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So, Blog #2 about can beer make me friends.
This weekend, I gifted no brewery with my presence, so I think I’ll have to dip into the old memory files for this. Hilariously, each sip of beer chips away at said memories, so they may be a little hard to come by; however, many many many of my beer histories come from the place where all good things happen: Philadelphia.
Oh, Philadelphia, how I love thee. You welcomed me in the tough-loviest of ways. It’s here I owned and fed and lost a pet snake; it’s here that I finally understood sports, or at least, rooting for sports. And above all, it’s here that I could live out my wildest 20-something urges at a very affordable price; for in 2007, The Philly Special was a mere $3, all over town.
The Philly Special, as you may or may not know, is (was?) 16 ounces of PBR and a shot of Jim Beam. Add this to an otherwise-empty stomach, and you had yourself a sustainable buzz most days of the week. And the best place to acquire this buzz was, of course, Bob and Barbara’s.
Bob and Barbara opened their bar in 1969, which automatically makes it cool as hell. (After performing in a production of Hair when I was 20, I fancied myself a hippie for way longer than I should have. 1969 was where I belonged, man.) Bob and Barbara’s offered beer (duh), friendships, warmth, fun, drag shows, and The Crowd Pleasers. Bob and Barbara invented The Special.
Like many awesome people, Pabst Blue Ribbon was my very favorite beer. (Could this have been because I could get a six-pack of PBR pounders at the bar next door to my college house for $3? Maybe.) So imagine my joy when first happening upon this beautiful bar. (I wish I could remember who took me there first. Nate? Sean? Carrie? My beloved life coaches.) It was like someone ripped open my chest, took out my heart, ripped that open too, and built the perfect haven out of the contents. It was like if you took the essence of a million puppies playing in a field of sunflowers and they're like running and jumping and tackling each other and have those big Disney eyes and you made a bar out of it. It was like if you could climb inside Gritty and he’d rock you to sleep because he is your mama. (Of course, my brain wouldn’t have been able to concoct that particular simile yet. Oh, future Jamie, are you in for a treat.) I was in love. I loved it so much.
Can I switch tenses here for a minute? Okay, so the first thing you’d notice is the argyle-looking stained-glass window. It reminded me of my grandma, for some reason, so maybe you would think of my grandma, too. Above that is a black sign that says “Bob and Barbara’s” in pale yellow print and “Lounge” in pale yellow script. There are also some cool green sketches of martini glasses and some notes on a musical staff. (E-G-G-F-F, nerds.) On either side of the sign are two big PBR logos. A ramp leads to an industrial-looking door. And then you get to go inside.
Did you ever get that feeling of where your body’s like, “I’m home”? I’ve had it three times—once after I was born and went home, once after eating too many brownies as character research for the aforementioned Hair (lol jk of course I freaked out), and once after the first time I walked into Bob and Barbara’s Lounge. The lighting was low and warm and colorful, live jazz-ish music permeated the air, and what seemed like HUNDREDS of old PBR advertisements positively littered the walls. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen, and I used to go to a bar whose only source of lighting was electric beer signs.
If I had to pick one place that epitomized Philadelphia, Bob and Barbara’s would be it. I was made to feel like everyone was just waiting for me to arrive. It was full of funny, vibrant, tough people who showed their love through affectionate teasing and a passion for life. They wanted you to have as much fun as they were having, and they accepted everyone who tried. (Except Santa, GTFO, Santa!) And listen, as you can discern from these paragraphs, I am not cool. Ask anyone. Ask Katie, my usual accomplice in this mission to single-handedly fund the bar. But still, dork though I was, the crowd here welcomed me. Or you know, maybe they didn’t. Maybe I was just drunk all the time. Maybe they were trying to get on Katie's good side. Either way, I felt preeeetttyy groovy.
You know what else I like? The weekly drag shows they had (have, I’m guessing) were filled with such high-quality talent, and the diverse-in-every-way audience effing adored it. Plus since it’s not a humongous space, you got to be up real close and personal with these superstars. NO ONE EVER MESSED UP EVER, AND I WILL FIGHT YOU ON THAT. I fell in unrequited love a couple of times in this setting, but that’s what happens when you fall for a (drag) queen among men. Sigh.
Speaking of hearts, another part of mine belonged to The Crowd Pleasers. I never had the pleasure of hearing tenor sax man and band leader Nate Wiley, or mainstay drummer Cliff LaMar, but apparently the band had been playing the bar a few times a week for over 30 years. 30 years! I would have called their sound jazz, because I don’t know much, but Nate is quoted as saying, “I don’t know how to play jazz. I play liquor-drinking music.” Their sound is full of saxes and snare drums and organs. There were, and I’m assuming are, a staple of Bob and Barbara’s, and they never charged you to listen.
And you know what? There’s a documentary on these guys. Check it out. I’m listening to it right now. I hope they play this song I remember, “Black Cherry.” I remember some of the words: “Black cherry, black cherry,” tum tum-tum, tum tum-tum (that was the drums). It still pops in my head sometimes, 13 years later.
You know what else? They had Sunday Supper over there! Was this a regular thing? I only witnessed it once. Am I wrong, or did Bob and/or Barbara and/or the current owners live across the street and grill up burgers sometimes? Someone confirm that. I just seem to remember someone cooking right outside of the bar and sharing with whoever wanted some. Hm. Hopefully they were connected to the bar.
Lastly, I think it's kind of important to mention that this was the place where I found out the PBR Light exists. I'm not kidding. The can looks like a ghost and my friend used to order them. Really weird.
So anyway. I didn’t know I’d end up writing about this when I began typing today. But dontcha know it, as soon as I decided to reflect on my favorite bars in the world, Bob and Barbara’s popped up right front and center. And to tie it back to the name of this blog, yes, of course, beer made me friends here. They may have been my friends for only 3 hours at a time. But I tell you, gentle reader, those were probably the closest friendships I’ve ever had.
Hey! The next time you’re in Philly, you should go there. It’s on 16th and South. The Special may be $4 now, prepare yourself. Hey! Maybe buy a special for someone else while you’re there in a non-creepy way. Remember our last lesson? It might be a good way to make a friend.