Sunil: This article was originally a review of Tacos Y Tequila, Hanover’s new Mexican restaurant. Unfortunately, as a result of my lack of pragmatism, we were not able to dine there; note to reader and self, the restaurant is reservation-only. So, we trekked through the snow a few yards and decided upon reviewing Dunk’s Sports Grill. Dunk’s arrived in the spring of 2021, offering hometown entertainment that was absent from the town and a space most reminiscent of a normal college town. Does the bar and grill live up to its expectations? The reviews among our staff are mixed on its ambience, and the mixed drinks had room for improvement. Nonetheless, the food was phenomenal and requires praise for its true Americanism.
Ian: While I did not attend this particular review, I must interject on this note. Smothered fries are delights delivered directly from the mouth of God to the terrestrial world. The fries at Dunk’s remain perfectly crispy and seasoned despite the heap of bean chili, sour cream, cheese, and jalapenos on top. I would humbly suggest the reader ask for ranch and special sauce with smothered fries. The ranch, an often underappreciated condiment, is a sublime complement, offering much-needed relief from the delightfully overwhelming flavors of the fries. This dish demands a level of respect that supersedes the body. Your author would humbly risk the contraction of obesity in order to consume this delight every single meal. The smothered fries are so good that the already impressive “All American Burger” pales in comparison. But do not underestimate the burger. As soon as one takes a bite, he will feel the juice of two scrumptious patties run down his hand. If I were to continue, this article would inevitably turn pornographic. Trust me and order the smothered fries with the all-American burger.
Sunil: We sampled a set of appetizers. The smothered fries need no further extrapolation. They were delicious. Going on to a more peculiar choice, given the New England influence, the Corn Chowder—in contrast to clam chowder—was puzzling yet decent. It definitely tested my textural palette, and it incentivized me to drink further (which is always a good thing). The Honey Glazed Hot Wings were the star of the show. Combined with blue cheese, they were delectable, shareable, and a great meal in-and-of itself. Decent wings are difficult to find in Hanover. The main viable alternatives are the boneless bites at Molly’s (boneless speaks for itself) and the multi-flavored wings at Domino’s, which probably shouldn’t be classified as real chicken. Moving on to the entrees, burgers are the way to go. Dunk’s produces its own special sauce, which is tangy, creamy, and spicy, that complements the grease of the burgers and fries. We also sampled some of the other, more puzzling options. Our esteemed President Jacob Parker struggled to fit his Shrimp Po Boy snuggly in his mouth, and seafood doesn’t go amazingly well with a pitcher of Whiskey Sours. Substituting fries with quinoa salad on his Cajun Chicken, our Editor-in-Chief Emeritus Devon Kurtz found the substitution to be nothing less than pleasant. The cold quinoa provided a fine contrast to the otherwise hot foods and provided balance for a stomach in conflict with otherwise fried contents.
Eli: To all the ’24s and ’25s reading this unorganized attempt at a review, I must preface anything I’m about to say with an apology. I am sorry, so truly and genuinely sorry, that you did not get to experience Salt Hill on campus. Salt Hill Pub was the bar that occupied the ugly little corner of Hanover’s sad attempt at a shopping center that now houses Dunk’s. Did Salt Hill serve good food? Not particularly—not any better than Dunk’s does—and perhaps their food was marginally worse. Did Salt Hill feature a better drink selection than Dunk’s does? Hell if I know, I was underage during each of my visits, although I will say that I appreciated their readily available herbal tea selection. Did Salt Hill feature superior service? Of a distinctly different quality, sure, but I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say better. But, and this is an incredibly critical criterion of evaluation, did Salt Hill Pub regularly play renditions of traditional Irish folk music instead of the bland, pulsating, nauseating monotony of Top 100s? The answer is yes, dear reader—a thousand, unequivocal, unrestrained times, yes!
Good God, how much more infinitely pleasant the atmosphere of Dunk’s would be, if it could only deign to likewise stream those glorious jingles, those lovely strums of the mandolin, those lusty pulls on the fiddle, the heav’nly twang of an Irish singer!
