Arriba, Arriba Parilla 

The Reviewer's Law of Inverse Experience is almost certainly guaranteed to hold true when she ventures into familiar territory with intent to evaluate for the purpose of publication. The law, first coined by yours truly, states that the more surefire fantastic a restaurant or bar has always been in the past, the more it will falter when under serious scrutiny. Alas, Parilla Grill almost fell to such a fate.

Many a shiny summer Sunday I have spent quaffing with mates over quarter beers, watching the unpredictable parade of Hyde Park saunter past the nearly walled-in patio—even after cheap Sunday beers were a thing of the faraway past. It's one of the few places in Boise where the patio gets more play year round than Jenna Jameson, and since having picked up two of my favorite bartenders in town, Parilla is much cooler than I could hope to be, even if I went cryogenic. But then I decided to review it, and I'll be hornswaggled if that law didn't wedge itself right into the bar and make itself at home. Bud Light? Nope, keg's out. PBR? That one's gone, too. Uh ... Kokanee? Sorry, gone. And that was just inside. Outside I met a similar fate, but at least the bartender sent a lackey to fiddle with the kegs and many minutes later—but within seconds of my self-imposed deadline for departure (which was the moment I finished my monster burrito)—a pitcher arrived (insert angelic "Ah!" here). It was almost a very short visit with a very negative outcome. (Instead, I stuck around to be verbally assaulted by an intoxicated regular who was adamant that I show him my God-given baby feeders—I didn't.)

But the law be damned! The place looks smashing under the command of 'tender Cote, the specialty drinks and the specials are special-er than those quarter beers anyhow, and even if I have to drink a Fat Tire, I'll go back.

Parilla Grill, 1512 N. 13th St. 323-4688

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