Fred's & Bills. A First Name Basis.
John Bobey is a periodic contributor to the Free Press. John writes for TV, print and radio and lives in New York. He describes his greatest challenge as being a liberal at heart while regularly contributing to the Glenn Beck Program.
While my ex-wife might disagree, I’ve never considered myself too difficult or complicated. Yes, I’m partial to a particular brand of almond butter, I rip articles out of magazines before I read them, and I like the t-shirts in my closet stacked according to color. However, I prefer to think of those as delightful, idiosyncratic quirks rather than “symptoms suggesting the need for medication.” (How she got that written into the divorce agreement, I’ll never know.) But more to the point, I’m casual by nature…I’ve never owned more than one suit at a time, and I’ll take a rare cheeseburger and a cold craft brew over haute cuisine and fine wine any day. I guess that’s why I’ve gravitated to this pub in my neighborhood—Fred’s.
I’ve lived in New York City for 15 years, and I can tell you—finding a neighborhood place in this town can be tough, mainly because it’s so hard to find an actual neighborhood. Sure, the Mayor’s Office of Propagating Myths through Film and Television would have you believe that New York is full to burstin’ with cobblestone streets, characters with character and charming haunts just waiting to be the place where everybody knows your name, but I’m here to tell you that it just ain’t so. (Nora Ephron = Liar) Sadly, New York’s storied neighborhoods have homogenized and gentrified to a shameful degree, leaving the distinctions between them little more than lines on a map. And no matter what part of town you’re in, most of the places that aren’t some fabulous velvet rope spot “to be seen” are outposts of a chain where no one wants to be seen. The leftovers try so hard to seem unique and folksy…they rarely even fool the tourists. Spend five minutes in a McFinnigen’s Ale House or Smitty’s Tavern and it becomes all too obvious that there’s neither a McFinnigen nor Smitty in the place (and the bartender’s tie is a clip-on).
That’s why Fred’s is such a find—it started out as a corner joint that served simple, honest food at the bar (mmm, Mac & Cheese!), and a few years ago expanded to add a small dining room where they serve simple, honest food at a few tables (mmm, Pulled Pork Sandwich!). But the thing that really makes a great place a great place is the people. A proper neighborhood hangout isn’t just run by a friendly, interesting staff--it attracts friendly, interesting customers. On two separate visits this past weekend, I talked at length with an old friend and stranger alike about disgraced former New York governor Eliot Spitzer and his possible re-run for Attorney General (“He was a damn good AG…”), why I’d be an idiot to not take a road trip to Baltimore (“The Wire was just a TV show—of course it’s safe!”), how women feel about beards (“I like them…in theory.”), and whether we preferred the original version of “Tangled Up In Blue,” or the alternate take that was playing (“What do you mean you can’t tell the difference?”).
Good pubs today adhere to the same qualities that made them the perfect place for our forefathers to hammer out a plan for a new country. Ideas can be hotly debated and drinks bought to calm uprisings and celebrate consensus. I’ve begun and ended more than one relationship at Fred’s, even losing my “rights” to the place for a while in one such entanglement (dating the bartender always seems like a good idea, but I now suspect it never is). Fred’s is the kind of place where they were as happy to host my 40th birthday after-party, as they’ve been to let me sulk alone in the corner, nursing some wound and a Sixpoint Sweet Action Ale. It’s the kind of place where I feel…
Comfortable.
Isn’t that essentially what we’re all looking for from most aspects of our life; work that makes us feel productive and inspired, a family where we feel needed and protected, love that nourishes, sustains, and delights? There’s no motivation more primal or human than to seek out that which makes us feel wanted and welcome, and if you’re lucky enough to have that in a few areas of your life, then you’d be luckier still to find a place that not only makes you feel that way, but buys you a round every now and again to boot. If you don’t have a Fred’s of your own, I sure hope you find one.
So there it is—no matter what else is going on, at the end of the day I’m happy to have found someplace versatile, uncomplicated and above all, comfortable. Now if only I could find some khakis like that—I mean, why can’t clothing companies be as straightforward with their name and style like my beloved Fred’s? Oh wait…