Ode to a Saloon

Once upon a time, there was a watering hole. A dive, a hole in the wall, a juke joint, a neighborhood bar. "Saloon" probably best describes it.

It was and is called The Cowboy Cafe.

Founded in 1991, this Arlington, VA tavern has hosted more meals ‘twixt gheorghies than any place on the planet save William and Mary dining halls the Caf and the Marketplace… and maybe the College Delly. “The Boy,” as those of us into brevity took to calling it sometime during Clinton’s first term, has played stucco-walled host to many a tasty meal, all too many a cold lager, and countless hours of revelry and camaraderie since we first ambled across it.

Howdy, Stranger

Rob and I moved into Bigger Field at Little Falls Stadium in December of 1993. (Living quarters named for the deluxe wiffle ballpark it became for 18 glorious months.) A trove of Tribe alums had already set up camp in rented domiciles throughout the Lee-Harrison-Westover-Washington neighborhoods of North Arlington. Among the first orders of business when moving into any place, of course, is scoping out local dives in staggering distance. The Cowboy Cafe was already on some of our chums’ radar, so the Squirreler and I checked it out.

Tuesdays are half-priced burger nights. And damn good. And they had relatively cheap swill flowing from the tap. The trap was set from the get-go.

After a year and a half of bachelor parties and keg croquet tournaments, dozens of hours of after-work wiffle, and way too much Beavis and Butt-Head, Rob and I were unceremoniously tossed from that little rambler. After throwing the epic “Evict-nic” as a last gasp bash, we moved to Falls Church. Our trips to Cowboy waned severely. It's a sad song, I know!

Let’s Ride

By the grace of Burger Yahweh, and not terribly coincidentally, once I got hitched (Part I) in ’97, she and I moved into another little rambler three blocks from the old place. The proximity of The Boy meant Tuesdays were now re-committed. Much to my new bride’s delight.

I missed three Tuesdays in 1998. Nothing to be proud of, Russ. Three Tuesdays…
I even made it after The St. Patrick’s Day Massacre, a tale never told above a whisper and certainly not in a semi-public forum such as this. As a recruitment tool, I founded an e-newsletter, a Tuesday morning blast in which I... e-blasted my friends who didn’t join me at the Cowboy Cafe the week prior and solicited accompaniment for that night. The Cowboy Cafe Weekly News.

Here’s a sample of the work. This is just a clip of one edition; each week featured other segments such as Where Are They Now?, Letters to the Editor, This Week’s Discussion, stupid limericks, and tons of inside jokes. The takeaway 20 years later: peer pressure sure does work.

The Cowboy Cafe Weekly News

Tuesday, February 6, 2001

ARLINGTON-- The best Tuesday night of the year to date was kicked off last week when David & Marguerite Flynn busted through the saloon doors and hunkered down at The Cowboy Cafe's bar. The dyspeptic duo, eager to improve upon their 2000 performances, introduced a new form of organized gambling to the Cafe for the first time in CCWN history. Though wagers have been made over Trivial Pursuit answering, beer drinking, and burger eating on Tuesdays past, Dave "Meat Patty, and I'm Not Introducing My Mother" Flynn took on the role as Cowboy's first poker dealer. Wagers and winnings were made liquid immediately and consumed on site. At night's end it was difficult to determine a big winner, but it was unanimously agreed that Kevin "Blackjackalope" M----- was the big loser for declining to participate.

Faces in the Crowd:
Among the poker players in Tuesday's assemblage were such sharks as Jennifer "My Ante's in My Panties" F----, Chris "Diamonds in my Future" McW----, Whitney "Sixes and Nines" L----, Chris "Full House" M------, Dan "Flush" C-------, Jason "Queen High" E------, and Mike "Stud Poker" F------. Kudos to "Dealer's Pot" Flynn for supplying the entertainment for the week, but now that everyone is very much weary of the cards, it will be interesting to see whether the crowd returns to its normal recourse of discourse or whether the short-attention-span Cowboy-goers brainstorm to provide yet another escape from behaving like mature burger-eaters.

From the Where Are They Now? file... Joe C---------
Joe C------- remains one of life's true enigmas when it comes to his Cowboy Cafe attendance. In the early Cowboy days, Joe was out of reach in party towns like the Charm and Crescent Cities, so he could hardly be mocked for lameness, though he was. When he moved into DC a couple of years ago, it was speculated that he could be the next in a long line of specimens genetically suited for Cowboy Cafe greatness. A noted penchant for being overserved, a strong affinity for red meat, and an absolute dearth of social activity were a strong start. A frame leaner than most science class skeletons meant easy booth squishing. A car of his own, a government job with 8-hour-days, and a growing reputation as a tightwad (e.g., his beer-hoarding reputation as "the Budmiser") all added up to a definite Tuesday night regular for certain. What could go wrong?  What most folks underestimated about "Boltin' Joe"  were his utter apathy, his fondness for sofa cushions, and his relationship with his television. The CCWN reports that he has threatened to darken the Cowboy Cafe doorstep this evening. Be there.

Announcements:
Last week Rob R------- was supposed to come to Cowboy, but when he crawled out of his domicile, word has it that he saw his shadow and retreated to the safe haven of his townhouse. Looks like it'll be six more weeks of wintry Cowboy Cafe avoidance for Rob this year.

