Smokin Oyster Brewery

Yelp doesn't often steer me wrong often but this place was a total miss. Don't let the name mislead you, this is not a brewery, it is a dirty bar.  The table we found was sticky and gross, but we decided to stick it out based on the good reviews. Wish we hadn't ...

When we finally got a server to pay attention to us, we asked about beer.  She merely flipped the menu over and pointed to the bottle list with "this is what we've got." I expected microbrews but they had just one specialty bottled beer that someone contract brews for them.

The food was boring and average. We tried both the mesquite grouper and the fried grouper sandwich and neither was anything special. So disappointing.

Other negatives: smoking is allowed in the bar area. The table next to ours complained of a hair in their oysters. The beer my husband wanted was available but they didn't have any cold (huh?). The list goes on.  I would never, ever go back.

Beach bar place with rolls of paper towels on the tables. We expected nothing special but the food was really good . My wife had a grouper sandwich - super-fresh she loved it. I had the garlic crab legs which were amazing. Killed half the roll of paper towels, but if you like SPICY these will rank up there with some of the best stuff you ever ate. Wish they sold the sauce.

If Gilligan shacked up with Elly May Clampett and Charlie Tuna in a drunken threesome, SOB is the nine-month result.

Only the fourth wall exists - it's rowdy, raucous, loud with live music and sandier than the chick from Grease. They bottle their own brew (damn drinkable) and if you're not looking for seafood, then put down the menu and GTFO.

Having been raised 'round these parts, the atmospheric migration from pure beach bum to now-aged-and-appropriately-leathered beach bum was a bit more subtle to the kid, who underscored the youngest cat in the bar by a solid two decades. But the energy is high, and the food... well, it's surprisingly delicious.

Blackened grouper, corn on the cob and a boatload of slaw will run you $20, and a bucket of icy reds, even less. Crack a bottle, feast on fresh catch and sing along to semi acoustic peelings of Jimmy, Elton, Billy and Bruce, all while slamming palms on the table in the company of shit-faced friends. Because this is Fort Myers Beach, dammit.