Yes, one could still make one’s way to Lebanon, or Newport, or Newbury, or West Leb, to visit one of Salt Hill’s other locations. And one should—please do go experience the charming atmosphere for oneself. But no longer can I walk to Salt Hill on a weekday night; no longer can I tag along with the Episcopalians for Theology on Tap (how could anyone possibly expect an Episcopalian to patronize Dunk’s, of all places?).
The only possible defense for the abominably high prices that invariably accompany the average food served at every New England dining establishment (except for The Cluckin’ Cafe in Pittsford, which is perfect and should never change) is the homely tune of an Irish jig. And Dunk’s does not play Irish jigs.
Ophelia: The fare at Dunk’s is nothing to write home about—in fact, I would specifically recommend against writing home about it; you’re liable for a scolding if you spend $12 on a mediocre burger. I can’t say the drinks were much better. My old fashioned, I believe, was just straight rye with a little orange peel as garnish. I could do without the sugar, sure, but the bitters? Never. Mid grade whiskey needs to be accompanied by something herbal, unless you’re a divorced father of 3. I can only assume, since I was told they “could not make” a sazerac, that this is the result of a poorly stocked bar and not the fault of the bartender. Beverages without bitters or cognac were a bigger hit and displayed obvious talent. My Tom Collins was appropriately cheerful, like an elevated Mike’s.
The obvious highlights of the night were our two servers. Maybe it’s because we were the only party larger than two, maybe we were more interesting than the golf playing on every television. Regardless, the pair took good care of us. An established employee and an eager trainee helped our group, and we must hope that the latter did not view us as trial by fire. They checked on us often, but not too often, and helped a member of our party learn to pronounce “Po Boy.” What has stuck with me, personally, is the pair’s obvious love and care for customers.
I believe that the best part about eating out, by far, is that certain je ne sais quoi of a water with lemon. It’s refreshing, it’s relaxing, and it reminds you that you’re not eating Foco To Go. It is difficult to justify cutting up an entire lemon for one drink at home, but I often ask for a slice when dining out, since most restaurants have leftovers from other drinks and dishes. Servers will (often begrudgingly) accommodate this request for the first glass of water, but rarely the second; it’s an extra step that is mostly unnecessary, and difficult to remember. Dunk’s is different. Dunk’s cares about you. Dunk’s would key your ex-boyfriend’s car if you asked them. Dunk’s gave me two slices of lemon in my second glass of water. I am a patron for life.
Devon: I did not expect to fill my mouth with warm, frothy cream before eight o’clock on a Thursday. But Dunk’s is an establishment beyond expectations. No, this is not some ribald account of a bathroom assignation—I am talking about my commensurately sensual experience with Dunk’s corn chowder.
Why did I order corn chowder at a downscale sports bar that televises golf tournaments and primarily serves variant sandwiches, including a $15 grilled cheese? I politely deflect the question and redirect a far more pressing question to Dunk’s. Why is corn chowder on its menu? Not clam chowder, as is standard fare across New England’s pubs, nor fish chowder. No, Dunk’s went with the typical chowder-lover’s third choice: a rich, velvety crock of vegetables with almost no protein. But to me, the bowl of corn chowder option hidden at the bottom of the menu was a flirtation—a coquettish invitation to follow six paces behind into a dark backroom and indulge in ignominious acts with a dairy-based amour. I could hardly contain my culinary concupiscence.
Dunk’s, overall, is exceedingly average in almost all respects. But the corn chowder is where you catch a glimpse of Dunk’s real character—a place that, with the right menu choice, can elicit the thrill of a clandestine encounter in a dimly-lit Castro bar at the height of the ’70s scene.
Great reviews, though Salt Hill sucks. In Lebanon my date was served chipped porcelain, which then thankfully chipped her tooth, thus alerting her before she swallowed the pottery shard. I went in and checked their bowls – all chipped from rough, thoughtless handling. Stacked & smacked, & then on to the customer. Try the soup though!