Secret Drinker reviews Samba Brasil in Boston
Have you ever found yourself abroad, looking at those tiny one-room, one counter bars and wondering how anyone makes a living?
Italy, Spain, France and plenty of other countries encircling the Med seem to have an endless supply of those dinky cafes where locals pop in for an hour-long chat, the old boys meet to play cards all day and everyone seems to be having an animated and spectacular time without any consideration of purchasing enough cake, coffee and wine to come close to covering wages and overheads.
It’s not something that’s ever really taken off here, where the big old pub with its bar, lounge, food options and guest rooms historically hark back to the days of taverns and inns.
So maybe it was time to try something different?
I was actually heading to another pub that had been recommended to me when I spotted Samba Brasil, a small corner bar.
And, what with it being just days after Prime Minister Keir Starmer went public with his ‘island of strangers’ comments, I thought it an apt time to try something with a foreign feel.
Particularly because I was in Boston, a place which sits very much under the integration microscope.
Stick on any news channel, read any national rag and you’ll soon see this market town has become a go-to place for the media to flock when they want to handpick a few people off the street to talk about immigration in a way which will fit their agenda.
The Boston and Skegness constituency recorded the highest pro-Brexit vote (76%) of any part of the country back in 2016.
If you live anywhere in the borough you will now have a Reform UK mayor, MP and county councillor representing your needs - and I doubt this is because these fenland folk are absolutely gagging for a French-style, insurance-based healthcare model.
Immigration clearly remains a hot topic in the town, and West Street, where Samba Brasil sits wedged between a curry house and business which offers community support for European arrivals, is a clear example of how life in the UK has morphed over the past 20 years.
Much of the Portuguese-speaking community that arrived in the area two decades ago has filtered away, replaced by Eastern European migrants. But here remains a small reminder that some have happily now have roots in Lincolnshire.
The immaculately-presented barmaid looked a little startled to see a stranger walk through the door, but happily grabbed me an extremely reasonably priced bottle of Portuguese favourite Super Bock before returning to a chat with the place’s other drinker in her native tongue.
Samba Brasil isn’t a large spot. It’s a simple, nicely tiled two-room, one-bar place with a unisex toilet, George Michael blaring out of the speakers and little decoration barring the tables, chairs and a painting of an eyeball resembling the Brazilian flag.
But even with 18 chairs — yes, I counted — at his disposable, the other punter felt that plonking himself on the windowsill was the comfiest seat available.
Indeed, there wasn’t much sitting going on as another chap wandered in and was presented with an espresso on his arrival before opting to stand.
He joined in with the conversation before, moments later, a third man came in and found his bottle of beer on the bar waiting for him before, again, deciding there was no need to bother with resting his legs.
This chap did a double take when he spotted me and I could feel him eyeballing me.
Did I look like someone who owed him £20? Was there an embarrassing stain on my shirt? Are the groups here so divided that they eye everyone with suspicion?
The answer to that final question was forthcoming almost immediately as a fellow Brit walked in.
“Hey,” the barmaid, with a big smile, before she and the rest of the crowd switched effortlessly to English to engage their pal in the chat.
Again, his bottle of beer had the lid clinked off and was waiting for him before he — and this felt like a real middle finger to convention — decided to make use of one of the stools at the bar.
The punters laughed and joked, but rarely as a full group. One by one they would pop outside to smoke, to make a phone call, nip to the shop.
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I was starting to see why nobody bothered with chairs, because life continued around the drinks. A couple of sips, a few words, then off on a quick errand before returning.
Quite different to the places I usually drink in, where everyone seems to territorially find their spot and guard it until they’re ready for home.
Yeah, I felt something of an outsider in Samba Brasil. But this wasn’t because I was English, but because I wasn’t a regular — which is no different to pretty much any bar the length of the land.
Those who knew one another shared conversation and proved again the importance of bars, beer and community.
Maybe if we all made that little bit of an effort to get to know each other better we wouldn’t be such an island of strangers, I thought to myself as I stepped out into the street, almost got run over by a large, topless and tattooed twentysomething bloke on a stupidly-fast-moving mobility scooter, who called me a ‘p***k’ as he sped off along the pavement.
SAMBA BRASIL, BOND STREET, BOSTON, Boston PE21 8XT
DECOR: It was a small, basic-looking, bar which did the job it needed to, looking more like the kind of spot you’d find on the continent. 3/5
DRINK: I had a bottle of Super Bock (5%), a nice Portuguese lager. 3/5
PRICE: Almost staggered when the barmaid asked for my money, I paid an very reasonable £2.70. 4/5
ATMOSPHERE: The regulars were having a nice, animated chat and the comings and goings added life to the room. 4/5
STAFF: The barmaid was the life and soul of the place, chatting to her regulars in both English and Portuguese. 4/5
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