Dr. Ink | Come On Get Happy!
Commercially swelled Mission Valley suddenly feels like a quaint, folksy village when you mosey into Mr. Peabody’s Burgers and Ale, located a little west of Fashion Valley Mall in the petite Las Cumbres Square plaza on Friars Road. It’s a place where everyone seems to know each other and where newcomers can make an easy drinking friend by simply lending an ear to a regular customer with a story to tell.
The patronage varies wildly, ranging from football fans on game days to condo dwellers, business owners and students from nearby University of San Diego filling the intimate space at other times. A corkboard hanging near the touch-screen jukebox is crammed with group photos of the bar’s inner circle, mostly middle-aged folk who appear to understand the virtues of routine socializing.
Happy hour here is an all-day thing seven days a week. On Mondays, for example, beer pitchers are $2 off while sizable, ground turkey tacos drop from $4.50 to $3.25 apiece. We came for both, choosing without regret a pitcher of Mr. Peabody’s Amber Ale that’s brewed in extra-special-bitter style by Redhook Brewery in Seattle.
The beer’s malty aftertaste lingered to my liking, even after consuming a couple of turkey tacos that I had squirted with bottled hot sauce from the table. Other tap choices include Big Wave Golden Ale by Kona Brewing, Sculpin IPA from Ballast Point, Guinness Drought and 312 Pale Ale from Goose Island Beer Co.
Tuesdays are when Buffalo-style chicken wings fly rampant. Coupled with domestic beers (bottled and draft) that are slashed to $2.75, the wings also drop to an unbeatable price, with a full order costing only $4.50. I’ve gnawed through them in previous visits and they hit all the benchmarks in terms of texture and flavor. The day also marks $3.25 fish tacos.
Mr. P’s other daily deals are highlighted clearly on the regular menu, proceeding to shrimp tacos and micro brews on Wednesdays, house salads and well martinis on Thursdays and hot-selling turkey cheeseburgers and bloody Marys on football-fueled Sundays.
The limited number of tables, wooden booths and bar stools fill quickly during peak times, when the smell of fried foods from an open grill hangs heavy and drinks slosh from the glasses of standing customers. But in an area where cozy neighborhood bars are practically nonexistent, nobody seems to mind the kumbaya.
