July 7, 2008
By: Ken Alan
kalan@aroundphilly.com
While sitting in a dive bar recently – The Manoa Tavern, a stale-beer stench-of-a-joint situated in my old stomping grounds of Havertown - my buddy, Bill, and I began naming-off our other favorite dive bars within the suburbs. Next to us sat Bobby, a tavern regular, a sodden fixture there since we both came of drinking age so many moons ago. He was here in ’88 and in ’98, too, same stool and all. Bill and I chatted enthusiastically while Bobby snoozed, his head next to a half-drunk mug of Bud.
Before creating our compellation, Bill and I first had to define what, exactly, constitutes a true dive bar:
“A place where the food is good, though secondary”
“Where the people are the decoration”
“It’s like Cheers – they all know your name”
And the capper - “A place where my grandmother would never have set foot in.”
That last one pretty much cemented dive for us.
Bill began with a notable Delaware County spot that was foreign to me, a place I had only been to once, back in my college days at Widener U: “I pick Tom ‘n Jerry’s in Milmont. Though that section has dozens of truly dive-y places, Tom ‘n Jerry’s comes close to perfection: great burgers, really cold beer, an equal drunks-to-social drinkers ratio, and best of all –hot female bartenders. Okay, your turn.”
I countered with a favorite, one that is not only very popular in Montgomery County, it is also very multi-generational, from college students on up to grizzled old-timers, with many in-betweens: “The Trappe Tavern on Main Street in Collegeville. Truly outstanding food; burgers are big and beefy; one of the better cheesesteaks in the area, plus a fine rack of ribs. They have a good beer selection, the place is always jumping, and best of all, the live entertainment rocks. One of the best New Year’s Eve’s I ever spent was doing shots with total strangers at The Trappe. I ended up getting home on January 2after that night. It’s one of a kind.”
Bill wholeheartedly agreed, remembering some good, grimy times there himself. Then he countered with another beery gem: “The Phoenix Mansion House in Phoenixville. The same group of drinkers from 1986 are still there, never left their seats, just like old Bobby here. Plus, they still make one of the better roast beef sandwiches around. It’s a real institution.”
A good call on Bill’s part. That one took me back to the summer of ’93 when I bartended at The Mansion House, the afternoon shift – a beer on-special sold for 95-cents then, so each night I’d come home with about $8 in tips, all nickels.
As the night progressed, so did our list.
We were both on the same page when it comes to the town with the most dive bars per square mile – Bridgeport, situated in between Norristown and King of Prussia. Walk down Bridgeport’s workaday Fourth Street and you’ll go by three top-tier dives: Anthony’s (under new ownership now, so I can’t swear if it still retains its once divine dive-i-ness); Iacovino’s, which serves surprisingly excellent roast pork sandwiches; and the famed Chick’s Tavern, hands-down, one of the region’s premier DB’s. “Best Mussels n Town” the Chick’s sign out front has stated for a decade, the letter “i” ever-missing. The boast is honest: they’re truly excellent bivalves.
“The Grog in Bryn Mawr,” Bill continued. “That place is great. Lots of cute young things from Villanova to look at; they have a well-stocked beer selection, and…” A barely lucid slur of a voice interrupted.
“Are you out of your @#%-ing mind?” It was Bobby, roused somehow from his blissful stupor. “The Grog is for young weenies and aging country-club types. That ain’t no dive bar. That’s a Main Linebar!”
If there’s one thing you learn from time spent at The Manoa Tavern, it’s to not talk back to a regular after he’s downed his ninth Bud of the evening.
We kept at the game for another 20 minutes or so, picking out several local favorites: The Berwyn Tavern, Casey’s in Newtown Square and Capone’s just outside of Norristown. And we couldn’t forget the down-and-dirty ‘Cooz’s Corner in Strafford and the one-and-only Flying Pig Saloon in downtown Malvern, which may have the best beer selection of any place this side of the Schuylkill, decent food to boot, yet is all-dive down to its very floor boards.
By this time, the entirety of patrons (all 12 of them) had joined us in our drunken little game. All the while, we set our sights on naming the Ultimate Dive Bar, that quintessential place where the food and booze meshed with the most colorful crowd possible.
Where the same crew sits day in and day out, drinking beer or whiskey sours at 11:30am while watching “McGuyver” reruns; where the air is thick with cigarette smoke and the smeary jukebox will occasionally play its tune (usually “Sweet Home Alabama”). Where the same bartender works for the last twenty years, and the chili never loses its comfort-burn taste. Where you can always count on someone to help you out, drive you home, or lend you a few bucks when you’ve drunk the last of that week’s pay check.
Bill, Bobby and the rest of us had the same epiphany at the same moment: “The Casmar Café!”we exclaimed in unison.
Deep in the hilly inclined neighborhood of Conshohocken, The Casmar resides, a dingy, odd-looking joint set a block off Fayette Street. It is here amid the lawyers belting down a few quick ones with lunch, and where Mike has been pouring while Danny has been cooking, and so many of us have been going for years and years, where the word dive actually translates to elevation – a higher place as it were.
Bill hoisted his Heineken, and I followed with my Yeungling, as the rest of the Manoa Tavern gang toasted to dive bars everywhere.
Looking over, I saw that Bobby was passed out again, his cheek pressed to the bar, a slight smile on his ruddy face.
