It seems to have been here forever, although it was never really a regular hang-out of mine, even during my long-ago "partying" days, even though it has, and always has had, a "lively" bar. In fact, I can count my "memories" on the fingers of one hand--
Memory 1-- I started drinking at around noon in the "beer garden" out back with an old friend and his then-wife (I think my then-girlfriend, anticipating what was to come, had wisely fled the scene). Around midnight, after several "lost" hours, I had somehow wound up at a private residence in Dover with several comatose drunks/drug-addicts, and remarkably had sense and sentience enough to call a taxi to come take me home. I ended the night safely in my abode, kneeling in front of the Porcelain God, paying it vomitous homage, thinking to myself between gasps, "I'm getting way too old for this shite!"
Memory 2--- I was several Vicodin's to the wind, my then-girlfriend was wisely MIA, and my old friend's same then-wife, staggeringly drunk, wanted to dance with me, for some inexplicable reason (the Stirling Hotel playlist tends to favor rock "classics" and I guess one of those "golden oldies" caught her fancy). One step away from the oblivion of a coma, I was unable to say no...or much of anything else, for that matter. I don't remember for how long she managed to "sashay" my dead weight around the "dance floor," but it couldn't have been for very long. Later, she availed herself of my Vicodin after complaining of a "headache," swallowing several, and spending the rest of the night compulsively throwing up (my compassionate friend said to her, "Hey, Hon, could ya turn in the other direction while you're puking? I'm gonna start throwing up in a minute if you don't ...")
Memories...light the corners of my mind...!
Actually, another memory, long after I had sobered up. I brought my birth mother here, for a burger and macaroni and cheese, which, according to word of mouth, was "great." Not bad, but not "great" either, and not really demanding of a return visit, in my opinion.
About a week ago, my old friend (he has also sobered up...a feat I once thought impossible...and gotten a divorce; both occurring at approximately the same time, by the way) wanted to come back here. This time, for dinner only. I was agreeable, if not exactly enthusiastic.
Supposedly, ownership of the Stirling Hotel has changed since I last came here.
Despite that, nothing much seems to have changed, although "macaroni and cheese" is off the menu. The "beer garden" is still in the back. The bar seems as "lively" as ever. The musical "classics" are still being played at high volume. We requested a table off to the side, and perused the dinner menus, like the old men we're becoming. The youthful "ghosts" of our drunken, drug-addled past stared at us in amazement, shook their inchoate heads in bewilderment and frank astonishment, and then mercifully dissipated and disappeared into the miasma of beer, body heat and loud music that still pervades the place. (I imagined I could hear one of those ghosts mutter as it faded away into the void, "What in the hell happened to those two!?!")
I'm not a big steak guy, but I wanted a change of pace, and so I ordered a steak. (The best steak I ever had was years ago at Sparks Steakhouse in NYC, where in 1985 Mafia boss Paul Castellano was disrespectfully blown away before he could enter the restaurant and enjoy a last meal; my oldest friend treated me...knowing of my fascination with organized crime...and a business associate to dinner here. The steak was inches thick, and had not an ounce of fat on it. With a cracked crab appetizer, I remember the bill for 3 came to $400, and that was nearly 30 years ago!)
If my friend were rating this place, the rating would assuredly be lower. He wasn't happy, and kept saying, "We should have gone to that Greek place down the street!" He ordered an appetizer of eggplant meatballs. I tried one; the taste was ok but I found it had a gummy texture and was off-puttingly chewy. My friend wasn't any more impressed with the chicken parmigiana and spaghetti he ordered.
However, I liked what I had. The vegetable root soup, which contained pine nuts, was hot and delicious. The steak I had wasn't necessarily up to the quality of Sparks, but it was tender enough, and well-seasoned. Fresh asparagus and roasted potatoes complimented the meat, and made for a very satisfactory dinner. None of it was cheap, but I enjoyed it.
I don't know when (or if) we'll be back. But if you're into "partying," the bar scene here seems to still be going strong (a word of warning: watch out for those ghosts of our drunken, drug-addled past hanging out at the bar!), and I thought the food was decent, if a bit overpriced. Service was friendly, and efficient.
(Another warning; if you party, watch out for the Stirling police. We were lucky back in the day; you may not be.) read more