Doors Closing and Opening

This past Sunday, the B-Side Lounge served its final "Last Word," a cocktail that has gained infamy here in Cambridge and with my liver. Huddling close to an island off the bar with several friends, I couldn't help but marvel as the ever ready and well stocked bar at which I had spent so many nights began to dwindle; bottles being polished off never to be restocked again. The faces of the patrons fluctuated between grief and joy, but settled predominantly on melancholy. Understandably the closing of a local institution will breed a sense of sorrow, but looking around the bar and seeing the faces of children presumably conceived in or around the bar, old flames staring each other down from opposing corners of the room, and a bevy of bartenders in whom I have confided throughout the years, I couldn't help but think how fortunate we are to have at the very least the nostalgia associated with this space. If there be no Perfect Manhattan, at least there be memories aplenty to drink.
This is essentially what I hope for our own Monday Club Bar: a comparable number of stories and anecdotes to match the number of meals we produce. Every day I come into the restaurant, I walk into an open slate, a groundhog day as it were. People come and go, there are familiar faces and new, dishes adapt to the seasons, and generally nothing is ever exactly the same. It's tweaked. It's nuanced. I love that about my job.
Consequently, I love the fact that in my relatively short time at UpStairs I have been able to acquire so many great stories from this place. My hope is to chronicle several of them here throughout the course of this coming year. No matter how my relationship with the restaurant unfurls, I will always have the great moments I've had here to look back upon.
So as the door of one of my favorite after work hangouts closes, my appreciation for the place in which I work opens up and continues to grow.