A little more than a week ago, I suffered a loss in the
family. I didn’t really want to talk about it before now, and I’m sorry to
those of you who have been affected by my silence.
I just wasn’t yet sure how to express my sadness at the
closing of the DuClaw Brewing Company restaurant and bar on Thames Street in Fells Point.
Sorry, that was an inappropriate and insensitive lede. I
should explain.
I completely understand why the Fells Point location of this Maryland brew pub shut down. It’s just unfortunate that it was shut down for some
of the same reasons that I loved the place. It was always quiet. It was always
a relaxed atmosphere. It was never hard to get a seat at the bar.
The food was OK and the beer was great, especially when the
price of drafts got cut in half Thursdays after 10 p.m. DuClaw, for that
reason, was my Thursday night haunt. And as empty as it usually was, it did
sometimes feel like I was a ghost in an empty tavern.
But I enjoyed having a few Hellrazers and ordering up a
basket of Misfit Chips with a side of chipotle mayo one-and-a-half beers in.
Some nights one of the Baltimorons would meet me late. Other nights, I’d sit
there and happily watch whatever was on TV or read the sections of the
Washington Post I didn’t get to earlier in the day. Before it got cold, you’d
find me sitting on the edge of the patio closest to Thames,
chatting it up with the smokers and watching passersby.
I won’t go so far as to say I owned stock in Duclaw; I tried
for happy hour prices, drank slow and rarely ordered an entree. But they might
have considered charging me rent at one point.
My 21st birthday was at Duclaw in Fells Point,
the handpicked location of my first legal drink in any bar or restaurant. I
don’t remember how many folks made it out, but it was a big table and I enjoyed
sampling everything the place had on tap before ordering a few of my favorites
pint-sized.
Even though I insisted on eschewing the traditional “Go out
and get krunk!” for one’s 21st, I enjoyed sitting at Duclaw for a
few hours with my pretty blonde girlfriend, football friends, high school
friends and work friends. And I’ll insist forever that the stomach ache that
kept me up at my girl’s place the entire night was induced by too many chips,
not too many stouts.
Duclaw was the place where I formed my first real bond with
a bartender, a special relationship that was characterized by sharing a few
laughs, forgetting to ring up a few beers and usually neglecting to bring my
chips until after the second time I asked. He treated me kindly, and I’d like
to think I did so in return.
Because the restaurant was owned by the Duclaw Brewing
Company and only sold those delicious beers, the folks that did join me at the
bar were mostly older and always beer snobs, and I had more interesting
conversations sitting on the patio and at the bar there than I’ve had in some
of my graduate school classes. Everyone’s got a story, and I heard plenty of
them in my roughly 18 months of consistent patronage.
Some of my tastiest cigars have been finished while sitting
on one of the benches near DuClaw. One Baltimoron in particular knows what I’m
talkin’ about.
Some of my finest decisions have been made while sitting on
a stool at DuClaw, sometimes alone, sometimes with one or two of the
Baltimorons. The place was like most people’s showers in that quality thinking
took place. It was unlike most people’s showers in that I wasn’t (usually) nude
and didn’t (generally) have beer poured on me from an overhead pipe.
It was, simply, just my kind of place. I don’t like loud
music. I don’t like standing all night. I don’t like obnoxiously drunk people
dancing. In short, I don't care for the 20-something bar scene.
I like running into an old friend. I like making a new one,
if only for a beer or two. I like reading the sports section at 10:30 p.m. with
a different kind of brew than I read the A section with in the morning.
So excuse me if I seem a bit dejected. I beg your pardon if
you catch me staring off wistfully down Thames.
DuClaw now joins Max’s Cigar Shop – another Fells favorite – as a victim to the
economy.
At about 11:25 on the last night DuClaw in Fells was open, I walked behind the bar and poured my last pint, then nursed that drink for the next half hour. I wished luck to the now out-of-work bartender, shook his hand and left before midnight. I didn't shout farewell or pump my fist, I just walked out. Simple and understated. Kind of like my bar.
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