Scowl, Nu?

The news came out on Friday, September 10. Wizards of the Coast, the company that distributes Pokemon cards (as well as many card-based games, such as Magic the Gathering), was being acquired by Hasbro. Hasbro also announced that they would expand the card distribution to increase sales to major retail stores (like Toys R Us and K*B Toys) and bookstores.

I'm sure that 99% of you out there don't give a damn about this, but when one of your friends owns a comic shop, it can spell disaster for them. This sort of move, especially during the pre-holiday season, is the sort of thing that could put many independent comic/game shops out of business.

I found this news out from Chris, a friend that owns the comic shop that Janet and I frequent. It was in the same breath (ok, virtual breath because it was all done online) that he mentioned that he could use a beer. So, we decided to meet up at The Spigot at 8:30pm so we could drown our collective sorrows in pints of Spaten Oktoberfest beer.

Within minutes of arrival at the Spigot, Chris stopped licking his wounds and the conversation moved quickly into ribald stories of drinking, traveling and eating. As the conversation progressed, Janet mentioned that we had just come back from Boston, and I asked Chris if he had ever been to the Sunset Grill and Tap in Allston (a district of Boston) before.

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If you haven't read my posting of our trip to Boston yet, this would be a good time to give it a quick read before continuing with the story… otherwise, the ending just won't make any sense.

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It seems that Chris makes an annual pilgrimage to the Sunset with a group of his buddies. The last time he was there, he decided that all he was going to drink were yards of beer. Most normal men can handle one yard. A staunch person like myself could probably handle two. Chris handled four full yards of beer… without going to the restroom. Though his recollection of the night is fuzzy, he recalls that when they finally kicked his party out because the bar was closing, he responded by watering the side of the building with the aforementioned four yards of beer.

Chris' friends who lived in Boston informed him that due to the way he carried on that night, the Sunset imposed a two yard per person limit.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: what a small freaking world.

Janet and I decided that we should go to the Spigot for a beer after work on Friday. So, we sat down on the new comfy stools at the bar and ordered a round. Janet got her usual, a Magic Hat #9, while I decided that I would get a Belaven Scotch Ale.

I really didn't want a Scotch Ale, what I really wanted was a good Octoberfest Märzenbier, but since I didn't expect to see a Märzenbier on tap until late September, I made due with the Belhaven. Scotch Ales and Märzenbiers share a similar maltiness, but Scotch Ales are… well… ales, while Märzenbiers are lagers… and that difference meant everything to me that night.

I was two sips into my Belhaven when Janet pointed at the newly revised tap list… and there it was: Spaten Octoberfest. Aah, Spaten! The true king of beers and the master of the Märzenbier style! How could I have missed you on the list? I quickly downed the Scotch Ale in front of me and immediately moved onto the Spaten. From the first caramely sip, I knew that I was not only in heaven, but also in extreme danger that I would not be able to leave the bar seat by the time I had my fill.

But three pints of Märzen later, I was not only able to get up, but I was able to walk home and order delivery Mexican food from Coyote Flaco as well… now if I can only get them to start serving Bratwurst and Weisswurst, I'll never have to leave the bar again.

The reports of my demise were… shall we say… premature.

The Spigot has re-opened and is back in business. The reason cited for the closure? Vacation.

Of course, most businesses would tend to post signs or some other form of notification to passersby that the bar was closing for two full weeks, but the owner of The Spigot decided that it would simply make more sense to hide a 3×5 notecard on the mantle of the bar (in between the knicknacks and other miscellaneous crap) for a few days before they closed shop. Whatever… I'm in no mood to complain…. The Spigot is open again and I'm absolutely thrilled. Seriously.

So, the question is: why am I at home telling you about this instead of going back to the bar for another beer?

Our story begins on a warm Monday morning, last Monday to be exact. Jim (my co-worker and friend) and I were coming back from a grueling day at our company's Y2K certification test lab. Since the test lab is in East Hartford, and Jim lives in Meriden (which is South of Hartford) and the traffic between Hartford and Meriden at 4:30pm is horrible, we planned on stopping off at the Spigot for a beer and a cigar after we were done at the lab. That way, we could de-compress from a long day, Jim could avoid the traffic, and I would have a reason to stop in at the Spigot. I told Janet about the plan, and she decided that she would come and meet us there around 5:45.

