An early Saturday start. You feel like hammered shit. Some stranger who smells like perfume and old beer lies next to you naked. Your TV is smashed and someone decorated the room with your dirty undergarments. You could sort your shit out. You could try to retrace what happened last night. You could clean. You could take a shower. You could check your fucking email.
No, what you will do is rally. You will stumble down to Ted’s, dragging your sweatpants, body oder and dignity with you. Order a beer and giant grinder. Lay siege to that hangover. You’ve had worse.
A tiny hut, tucked directly between the grandeur of UConn’s main campus and the wild orgy of blood, beer and desperation that is ‘Mansfield’. Ted’s is not a “hotspot of nightlife,” as their Twatter claims. Nor is it a place to prowl for loud, drunk, women with absentee fathers. This is an outpost. A forward operating base for your Saturday night. A last line of civilization before the uncharted tundra. A place to rally the troops, give your final toasts, and jump feet-first into the breach once more.
Solid food, solid beers. Understated, classic college-pub atmosphere. We could write much more, but Ted’s is simple just like this review.