Some restaurants, you walk in predisposed to like the joint. That's the way I'm feeling my first time at the Old Northeast Tavern. There's just something so comfortable about the place, maybe because it's smack dab in the middle of a residential street, like back in the days before urban planning and zoning boards, with that dilapidated but well-loved atmosphere that makes it look like the neighborhood's living room. Doesn't that sound nice?
It is. I look around and see three blond moppets, all below High School Musical age, sitting at a big high-top table shaped like a giant piano, giddily opening sweetener packets into various drinks while their parents wrangle baby and beers and enjoy a night out with friends. Regulars sit in the next room, home to a bar and a bunch of TVs broadcasting a smorgasbord of NCAA hoops action.
But Northeast Tavern is not just a neighborhood joint — it's a gentrified neighborhood joint. That means 16 beers on tap, including some Belgians and a few Unibroue products. That means a typical, but extensive, wine selection. It also means more than your standard bar food.
And that's where the dream fades a bit and reality creeps in. Old Northeast Tavern may still be a great place to hang, shoot the shit with the locals and catch a game, but the food seems always to miss its mark. It looks great on the menu: pizzas and sandwiches with prosciutto, artichokes and olives; a slew of salads and an appetizer list fit for a fine-dining restaurant. The food tastes, though, like what the typical bachelor could whip up on a busy weeknight.
But wait, that might be changing. Hopefully, it's the only thing that's going to change.
Last year, owners Dan Soronen and Sarah Potter put Old Northeast tavern on the market. Last week, it was finally sold to Bob Wareham, former owner of Sea Critters on St. Pete Beach.
Soronen and Potter both have ill parents up North, so had to liquidate Old Northeast Tavern and their Neighborhood Scoop ice cream shop in order to help. The space was once a diner, then a laundry, then a convenience store, then a bistro before they took it over. In less than two years they built it into the hub of the neighborhood. "They really support the place. This is as much a part of this neighborhood and this community as anything could be," Dan says, obviously torn about leaving. "No matter who's here, I don't see this place going away."
New owner Wareham, who takes the keys on April 1, respects the core feel of the Old Northeast Tavern. "We bought it because it's working," he says. "We've got a good thing going here." Wareham wants to grow the lunch business and fill out some of the slow nights, but plans to change "absolutely nothing."
He should change a few things in the kitchen. "A lot of people ask me if we'll start doing entrées, but the kitchen isn't really cut out for it," Wareham says. "It's built for what they're already putting out." He plans to reorganize it to make the line more efficient and perhaps tweak a few things on the menu.
What Old Northeast is currently putting out are pizzas assembled on bland, lavosh cracker crust and piled high with unseasoned topping that never seem to meld with sauce or cheese. Salads are better but never exciting. Those fancy-pants appetizers seem created and cooked by people who don't have a lot of experience in fancy-pants restaurants. And the sandwiches are typical piles of Boar's Head meats on a variety of crusty breads that look better than they taste.
Care for some suggestions, Bob? Right now the tavern sells a generous plate of five sliders, but a real burger would go a long way to beefing up the light sandwich menu. And currently, every sandwich comes with a gigantic side of Sun Chips. Sun Chips? WTF? Our lovely server tells us it's because they're trying to promote health, but even she seems skeptical. I'm curious how many of these strips of corrugated cardboard end up returning to the kitchen on the plate. Ugh.
Maybe the fact that the food isn't worth getting excited about shouldn't be a big concern — whether the new regime changes what's on the plates or not. Old Northeast is a classic pub, the kind of place you still find in tiny Irish villages and Scottish hamlets. It's more town hall and community living room, where food is more of a convenience than a draw. And in that respect, Old Northeast delivers, with meals similar to what most people can throw together with stuff they find in their fridge at home.
Except easier. With better beer. And better people. And a bigger TV. And a dose of community spirit.
That sort of makes everything taste a little better.
This article appears in Mar 26 – Apr 1, 2008.