It won't be long before it's 2015 and I plan to be in Brooklyn the last day of this year and the first day of the New Year, celebrating my last supper of this year having the best burger at my favorite place. Coming back to Brooklyn means home and any time I can visit the Salty Dog only makes it more meaningful. It isn't just a bar or just a restaurant but it's the people,
From the moment I take a first step over and into The Salty Dog, I always first notice the wooden floors and then me eyes sweep the room taking it all in, the firetruck, blazing a deep red, the brick walls and the bar. The bar at times looks lonely, waiting. It sits and waits for elbows, smiles, pats on the backs of friends, hugs, kisses on cheeks and orders of big beer mugs. Here it comes, a frosty one and a big man grabbing the cold handle after a long day and taking that first swallow and just as he does a buddy walks in, pulling his thick blue jacket off, nodding his head and another beer is set up. The voices. Two men who share a same kind of job, now relaxed at home with who they know. Home as in the neighborhood place to be.
As I continue to walk to the back, I notice a few servers on each side waiting to see where I want to sit, not where they want me to sit. That's a nice feeling. No one is pushing me to sit in a section. Ah, I am comfortable. Adjusting my eyes to the dimly lit area I see some familiar faces, smiling and welcoming. They know me, as a visitor who comes up every few months or sometimes longer. It doesn't matter. I'm just as good as any regular. They know what I order but ask anyway to make sure I didn't want anything different.
Then they look to the other side. My guest, usually a kid, but once in a while a friend I grew up with and no matter who or what, we are treated as friends, as long time neighborhood friends.
I'm a listener and a watcher and I see how people are treated at The Salty Dog, how they are spoken to, smiled at. Warm hearts. It's almost like saying, Who loves ya baby? At times I forget why I'm there as I get lost in looking around. The photos on the walls, a fireman, history, buildings and a fireplace with a dalmation.
That dog who never moves but reserves in silence a place, a place for newcomers, almost makes me want to walk over and pet him, but all of this means, There's No Place Like Home.
Thank you Salty Dog
