I’ve been thinking about old restaurants a lot. Not necessarily the fancy, Michelin-starred sort of places, necessarily, but places which have hung on for a long time. When you stand back and look at it rationally, it’s a bit weird that we put more of an emotional investment into the occasional spending outlay of eating out, than we do into things we purchase all the time, like soap or paper towels. So why is that?
We’ve been having a really hard time of it lately in Georgetown, the neighborhood in Washington, DC where I happen to hang my cape. One after the other, a number of long-established local dining institutions have been shutting down, to be replaced either by new restaurants or by retail space. Au Pied du Cochon, The Guards, and Cafe La Ruche, among others, have become historical footnotes in the history of the village. Now we can add Chadwick’s to that list.
Businesses don’t last forever, not even favorite old haunts, and particularly not in the restaurant world. True, some places have remarkable powers of survival. Lhardy in Madrid for example, has been serving outstanding food near the Puerta del Sol since 1839; Scott’s in London has existed in one form or another since the 17th century, albeit not in its present location, when it began life as a tavern serving oysters brought down by coach from Scotland.
In some cases the place stays the same, but the identity changes. Georgetown’s City Tavern Club, for example, occupies what started out as The Indian King tavern and coaching inn back in 1796, and has gone through numerous owners and name changes since then. Other dining spots manage to hold on to both location and ownership, such as Billy Martin’s Tavern, which opened in Georgetown in 1933 and is still owned and operated by the Martin family today. If Martin’s ever went bust, I think I would go into mourning.
Lest you think that such things only concern what we might call everyday people, the high and mighty have their own attachments to favorite dining establishments. For example, in the British press this morning there were reports of Prince Charles having personally written a letter to Antonio Carluccio, when the chef had to close down his popular Neal Street restaurant in Covent Garden. The place where celebrity chef Jamie Oliver got his start had to shutter, due to ill health stemming from the chef’s exhaustion. That is the nature of the beast of course, when the chef both defines the place and runs the business, as it can spell the inevitable end of a great dining establishment over time.
When we lose a favorite dining spot, particularly one that we have known for awhile, it’s a bit like losing a member of the family. We may even feel guilty about not visiting them more often, as if we owed a for-profit business some measure of sworn fealty or filial devotion. After all, this is just commerce, and an ephemeral sort of commerce at that: we eat the food, and it is gone.
Except what really distinguishes a favorite restaurant is not the food, but the memories we make there. A dining spot where we celebrated a significant event, for example, like a birthday or anniversary or first date, can burn bright in our memories long after we’ve forgotten what we ate. And even when we do remember the menu, more likely than not it’s not just the food, but the company who shared that food with us, that causes us to look back fondly at the place.
Restaurants will continue to come and go as tastes change, market forces expand and contract, and chefs retire or move on to other things. So while not turning into some sort of guilt complex, it’s important to periodically visit your favorite spots to help keep them going. More importantly however, you want to make return visits to places you like to eat, in order to keep your old memories fresh, and continue to make new ones. For the day will almost inevitably come when you can no longer sit down to dinner at a place like The Guards, in front of a roaring fire, eating the best cheeseburger in the village with a group of good friends in lively discussion. And that will be quite a sorry day, when it comes.