We pulled up to the bar a little before five and noticed that the parking lot was empty. Ok, it wasn't empty, there were three large trucks in the lot… and their signs stated that they were with a paving and driveway resurfacing company. I thought that it was a little odd, but paid it no attention. We pulled in, got out of the car and headed towards the front door.

Jim grabbed the handle to the outer glass door and attempted to open the door. Nope. It was locked. Then we noticed: the neon signs were all off and there was mail piled between the outer glass door and the inner door. This was not good.

Anyway, we went back to the apartment, I grabbed some beer from the fridge and we went outside to smoke some cigars and have a beer or two. At this point, I'm ready to write up a elegy for the Spigot, because in my mind, something major must be wrong… because bars just don't close without warning.

Jim, as he usually does, tried to be a voice of reason… but for every good explanation, I had a logical retort. If they had been closed by the Board of Health, Alcohol Board of Control or had been foreclosed upon, there would be visible legal notification. If the place had been a scene of a crime, there would have been police tape. Jim thought that maybe the owner went on vacation, but they have a staff of close to 10 people, so the owner being away shouldn't have stopped operations.

Regardless of the reason, the bar was closed… and there was no sign posted… nothing to let us regulars know what happened to the place, or when it would re-open. I consoled myself by thinking that maybe the afternoon bartender was sick and they couldn't find someone to fill in for him. Since Mondays are historically slow days for bars, this made sense, and I was sure that the bar would be open if I drove by after work on Tuesday.

Tuesday, 5pm: Closed. No sign posted.

Wednesday, 6:30pm: Closed. No sign posted, and a stack of Hartford Advocates (our weekly free newspaper) stacked at the door.

Thursday, 5pm: Closed. No sign posted but the newspapers removed.

Friday, 4:45pm: Closed. No sign in the window, no signs of life on the premises. I decide to call… no answer.

Saturday, 10pm: Closed. No sign posted.

It's now 5:30 on Sunday afternoon, and there was still no sign of life at The Spigot. The bar is dark, the phone goes unanswered and there is nothing letting passers-by know when it's going to reopen.

To quote Dr. McCoy from Star Trek: I think it's dead, Jim.

Last Friday night, Janet and I had tickets to see Chicago (the musical, not the band) at the Bushnell theater in downtown Hartford. Since Janet works downtown, we decided to meet for dinner and drinks before heading off to the show.

Ok… where to go for a drink after work. The Hartford Brewery? No… we would be too overdressed. The Bar With No Name? No… too empty (and even if it was full, it would be crowded with the sort of just-out-of-college-frat-boys that would just piss us off). Where is there a nice bar where we can have a drink before dinner?

We decided to go to the Civic Cafe. If you haven't read my Observation about the Civic Cafe, I'll summarize: Great food, interesting looking bar and horrible service. However, since we were only going there for a quick drink, we figured that it would be a safe bet.

We entered the empty restaurant (ok, there were three other patrons there) and seated ourselves at the bar. The bartender quickly came over and asked what we wanted to drink. Since we were in a high-class establishment, I figured that they would have well trained bartenders… so I asked what kind of rye whisky they had. I didn't ask this to be obnoxious or snobbish, it's just that the brand of rye would dictate the specific drink I would order. If they had Old Overholt, then I would get an Old Fashioned, as Old Overholt has a nice strong flavor that could cut through the sweetness of the muddled fruit. If they had Jim Beam Yellow Label, I would go for a Bittered Manhattan (that's a proper Manhattan with a few drops of Angotsura Bitters). Wild Turkey Rye would have gone fine with a splash of soda and a couple cubes of ice. If all else failed and the only rye they had available was Canadian (Canadian Whisky is made with a moderate amount of rye), I would simply order something else as I don't really like Canadian Whisky.

The bartender scratched his head and said "What's Rye Whisky? We have Jack Daniels…" Ok. This is a $25-30 per entree type of restaurant and the bartender doesn't even know what Rye Whisky is? I mean, come on here… it's one of the two liquors indigenous to America (the other being bourbon/sour mash whisky). Hell, lie to me and say that you just don't have any Rye… but please don't tell me you don't know what Rye Whisky is.

We decided to order two pints of Murphys Stout.

Well, we ordered pints, but what we got were these fru-fru 13oz pilsner glasses filled with Murphys. You know what kind of glasses I'm talking about… they're about a foot tall, skinny, and completely inappropriate for a stout, because of the head that develops when you pour the beer. The end result is that I got three or four mouthfuls of beer and two mouthfuls of foam. I downed mine and ordered another while Janet worked on her first one.

