IMAGE: Matt D’Annunzio

As soon as you set foot into the converted house on Belmont Street, Duke greets you. Don’t be intimidated by his 180-pound stature; this monstrous English mastiff is nothing more than a big teddy bear. The first person to welcome you is Trey, the human owner of Duke’s Landing (2715 SE Belmont St.). He will ask you what you’d like to drink, to which you may reply—like I did—with a blank stare while 20 beer bottles lined thoughtfully in a row ($3.50 for a bottle of Dead Guy ain’t too shabby) bombard your eyes from above the bar. If you visit on Sunday, the decision becomes significantly easier: Treat yourself to a 90-cent (!) Pabst. Once you’ve got your drink, head down to the garage for some television viewing and you’ll feel like you’re drinking at home. Wooden dining tables line the concrete floor with a not-so-big-screen TV balanced carefully on a mystery object draped with a baby-blue blanket. Don’t peak underneath the blanket—it’ll ruin the mystique (it’s a dryer). While you’re watching this week’s installment of Desperate Housewives, Trey diligently waits on you, making sure you are never thirsty (or hungry for that matter: Duke’s Landing also offers a full breakfast, lunch and dinner menu). Nobody does that at home.