Last call for Martini's Bar

Friday afternoon wanes and thoughts turn to quaffing a pint of beer at the local, Martini's Bar & Grill in Edmonton. But as the raven would croak, that will happen "Nevermore." On May 30, the staff were laid off and Martini's closed its doors for good.
The closing of a bar is perhaps not all that important in the grand scheme of things. Certainly Martini's end has produced hardly a ripple in the city's consciousness. Unlike that of El Nivel Cantina in Mexico City, forced to shut down in 2008, which prompted a large demonstration and received international news coverage.
Well, also unlike El Nivel, opened in 1855, Martini's isn't the oldest bar in the city, nor has it been the haunt of world-historical figures such as Fidel Castro and Che Guevara.
As drinking establishments go, Martini’s is neither old nor historic, having opened in the 1990s, but for those of us who were regular patrons-- and those who enjoyed working there -- its loss is a wrench.
Done up in a style somewhere between a New York bar and a London pub, with brass-railed mahogany-finish bar and elaborate mirrored back-bar displaying the bottles in their glittering array, it was a place with engaging staff and an assortment of regulars who were generally friendly and interesting, and where you could generally get into a good conversation over a drink. Lively without being overbearingly noisy, it was also a true local whose patrons attended the funerals of other regulars, took part in sports pools, regular crib tournaments and a lottery syndicate. The Big Rock Traditional Ale on draft was usually very good.
That Martini's was on the ropes had long been rumoured. But it took some time for the predictions of the local Cassandra to come to pass. "At one point there were dire predictions that the days were numbered for my current local, Martini's, but a shift in ownership seems to have warded off that danger -- and the charming and accomplished staff, including Mary, Nancy, Barb, Deb, Shyla and Heather will be keeping the customers happy there for a while yet," I wrote in a May 6, 2008 blog about the closing of some San Francisco bars. And so it was, although by that time longtime châtelaine Kara had already gone and Martini's had already seen its best days.
In recent times Martini's had been plagued with declining staffing difficulties -- which at one point resulted in an Industrial Workers of the World picket line -- and maintenance problems. The final straw is said to have been the landlord's raising the rent when the lease came up at the end of May, although that might not have been fatal if there hadn't been other ongoing issues.
Rumours are now going around among former Martini's habitués that its is now being looked over by potential saviours who may be interested in reopening the bar.
That may be so. Meanwhile the refugees from the wreck of Martini's are seeking another congenial drinking spot to take its place. As one commented plaintively on his Facebook page, "Men without locals. we wander the streets in search of inviting venues. In short, we are lost."

No. 7, May 6, 2008
Requiem for some watering holes
A front page article in the April 23 Los Angeles Times chronicles the dismay felt by San Fransisco drinkers over the recent loss of some of their favourite bars. Among the well-loved classic bars that have closed their doors in recent times are the John Barleycorn ("The Corn"), the Washington Square Bar and Grille ("The Washbag"), Dago Mary's, Moose's, the Hole in the Wall and Bobby's Owl Tree.
All sound like worthy establishments in which to quaff a pint of Sierra Nevada or perhaps sip a dry martini, and I regret not having visited any of them when I was in the city a couple of years ago. Linda and I did stay across the street from the Owl Tree, in the ancient Dakota Hotel. The bar, noted for crusty proprietor Bobby Cook and the huge collection of owl paraphernalia that adorned it, came highly recommended , so I made a as much of an effort to get there as a few days' visit allowed. But Bobby, who died last year, kept erratic hours.
In San Francisco, I mostly hit North Beach bars with literary/Beat connections -- Spec's and, next to City Lights books, Vesuvio, where Kerouac downed more than a few. Also the London Wine Bar in the financial district, which is in fact much like a classic wine bar in London, say El Vino in Fleet Street. Actually quite a bit clubbier and more well-kept-up.
Friend Jim Simpson, recently returned from the City by the Bay, informs me that some kind of work, possibly renovations, was taking place at the Owl Tree. Hopefully it reopens as a new bar, although it can obviously never be the same.
The other bars mentioned in the article were closing their doors for reasons such as the landlord refusing to renew the lease or rising rents, or the owner retiring. Of course, these will always be factors, and bars come and go. But the Times article suggests that the economics of the industry, along with changing tastes, mean that the classic local bar -- the kind of place where regulars have nicknames -- is a dying breed. Commentators in the United Kingdom have also bemoaned the decline and in some cases disappearance of the local pub. High real estate values that make other uses more attractive are often fingered as a major culprit in putting pubs out of business; the proliferation of chains results in a big loss of character and quality.
It can be tough to put your finger on what it is that makes a good bar, and what makes the loss of any particular one a tragedy. Times writer John Glionna makes a gesture toward a working description when he notes one bar that has "sociable bartenders, spacious booths and saucy regulars." Really, spacious booths are neither here nor there, but a good crowd of regulars is a must, and sociable bartenders are a definite plus. While its possible to quibble over the details (TV or no TV?) bar regulars and aficionados know a good bar when they've found it. And once settled into such an establishment, its loss is bound to be wrenching.
The joint doesn't even have to actually go out of business. It can be ruined by unsympathetic new owners and/or ill-advised modernization schemes. A case in point is the tavern of the Bessborough Hotel ("The Bess," pronounced Bezz) in Saskatoon, the lively social hub of the city when I was there in the late 70s, which was transmogrified into a characterless sports bar.
Another sad story is that of Edmonton's Rose Bowl lounge, never known as the Backstretch, its proper name, but always by that of the pizza place to which it was attached. Presided over for much of the time by the inimitable Janice, and notable for its diverse (some might say motley) collection of regulars, it was my home away from home for many years. Our tertulia met there regularly on Fridays. New management tore the place apart, renamed and reinvented it -- as what it is hard to say exactly -- but the bar doesn't appeal much.
At one point there were dire predictions that the days were numbered for my current local, Martini's, but a shift in ownership seems to have warded off that danger -- and the charming and accomplished staff, including Mary, Nancy, Barb, Deb, Shyla and Heather will be keeping the customers happy there for a while yet.
Another Edmonton bar that has apparently dodged the bullet is the Jekyll and Hyde Pub, an agreeable spot for an occasional pint, which was recently forced out of their rather cavernous downtown venue. They've apparently found a new home in the Riverview Inn (the Greenbrier Hotel of ancient memory), where another sometimes amusing bar shut down. According to their website, Jekyll and Hyde hopes to be back in operation soon.
For its loyal customers that's a very good thing. Finding a new bar is not easy. Because as former John Barleycorn patron Tony Antrico says, "It takes a while to break in a new bar. It takes a commitment."