Correspondence:
Some former Cowboy standouts wrote in to say they were disappointed that they weren't mentioned in last week's All-Star Edition of the CCWN. Victoria "The Bay City Hay-Roller" H--- has directly challenged the inclusion of her partner in Vicket, Cricket. Cricket was participating in the Fox network special "2001's Biggest Ironies" by vacationing in the Virgin Islands and was unavailable for comment.

We had such good times.

The very pretty Peggy, then the not-pretty-at-all-but-not-a-hideous-looking-guy-and-certainly-not-without-his-charms Manny were behind the bar, and they tolerated, then appreciated, then befriended our band of burger eaters and beer swillers. I recruited all my family for visits, work friends, anyone who wanted to join this fracas of ground beef and cheap suds. Honestly… it was a delicious burger topped any which-a-way with fries and all the draft Budweiser you can drink for $10, and add in the Cheers Effect. Week in, week out. Ten bucks? Why wouldn’t I go there every Tuesday?

It was beautiful. That little dive served as a large container of glue for our gang of college friends. It’s only after the ensuing tug of life in directions counter to burgers and beer in a single bar week after week that I appreciate how remarkable it was that we held it together for a number of years.

27 was the peak number of our friends who hit Cowboy on a single Tuesday. For those who've entered the rather confined confines, that number is extraordinary. I still marvel at it. August 11, 1998.

Speaking of unhealthy apexes, then there was this:

Faces in the Crowd: Dave “Thin Like” Flynn was in the house last Tuesday, and he participated in the single greatest feat of gluttony that Cowboy has enjoyed. After eating his TNT Burger and drinking beers for a couple of hours, he was dared to eat two more burgers. And these were no ordinary burgers. One Cooky's Burger and one WhitneyBurger add up to quite the gastrointestinal barrage. Add the wrinkle that he must consume them both in 20 minutes and not quench his thirst for even longer, and you have a significant challenge. Flynn completed the task without breaking a sweat, incredible because he sweats from watching TV. Look for similar challenges to be thrown around Cowboy on future Tuesdays.

Wow. (I believe Squeaky had 2 one night.)

Oh, yeah, there was a WhitneyBurger. Cowboy was too cheap to reprint menus with it on there, but you could ask for it by name. (It's just a GusBurger facsimile. Over easy for yolky fry sop-up.)

Cowboy closed at midnight, so the hardcore among us would need to polish off Tuesdays with something extra and inadvisable.

Rhodeside Grill. Whitlow's. Carpool.
Shots. Billiards. Naked foosball.
Hangovers. Wednesday. Hangovers.

It was a cultural phenomenon for a select group. My dad showed one Tuesday, ordered a Johnnie Walker Black and was chastised, then had a WhitneyBurger and Bud to fit in, and had a great time. We took our girlfriends there. Then wives. Then kids.

The Dusty Trail

That iteration, Cowboy 2.0, survived my move to DC in 1999 but fizzled after many of us had kids. When I moved back to the old ‘hood for the third and presumably final time in 2003, I tried to jump-start it, but attendance was understandably spottier than ever, and it was frequently just a couple of us and a bartender we couldn’t name. Once I left town in ’05, that era faded.

Chapter 4, if you’ll pardon the mixing of naming conventions, rolls on today. There are still a few gheorghies in the area up there, and they have hit it when they can. Teej used to be a solid patron, and quite clearly Jerry is still a regular. Half-priced burger Tuesdays begat many a brunch for a small group of us, especially on parade days with Abe. When I’m back up there, I head that way whenever possible, sending up a flare to the old CCWN gang to join me. I made it to The Boy on a Tuesday earlier this year. It still holds up.

The goofy name, a 1990’s version of the menu informed customers, came from its owner Charlie. Prior to buying and renaming the Clam House restaurant (which must carry its own set of stories), he’d been working in Jackson Hole at some fancy-pants establishment that served palate-cleansing sorbet between courses. When he suggested ditching the sorbet for something heartier, the reply from the owner was, “What do you think this is, The Cowboy Cafe?” And so, with the re-purposing and re-titling of this NoVa barroom, he gave a pair of big birds to that gent.And we reaped all the benefits.

Two owners later, the décor has been improved just a touch, though not enough to change the ragged atmosphere. The back room (which we used to call Siberia) has been expanded and fixed up nicely. The bar’s shelf overhang (it was like the Seinfeld apartment carpentry) has been fortunately removed. And the music isn’t the bartender’s choice of CD or a shallow assortment of juke choices, but TouchTunes or the like. Meanwhile, Bud AND Bud Light has now become a plethora of craft options at robust pricing.

What hasn’t changed? A tiny parking lot and great burgers. Half-priced on Tuesdays.

Our tiny dictator commissioned a write-up on the Cowboy to be coupled with a link to this article published last week. Check it out, and you observant types might notice a nice quote from a former gheorghie.

Cowboy Cafe: Three Decades of Arlington’s Dive Bar

On lazy occasion, I’ve considered the cataloging of my personal Top 10 watering holes of all time. It’s hard to say for sure, but the leader out of the gate for the top spot may well be The Cowboy Cafe in Arlington, Virginia. Get some, gheorghies. And call me when you do. I’ll try to make it out.

No Sorbet and Free Beer Tomorrow!