Ten Stone and Four Years Ago…
Anyone who has visited me here in Philadelphia has likely wound up dining at one of my favourite bars, Ten Stone.
Or perhaps I should say formerly favourite.
Ten Stone used to be an amazing bar. When I had my gorgeous place on 20th & South back in 2004, I happened to live on the same corner as this bar, and it became a staple of my diet. I mean, honestly, what wasn’t to love? New beers on draught every week, a menu with items ranging from a brie & bleu cheese fondue that is to die for to a filet mignon cheese steak that is like sex in your mouth. I ate there at least once a week and quickly became a regular. And the brunch, complete with mango mimosas, was brilliance.
It wasn’t just the food or beer that drew me in, it was just a really nice place to go. The atmosphere was great, the bar was a fabulous mix of brass and wood, everything about the place just screamed, “LOVE ME!”. And I did.
For this entry, I went back and totaled my Quickbooks spreadsheets for how much money I spent at Ten Stone that first year of living just a few steps down the street: $4741.89. That works out to a little over $91 a week, every week, for a year. Lots of beer, food, and friends. And even more important, a lot of good memories.
Sometime between then and now, something changed at Ten Stone. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it was the glowing review in the Philadelphia Weekly. Perhaps it was the cheap food prices, drawing people in like bony hands reaching up from a watery grave. Whatever it was, Ten Stone has been infected, and I fear it’s too late for the patient.
I went there recently with Robin, Caroline, and a few others. I was immediately confused by my arrival at after midnight on a Friday; the place was absolutely packed. And even stranger…they were checking IDs at the door. I’ve been going to this bar for four years, and I’ve never once seen them look for IDs.
The service was appalling. It took us 15 minutes to get a table, and probably another 30 minutes before a waitress finally came over to us. Why we left, I don’t exactly know, I suppose it was hunger and desire for beer that kept us there. As I looked around, I noticed something else that was odd in the standing-room-only bar…everyone was drinking Miller Lite. Furthermore, the jukebox had been replaced by a new-fangled system that was replete with Coldplay and Sarah McLachlan, but devoid of Faith No More, Voivod, and Yes. And the prices had jumped by over 25% across the board.
“What in blinking blue blazes is going on here?!”, I thought to myself. Surely I had been transported to an alternate universe in which Ten Stone was a bar existing solely for fraternity brothers and their makeup-stained, brain-dead girlfriends. Except I wasn’t in an alternate universe, I was in this one, and this was really happening.
Thinking that what happened was a fluke, I went back on Sunday for brunch. The entire place was full of strollers full of screaming kids, and 30-somethings pretending to be worldly by trying a bloody mary that has, *gasp*, a shrimp in it. I was heartbroken.
Finally, last week, Megan and I tried it one last time. It was a weekday night, and not all that busy. We walked right in and sat down. And 15 minutes later, we didn’t have beers or menus. The rouge-clad waitress stamped her feet past our table several times, but regarded us as unworthy of her attention. That was the final straw.
I got up, grabbed Megan’s hand, and left the bar. We instead had a much better meal at Grace Tavern, just 2 blocks away.
Ten Stone, what happened to you? You used to be an amazing spot in the city. You were the place where I drank shots of Tullymore Dew on Christmas Eve as snow fell outside. You were the place where I could enjoy risotto fritters and a seared tuna steak with a milk stout for fifteen bucks. You were the reliable place for hangouts, dinner at midnight, blind dates, and good music.
Now, you’ve become a poorly serviced, expensive, unwelcoming place that has outgrown even itself. You’ve lost that je ne sais quoi that I adored. And more importantly, you’ve lost yourself a very loyal customer.
Pour la honte, Ten Stone, pour la honte.