To the young, sexy and hip: Find another place to dine on Saturday night

  "Shark Bait" is a bit too sweet and sugary

"Disappointed" is the word that comes to mind as I recount my weekend trip to the over-glorified U.S.S. Chowder Pot IV in Hartford.

I was intrigued by this monstrous establishment, located right off Rt. 91, after reading a few good reviews and listening to a multitude of praise from friends and family members. The food, drinks, and atmosphere was reportedly fun and filling, but I was less-than-impressed before I even walked through the big, wooden doors.

The Chowder Pot is packed on Saturday nights. I called half an hour before I arrived to have my name put on the list. The estimated wait time (one hour) was relatively accurate, but my experience at the bar prior to being seated was less than stellar.

After 10 minutes or so of leaning over the high counter trying to flag down a bartender with my credit card, the drink orders were taken. My drink was wrong even after repeating my request three times to two different bartenders.

I was seated in the back at a table halfway tucked into a coat closet. The waitress greeted us with "Hi" but then fell silent. She never asked for our orders; instead, we had to speak first whenever she quietly appeared in the darkness of the nearby closet.

The food was decent. Calamari with hot peppers-excellent. Potato-crusted wasabi tuna-beautiful and delicious. Coconut panko tilapia? It clearly sat around for a while before making it to the table.

The saving grace should have been my martini (selected from a short but cohesive menu of specialty drinks), but "Shark Bait" wasn't quite what I was hoping for. Tasty? Sort of. Absolut Ruby Red, Watermelon Pucker, Walker Peach Schnapps and a splash each of cranberry juice and grenadine in a sugar-rimmed glass...

Basically, sipping on Shark Bait was like sucking on a watermelon Jolly Rancher dipped in sugar. It certainly was sweet, but I wouldn't order it again.

The crowd at the Chowder Pot is mixed, but I speculate that every other 20-something in the dining room will shudder when a baby's scream or the wait staff's weak rendition of "Happy Birthday" cuts through dated music blaring from the bar.

I would re-visit the Chower Pot, perhaps at one of its other locations, but only if someone else picked up the check.