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Diamond Pub & Grill195 Hebron Avenue Glastonbury 06033 860-659-2002 By MICHAEL GANNON The Hartford Courant Published: 7/20/2003 My past is riddled with athletic disasters. There was baseball, where the only way I could catch a ball was to lodge it between my teeth. Then soccer, which essentially consisted of me panting across a field and kicking other players in the shins. My brightest moments were from my stint in the town basketball league, where I was known for making fantastic rebounds and then handing the ball politely to the other team. I just couldn't keep track of who was wearing which jerseys. A sports cafe, then, was a dark horse to have jockeyed its way into this column. I'd heard the newish spot in Glastonbury's growing "restaurant row'' had a great menu as well as a loyal ball- and beer-friendly following. My athletic anathema aside, I thought The Diamond Pub & Grill would be a gem. Instead, we struck cubic zirconium. By this, I mean the food at The Diamond is sloppy and lackluster, not that it is a spot to be avoided. There's a certain charm, to be sure, particularly for guys who like sports ... the "Diamond'' refers to the field, bartenders are generally cute and blonde, and there are enough television sets to make your brain turn to soup and dribble from your ears. People inside looked pleased, and there were plenty of laughs to be had in the comfortable, polished interior. I might have had one, too, if not for the blare of the dozen sportscasts grinding through our party's conversation. So the scene isn't for me. But it's perfect for plenty, and The Diamond's mostly full parking lot proves that sometimes, a casual place for beers and potato skins is enough to keep the grills burning. On one visit, with my parents in tow, we moved quickly through the bar and out onto the front patio. It seemed to promise chic cafe seating in the warm summer breeze. Instead, most of the breeze was supplied by the cars roaring by on Hebron Avenue, which made the din inside seem like a gentle whisper. We sat at a metal-mesh table and waited to be served. This arrived in the form of a waitress with enough tattoos on her arms to decorate the Sistine Chapel. "How is she going to feel when she's 65?'' gasped my mother. Probably chagrined, I imagined, but she'll never feel a twinge of regret when she looks back at her waitressing days. Her treatment of our table was top-notch, despite the fact that the poor girl was assigned to the entire patio. She was in a full sprint, but somehow had the patience to deal with each request quickly and politely. I wish we could have had her on our first visit, where the waitress wandered outside every 15 minutes or so, complaining about the sun and forgetting half of our orders. Fortunately for her, some of those orders were worth forgetting. If only they had taken the cost of those plasma-screen TVs and applied it to the chef! I was disappointed with many of the dishes, especially considering The Diamond is co-owned by Mark Resnicky, the man who brought us the foolproof Back Porch Bistro in West Hartford. Take the fried calamari. Perhaps you get what you pay for, and $6.95 isn't much these days for a calamari appetizer. But for two bucks more at other restaurants, you can triple the quality of these decrepit rings. I ordered them more than once, and admittedly, the seasoning on the second try was decidedly more interesting. But a proper texture was never achieved, and the marinara and tartar sauce at the calamari's side didn't deliver much-needed salvation. Chicken quesadillas were also so-so. They remind me of the hastily made midnight snacks of my freshman college days. This certain nostalgia led me to clear the plate, but the heavy cheese and sour cream made them tough to stomach in the sun. The main courses we sampled were slightly more successful. For lunch, we went with sandwiches, choosing from more than a dozen inexpensive selections. The "Reuben World'' was the tastiest, with corned beef, sauerkraut and Swiss cheese on rye. The Thousand Island dressing, clearly homemade, set it off as the best bite in the joint. The Diamond Signature Burger was also fine in flavor, but was served in that messy, over-stuffed style that leaves chunks of tomato and greasy bun all over the plate. I was more excited to try the entrees, which were a step above the rest of the menu. Fried whole belly clams seemed straight from a seaside shack, simply prepared with a crisp coating and a soft interior. Only one of the platter-full was even remotely stringy, which is a fine showing for this type of dish. Serving it on a bed of fries was a listless choice, but I suppose it kept in line with the clam-shack theme. Another unique choice is the Grilled Caribbean Jerk Salmon. Jerk anything is better left to the folks in Blue Hills, but you can't blame Glastonbury for trying. The Diamond made a decent showing, with a crispy layer of spice atop a buttery fillet. It wasn't remarkable, but I'd order it again. The New York strip was a nice cut of meat for the price, but the drama around the order was even better. The first time it arrived, it was well-done as opposed to the medium we'd ordered. We were set to make a gentle protest when the tattooed waitress spotted it first. She literally shrieked in revulsion, as if she'd spotted a dead rat bloating on the table. ``Oh my God!'' she cried, ``I'll get it away!'' and whisked it from the table. This was hilarious, and worth the inconvenience. The second steak that arrived was medium enough for us, but the waitress was still unsatisfied. She struck the steak from the tab and brought the friend who ordered it a free beer.
We picked at our desserts, a dense slice of Mississippi Mud Pie and a humdrum carrot cake, without much enthusiasm. The Diamond just doesn't serve food to gush over, so you may be best off taking mom and dad elsewhere. But keep this convenient spot in mind when you're planning a low-key night out with sports-minded friends. With a cold beer in hand and a billboard-sized TV next to your table, the food may not seem so important after all.
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