Requiem for a Restaurant

The Georgian restaurant behind my house has DISAPPEARED! Gone like an Argentinian political activist (of years past, of course, Argentina isn't like that no more times, no sir.)

Tamada (the actual name of "The Georgian Restaurant Behind My House") was a neighborhood TREASURE. And that's a term I apply sparingly, the other treasures in my neighborhood being Frank Gehry's Dancing Building and my own bad self.

Now, instead of dadianska chacapuri and kutaisi salad (and the chance to pretend we speak Georgian), we have yet another place for gulas and svickova. And BUDVAR. The beer that prides itself on its high exports, and I wish they'd export all of it.

Below: A bunch of us hanging out at the Georgian place.


There've been many changes in this neighborhood in the past four years, some good, some bad. Lemon Leaf was an improvement on whatever used to be there, chiefly because I don't even remember what used to be there so how could it have been any good? The Colombian restaurant was a nice, if pricey, addition (although I was a bit disappointed to discover that the white stuff in the salt shakers was actually salt; please don't ask me how I discovered this). 02, as far as I'm concerned, is more fun than the public toilet it used to be (in fact, "more fun than a public toilet" is its slogan), and the renos at U Bubenicku were an unalloyed success because, really, can you HAVE too many pictures of big-boobed women around you while you eat? Ich Bin Ibin Ben Carculla (am I close?) is every bit as good as Troll Bar (I'd go so far as to say BETTER) especially since they kept the elvish inscriptions on the walls and we can keep calling it "Troll Bar."

Some changes were neutral: Fajn bar went from gay bar to gay herna bar, a transition that involved the addition of some slot machines and climbing plants, and nobody seemed to notice.

On the "bad" side, Red Room (which I didn't fully appreciate even as I was spending entire weekends there) turned orange overnight and became "Empty Room" (they should have called it "Vacancy"). Yukon closed, meaning the loss of a non-stop that alway had toilet paper in the washrooms. (C'mon, in late-night terms, that's CLASS.)

And to this list I must now add the transformation of "Tamada" into "Czech Restaurant."

Tamada started life as a combination restaurant/shooting club/bluegrass venue with the air of a hunting lodge in northern Quebec, complete with ratty pelts and guns. Over time, the pelts and guns disappeared and the bluegrass occasionally morphed into the kind of stuff Barry Manilow would have played if he were Czech, but the food got better and better.

And now it's gone. And, as you can see from the photo, I am officially in mourning: