In this season of joy, brotherhood, and goodwill towards your fellow man, I'm having bittersweet reminisces of my favorite old neighborhood bar. Actually, it all started a couple of weeks ago, when after a particularly BAD day at the office, I stopped off with a few co-workers for a quick beer before heading home. The establishment we had picked was the Whistle Stop Cafe in Southington, which is currently owned by the former proprietors of another legendary watering hole, Doty's Cafe... The location had been picked by one PARTICULAR co-worker, John, for two main reasons. One, it was definitely a neighborhood kind of place where the guy behind the bar made you feel right at home with a constant stream of good-natured verbal abuse. And two, they have Guinness on tap, and John's ability to inhale stout is well known throughout central Connecticut's data processing community.
Anyway, John and I walked in, being the first to arrive, and ordered two beers. Actually, we ordered one beer mine, as Rich (the bartender) already knew what John wanted (This is another great thing about having a local bar.) And as we sipped John made small talk with the bartender, reacquainting themselves with recent events.
Anyway, soon after a couple more colleagues came in, at which point Rich immediately lit up and started REALLY ribbing one of them. This really confused John and me since we had just had to painstakingly explained to Vinnie (the guy in question) how to get to the bar. It turns out that Vin, was a regular at the aforementioned Doty's Cafe, and even though it had been 4 years since Rich had sold Doty's, he recognized one of his old customers in a second. This man was BORN to own a bar.
The last two members of our party arrived, and received the mandatory barbs from Rich. One of them, Scott, also a regular at Doty's, had gone to school with Rich's kids, and had taken me to Doty's on more than one occasion when I had first started in the Hartford's Information Management department. It was then that it struck me how much this place reminded me of my first neighborhood bar experience...
I grew up in Bristol, and when my parents first moved to town (I was three), they stopped into a local restaurant one night to get a pizza. This started a lifelong (for me anyway) love-affair with one of Bristol's legendary hangouts: LaMonicos Restaurant. As a child I'd heard many a story about the late night pizzas after bowling from my parents, and post-Softball game stops when my dad couldn't buy a drink because of all his friends buying round after round. And I heard all the stories about the characters in the place. Phil, the owner, who (in my humble opinion)made the best pizza & veal parmagiana on the face of the earth. Artie, the larger than life bartender who'd been known to pour a drink he had just purchased over the head of a customer who didn't accept it graciously (the line Drink it or Wear it! is forever branded in my memory). And Bobby T., the daytime bartender who always had a drink ready for you before you even asked for it.
Some of the best times I've ever spent with my dad were sitting at the old wooden bar at LaMonicos. I'd just sit there, rolling a long-neck of Bud Light between my palms, staring at the collection of top-shelf liquors, the signed picture of Ivan Polish Power Putski, and the odd assortment of pickled herring, crackers and cheese tacked to a piece of cardboard for display. It was my time to just BE with my father. Wed go down on summer afternoons after Dad got done with his potato chip route for a quick beer until Mom got home. Or a Saturday afternoon, watching college basketball & playing setback (two four man teams, a dollar a game, a quarter a set, 50 cents a four-bid, loser buys the winners drink, pay the man to your right). It was almost too good to be true...
But it is true, or at least it was. It's just a memory now. LaMonicos is gone. A fixture in the community for nearly 50 years, its been cleared away to make room for another CVS. And even though Phil's son Jamie still makes pizzas and grinders out of their catering shop just a few yards down the road, it just isn't the same. And as wonderful my memory is of my last night at the bar, with my dad, having all the old regulars sign my menu, one night still stays with me.
It was the first time I had ever been in the bar on Christmas Eve. The tiny space was PACKED with customers, mostly regulars taking a break from last minute preparations to wish old friends Merry Christmas. And there was Phil, standing in his apron at the back corner by the kitchen, yelling to Bobby to set everyone up with a shot on the house. It was just an average moment and I really don't understand why it stayed with me. But it did.
...and it was that moment that I was reflecting on as I sat sipping my Honey Brown at the Whistle Stop, watching Rich serve a couple of cheeseburgers to Vinnie & his wife. Because as nice as it is to be welcome in another old-fashioned neighborhood joint, you never forget your first love or your first bar. So when I felt a bit overwhelmed over the past weeks holiday hoopla, I paused a moment, poured myself a drink, and raised a glass to an old friend.
I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas & a happier New Year. Thanks for your support over the last 5 months, and I hope that the coming year will be even better for all of us!