The Inebriated Traveler: Newark
Hunter is a some-time Vermont resident who spends a lot of time in airports. He spends a lot of time drinking and eating (especially eating) in those airport. The Inebriated Traveler is our series on his eating and drinking experiences/
February 26, 2008 Gallagher’s Steakhouse, Newark Airport Terminal C3
So I once again am stuck in Newark for much, much longer than I had expected and once again I am hungry and in need of several obligatory airport drinks. It seems I wind up here quite regularly as I currently split my residence between Vermont and Houston. While Newark seems to be very convenient for the folks at Continental it’s not really my cup of tea. Knowing that the nicest restaurant in all three of the Newark C terminals happens to be Gallagher’s steak house I quickly head to C3. Gallagher’s is covered with pictures of old baseball players like Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio and…um, did I mention Babe Ruth or that I find baseball boring? It also features it’s aging meats right out in the restaurant through windows into it’s chillers. Nice mood lighting and window views out to the tarmac. Probably one of the finest views in Newark. This is definitely not your typical airport restaurant despite being filled with travelers and their luggage.
So I wanted to sit at the bar but it was completely full forcing me to sit at the secondary bar/trough across the walkway. Well, the bar is full if you count several seats being taken by small handbags which I assume belong to one of the travelers on one of it’s sides. Luckily, when people get in public, they free themselves of having to be concerned about what and who is around them so they don’t need to experience guilt brought on by inconveniencing other’s at the gluttony of their selfishness. Like the guy on my plane who slowly prepared all his carry on items, coat, belt, shirt, hat and carefully double checked them all again as he stood blocking the aisle of the airplane as the rest of us were trying our best to make our hopeless connections. Maybe he had it right? We are hopeless and don’t bother trying to make your proverbial “connections” in the airport of life. No wait a minute, that guy was a motherfucker who had his head up his ass. Anyway, that guy blocking the bar seat with his carry on just left and two other guys just took his (and his bag’s) seat as I sat here typing so I am still feeling like a second class citizen. Ya’ know, I wonder whoever must have designed this secondary bar here must be the same guy who decided to put in that middle seat on the airplane. It’s kind of saying “gee, I’d hate to have to sit here for any length of time and I pity the fool who will have to but, here ya’ go.” Did I mention I am in fucking Jersey again with same bartender who served me drink after drink for eight hours earlier this month as my connecting flight became ever more elusive? He does have a nice spray on tan and very finely gelled spikey hair, pierced ears and one ear with a barbell that connected his mid-ear to the top of his ear. Actually kind of reminds me of me when I was his age.
Oops burger is here, gotta eat now.
Ordered a 10oz prime burger - rare with crumbled bleu cheese, extra tomatoes and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. Not sure what vineyard. I didn’t specify and the bartender didn’t care to ask me. He seemed more concerned that the floor was proprerly attended to by the bar-back. I assume this was ensuring his quick exit which is most likely gonna be before my flight’s departure. And after all, I was just some poor sap who couldn’t even get a seat at the bar
The burger was brought to me by the chef personally in his white chef’s jacket. He had to return to bring my silverware. Had I been sitting a few feet away at the actual bar facing the other direction the bartender would have served that to me but on a white napkin placed carefully like I was royalty. Oh well, not tonight. Tonight some other traveler’s satchel received that treatment while I sat with cattle eating nearly raw cattle. Holy shit I am a cannibal.
Burger was as good as any you would find at a local steakhouse and the service was as good as any you’d find in your local international airport terminal.
Now that I have finished my burger and cleaned myself up a little I turn around to notice that half the seats at the bar have opened up. I quickly gather my laptop, camera and carry on bag that are spread out everywhere and I relocate to the “proper” bar that the oblivious jackasses have just vacated. The kitchen has just closed. It’s 9:30 PM and I technically should have landed in Houston 15 minutes ago. The bar is closing soon. As I order my Stella Artois, I casually mention to the bartender that when I was here a few weeks ago I was here for almost 9 hours. The bartender, Danny, asked me if I knew…”who the bartender was?” I sat there very confused and thinking… “well he looked just like you.” But I didn’t want to say that because I figured that would should show my “geographical prejudice”, my “zip code racism” … my “all Jersey guys look alike”. Luckily, my silence was broken by Danny informing that the other bartender is his brother. Whew! Avoided another land mine covered in mousse and cologne. Anyway, Danny turned out to be a pretty sweet guy so I feel bad about my earlier feelings toward him even though he did come from the same parents. He is twenty-two and has two bad discs in his back either preventing (or excusing) him from bar-back work but he did have a smile on his face despite his recent car accident.
Blue Cheese Burger, 1 glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, 1 Samuel Adams & 1 “dessert” Stella Artois…$40.21 …$47.21 with tip.
