...and I'm going to start eating more meals at home

Just about ten months ago, a new restaurant opened up about three blocks from our house in DC. Though the place was being built in what had been a failed run-of-the-mill Chili’s style chain, the construction seemed to take forever. Given the area’s dearth of upscale eateries, my wife and I were looking forward to having a decent walkable restaurant less than a ten minute stroll away.

In a neighborhood that has an overabundance of low-end Walmart-like noisy fast-food establishments where you stand in line to order in a cattle-call style that would make Southwest Airlines proud,  a new upscale, sit down restaurant complete with an old-school bar, tasteful music and a wait staff that takes your order at your table like you’re over twenty five years old should have been a welcome addition to the community. Believing we had a duty to support the new local business, my wife and I immediately began to patronize the place.   

Like most fledgling places, the joint struggled from the start…especially with respect to service. The food from our perspective was fantastic, and though neighborhood folks yearning for yet another kid-friendly Chuck e Cheeses type place complained about the stodgy  atmosphere and inflated prices, we reveled in the quiet booths that were conducive to a relaxing conversation over a bottle of wine after a hectic week. Over time the initial service challenges got better, and at least for me, the place represented a throwback slice of heaven.

My wife and I liked it so much that we’d gotten in the habit of walking up there on most Friday evenings. We dug the vibe a lot, and we even strolled up the bar occasionally on a Saturday afternoon just to have a couple of glasses of wine and chill. It was the restaurant’s inviting atmosphere that encouraged us to do that…as it’s something we almost never do. We even watched the last U.S. World Cup game (and I don’t even like soccer) with the some friends in the bar amidst a setting that was both festive, yet remarkably civilized.

I remember sitting in a both by the window one quiet Friday evening sharing a bottle of Malbec and enjoying  a scrumptious roasted chicken dinner. The background music courtesy of Pandora had been playing a magical set of Bobby Darin, Nat King Cole, Julie London and Francis Albert Sinatra. My wife glanced across the table at me and said with a smile...

“Look at you…you’re in heaven…you absolutely love this place.”

“I do” I responded in a melancholy way as I glanced out the window at a new restaurant across the street. “But there’s one big problem.  This joint is completely deserted and that new noisy Mc Donald’s style Portuguese chicken hell-hole across the way is absolutely packed. It’s like a moron convention over there.” [This is why my wife needs a couple of glasses of wine when she dines with me].

Though it survived much longer than I predicted, inevitably my throwback piece of heaven went out of business. It was actually more dramatic than that…and the owners were evicted and the contents of the restaurant were emptied out in the light of day onto the western sidewalk along Wisconsin Ave. According to the story in the paper, some well-to-do neighborhood folks actually helped themselves to some of the valuable cooking equipment while the cops simply watched. I’m guessing many of these same fine citizens celebrated by waiting in line to order dinner somewhere.

What’s the point of all this? I tend to think that it means the world is coming to end, or at the very least that most of what I romanticize is clearly dying. It could mean that if you’re looking for a decent place to eat north of the 3800 block of Wisconsin where you don’t have to stand in line to order, you may have to drive to Pennsylvania border (or at least to Friendship Heights).  One thing is clear…dimly lit restaurants with candles on the table, soft romantic background music and attentive wait staff are a dying breed. Cookie cutter fast food restaurants and standing in line to pay inflated prices at what were once roach coaches are all the rage.

What I wouldn’t give for one night back at Chasen’s…or even just one more meal at the Fire Lake Grill.

Have a great weekend. Whatever you’re doing, try to spend at least some time with the people and pets that you care about doing the things you love. If you decide to dine out…even at a place where you have to order like you’re in a chow line at a mess hall, try to pick a place where you can have a nice conversation after you’ve ordered at the counter.

 

If you're my age...you probably hate this song. That said, you still smile every time you hear it...and the worst part is...you know every single lyric. Here's a catchy newer version.

 

At a bar called Scrappy Malloy's