As we finished our beers (her first and my second), we started to discuss if we should get another round. We were on the fence when I decided to look at the bill. Holy crap! Four dollars each! Forget it, we were out of there. I extracted my credit card and put it down in front of my empty glass.

Time passes.

Time passes.

More time passes.

Five full minutes later, I ask the bartender at the other side of the bar if he could settle up the check. He slowly comes over, gets the credit card and goes to run it through the machine.

There are a number of morals to this story, but two come to mind:

1 – I will never wait more than 3 minutes for service at a bar. Ok, that's not completely true… I mean, if the bar is packed, I'll wait… but if it is empty, I expect attentive service. If I finish my drink and you haven't taken the order for my next round, I'm out of there.

2 – If a bar invests in getting good chefs, spend some money for a bartender who knows how to make more than martinis and vodka & tonics… and if you can attract a good bartender, make sure that you stock the bar with good liquor.

Second strike Civic, one more to go before you're on my gastronomic blacklist.

Oh, and if the maitre'd from the Civic ever reads this: listen, honey, there's a difference between wearing a slip-dress and just wearing a slip. You didn't look trendy, you looked trashy. If you can't afford to pull the look off, don't even try.

So here we were in Noank, CT on the Connecticut Shore, and we were facing a 45 minute road trip back home on Route 2, which is a boring little two-lane highway. So, we started to look for an alternate route back. Opening up the map that we found in the middle of one of those tourist magazines, we started looking at our options. Then we saw it: the perfect route to get back to Hartford. We would take I-95 to Lyme, then take Route 9 to Hartford… which would take us by Chester, CT, home of Pattaconk 1850.

Pattaconk 1850 has legendary status at The Toronado, our old bar in San Francisco. One day, a person came into the bar with a Pattaconk shirt, which has the exact same logo as the Toronado. Ian, the bartender, immediately bought the shirt right off the back of the patron so he could further scrutinize the logo. Somehow, a bar in rural Connecticut had the same logo as one of the best beer bars in the country… and we all wanted to know what the hell was going on. Since we would be passing within a few miles of Pattaconk, we decided to stop in and scope this place out so we could make a report back to the bartenders at the Toronado.

Chester, CT is a small village in the middle nowhere, and is the exact definition of the word "quaint".. small little restaurants, well manicured lawns, and a pub (Pattaconk) in the middle of downtown. We found parking and walked in. The bar was a definite beer bar, with twenty taps and a number of bottled beers. We sat down, ordered up a couple of pints and looked the place over. It was a good looking place, lots of wood… a beautiful bar, and many regulars (or at least they seemed like regulars) milling around. We struck up a conversation with one of the bartenders and asked if they sold t-shirts. They did sell shirts, and the bartender escorted me to the dining room where there was a shirt display so I could choose the color. I picked a forest green shirt and proceeded to ask him about the logo. He told me that a friend of the owner was a graphic designer in San Diego and had done that logo originally for another bar in San Francisco and let him use it too. The mystery was finally solved. I told the bartender the name of the other bar that used the logo and went back to tell Janet that I had finally found the ending to the story of the duplicate logo.

We stayed long enough for me to have a second pint (Janet only had one because she was driving) and to ask the bartender about their Mug Club. Mug Clubs seem to be popular in Connecticut: you pay $25 a year or so, and "lease" a numbered beer stein. When you buy a beer, you get it in your own mug for a discount. Pattaconk's waiting list was over a year long, and if it was closer to Hartford, I would have put down a deposit for the next available glass.

After we left, we decided to go home, drop off our new t-shirts and head to The Spigot, since it was Jim's turn to be on this Saturday. We made it there a little after 10pm and proceeded to look for Jim. He wasn't behind the bar. Since we were there, we decided to grab a couple of beers. When the bartender (a nice guy whose name we eventually found out was TJ) brought the beers, we asked where Jim was.

The news wasn't good. Jim had been in a major car accident and broken his pelvis… then he started bleeding internally. Long story short, Jim is going to be out of commission for 10-12 weeks while he recovers. It was his second accident in less than a month… and now he is going to be bed-ridden for practically three months. The last time we talked to him, he was getting ready to go to his brother's wedding, and now he is recovering from surgery.