A few years
ago, I had a free afternoon in Boston. I
took the subway to Cambridge to wander the Harvard campus. Hungry from my walk, I found a burger place
across Massachusetts Avenue from the campus.
Although I didn’t recognize the name at the time, I’ve since learned
that Mr. Bartley’s has been an institution to generations
of Harvard students. (For the fellow
graduates of my alma mater, Mr. Bartley’s is to Harvard what Top Dog is to
Cal.)
I ordered
one of their signature burgers and looked for a place to sit. The smaller tables were all occupied. There were open chairs at the central
community table, but I wasn’t sure that I would be comfortable at a community
table that was half-filled with Harvard students. My concern wasn’t about the relative standing
of Harvard and Cal, the two schools compare well, but more about being a
fifty-something tourist sharing a space with a group of twenty-something
college students. So I found a place at
a counter and ate my burger in solitude,
Over my
life, I’ve made a lot of decisions, some of which didn’t turn out as well as I
had hoped and some of which I truly regret.
But few seem as completely clueless as passing on the chance to sit at a
community table across the street from the Harvard campus.
There was a
chance that I might have found common ground with someone at the community
table. Admittedly, it’s more likely that
I would have eaten my lunch in silence, but by choosing a spot at a counter, I
assured a silent lunch. I traded a small
chance of a memorable lunch for zero chance.
And that was a remarkably dumb decision.
Community tables offer a chance of serendipitous connections and should
be embraced.
I don’t recall community tables in the
restaurants of my youth. They seem to be
a recent re-entry into the restaurant scene.
But they’re a welcome addition. From
an urbanist perspective, they’re a fine addition to city life. By allowing more flexibility in the
accommodation of different sized dining groups, they allow space to be used
more efficiently, always a key element of an urban setting. Also, they open the door to possible
fortuitous meetings among people who otherwise wouldn’t have met, the
possibility that I mistakenly eschewed.
I’m
beginning to see enough community tables in the North Bay that I won’t attempt
to list all of them here. I’d be slighting
a restaurant that I should be praising.
But I’ll offer a few examples.
Ray’s, about
which I wrote in my last post, has a couple of elegant natural wood slab
community tables (pictured above).
The La Dolce
Vita wine bar in Petaluma’s Theatre Square has a community table that I’ve
occasionally shared with others.
The Aqus
Café in Petaluma, where Urban Chat meets, doesn’t have a specific community
table, but have a multitude of small, easily movable tables that are often
configured into a community table.
When you
find yourself in a restaurant with a community table, recognize that you’re
dining at a place with an urbanist flavor.
And if circumstances permit, don’t be afraid to sit at the community
table and to say hello to a stranger.
For those who
may be wondering, the burger at Mr. Bartley’s was fine. I hope to return someday. And to sit at the community table.
In my next
post, I’ll offer another quarterly summary of urban oddities and quirks. I try to write on this topic at the three-month
anniversaries of April Fool’s Day, but I’m about two weeks late this
quarter. I became so wrapped up in block
parties that time slipped away.
As always,
your questions or comments will be appreciated.
Please comment below or email me.
And thanks for reading. - Dave Alden (davealden53@comcast.net)
Ah, community tables! Hows else would someone like me ever meet other people when I am by myself in public? Hearty recommendation: the community tables at Durgin Park in Boston. That's the only kind of seating they have, and they require you to sit across from a companion if you come with one. Durgin Park is right near Fanueil Hall and the their tables are probably the same ones from over 200 years ago, still producing lively exchanges and good eats.
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DeleteBarry, thanks for the comment. I have no immediate plans to visit Boston, but will try to remember your recommendation. Another reader noted that Phillippe's in Los Angeles, of which I've had many recommendations for their French dip sandwiches before Dodger games, has had the same community tables for over 100 years.
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