Beer of the Day " and is being offered for $3 a pint. The difference is clear immediately. Something in the softness on the palette screams that this blessed ale had been brewed nearby, recently. For a taste so rare (think brewery tour, but in much higher quantities) I can't believe I'm only dropping three bones. What's more, the staff is genuinely friendly, and passionate about the work place.

Bartender Matt, in fact, when asked of the one defining characteristic of Fed's as opposed to other dime-a-dozen taverns, says that people who work here are unusually comfortable and satisfied. "This place retains staff like no where I've ever worked" he said, churning along in year 13 himself. If I were looking for a good time without PBR's carbon-claws on my throat, I'd have no problem dropping some dough at this spacious alehouse. The prices are more than fair, the billiards abundant, and the waitresses smiling.

To say nothing of the beverage possibilities.

When a wobbling, early 20-something with a floppy BoSox cap boldly undertakes "The Thunder Rolls" to kick things off (risky choice…a slow country song about a vengeful wife? What ever happened to "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough?"), we decide to stick around for awhile and get some Tater Tots which arrive heaping, hot, and quickly. Later in the evening, an elderly chap buys all the ladies at the bar fresh flutes of Veuve Clicquot imploring them to cheer for him when he braves the karaoke stage. Is this normal? What is this place?

Well, Fed's is simply a well-flowing, well-lit tavern that would do well anywhere in New England. They have several seasonal decks that offer the total sensual package. For the eyes, there is all the glowing charm of the not-too-touristy village below, which will tug at your heartstrings at a level relative to the number of craft beers you enjoy, and for the nose and ears, there is that intoxicating salt stench and the sound of lapping tides emptying and filling the canal under the bridge.

The thing it's got on most everywhere else in the state however, is the mad science that's constantly unfolding underneath your feet.