It Would Be Nice to Be a Regular

As I’m getting older, it seems like the only time I find myself in a bar, I’m with my mom.

Honestly, I’m not sure how she’s going to handle reading that line.

Perhaps I should clarify.  I’m currently up from Alabama visiting my family in Ohio.  It’s a trip I try to make around three or four times a year–usually my trips coincide with a school break.  When I’m here, either by myself or with my wife, we usually make at least one trip out to dinner at a favorite place in the small town where I was raised, Union.

Union, a suburb of a suburb of Dayton, is getting bigger; when I lived there the town didn’t have a single stop light.  If I’m not mistaken, it’s now up to two.  When I lived there, it didn’t have the Toll House Tavern, either.

The Toll House, situated near the historical location of a toll station on State Route 48, is now a fixture in this small town.  The Toll House can be a lot of things, depending on what you’re looking for.  We enjoy it as a restaurant with locally-famous broasted chicken, but if you’re looking for trivia on Wednesday nights, a place to meet with friends, or just a great place to tip a cold one (whatever your pleasure), it’s great for that, too.

It’s got the juke box, the neon signs that seem to have been there forever, the pine lap-joint paneling, and, of course, a long classic bar with an array of taps and bottles on display.  A dart board, and at least one framed malt beverage poster with puppies.  Dark wood beams and a few stained-glass windows round out the decor.  Depending on the night, it’s quiet (like this evening, a Monday) or it’s loud and boisterous.  If you’re a regular, you know the other regulars, and if you’re not, you feel comfortable as well.  Indeed, it could be that place where everyone knows your name.

I’ll be back in a few months, and I’m already looking forward to dinner with the family.  Maybe, just maybe, we’ll be back tomorrow night.