Tom Bergin’s Tavern
840 S. Fairfax Avenue
Los Angeles , CA 90036
(323) 936-7151
www.tombergins.com
As the saying goes, the only “authentic” Irish pub is one closed on St. Patrick’s Day. Tom’s vast, wooden bar encircles rows of spirits and its brown walls are decorated with over 7,000 shamrocks bearing the names of happy customers who have boozed it up there since 1939. I figured that was a good enough sign of authenticity and made my way into the dining room which resembled a sort of intergenerational community living room. A woman waved at me and said, “You have the ‘Is this the Film Enthusiasts group?’ look on your face. I’m the Organizer.” I sat down and immediately scanned the menu hoping to find the draft beer list. No luck. I really wanted to order an Irish Coffee to see if Tom’s was indeed better than the Buena Vista’s, but I didn’t want to reveal to my new friends that I was a serious drinker. The waitress recited “Guinness, Smithwicks, Harp, Pilsberg, Bass and Bud Light.” I was disappointed with the scant selection but I ordered a Bass anyway.
We were going to see A Foreign Affair, so naturally the conversation turned to Billy Wilder movies. A guy sitting across from me said he loved Some Like it Hot and could watch it over and over. I told him practically all of Wilder’s films fell into that category.
“I didn’t like The Apartment because it wasn’t that funny,” he said.
I decided to dislike him a little bit and retaliated with “You should see Ace in the Hole to experience Wilder at his funniest.” He thanked me for the recommendation.
Somehow, Vicky Cristina Barcelona came up. As with all Woody Allen discussions, many voiced their dislike of everything between Sweet and Lowdown and Match Point. I was in no mood to defend Woody and my mouth was full of Famous Garlic Cheese Toast, which was basically garlic flavored run-of-the-mill toast and not so special, but somehow I managed to blurt out I liked Hollywood Ending. A young cinephile was about to right my wrong when he was interrupted by a girl who declared, “I don’t like his movies because his portrayal of women is negative.”
Oh dear, a Second Wave Feminist. Damn, I should have ordered the Irish Coffee.
Tom offers a good selection of salads, sandwiches and specials, but it’s mainly a pub menu. You can’t miss with fish and chips at an Irish pub, but I had eaten them two days ago. There’s only so much fried food my thighs can handle so I ordered the Gaelic Beef even though I think of stew as a dish with an inferiority complex.
“Stew with beef is just beef stew. Irish stew uses lamb,” snapped the Feminist, then proceeded to order a Caesar salad with chicken. Oh dear, a foodie too. I snubbed her by crashing a conversation with a quick-witted attorney. She told us she was currently collecting dust and moonlighting as the Carvel sprinkle girl, because, thanks to Bernie Madoff, she had gotten laid off as General Counsel for Spielberg’s charity. She went from representing Holocaust survivors in restitution claims to pro bono work helping people fight eviction.
“Working for free is getting old, so I’m thinking about taking up writing, just like everyone else in this town. But not screenplays, novels,” she announced.
Just as the Feminist was going off on another poor guy, our dinner arrived. Love and Guinness stout are common fortifiers of Irish dishes and my stew was simmered in both. More than the sum of its simple parts: rich, melt-in-your-mouth, flavorful beef, potatoes, carrots, pickled onions and a lonely prune, it tasted like home.
A school teacher complained, as she ate, that her Chicken Erin–breast simmered in cream and cider with bacon, leeks and mushrooms over a bed of rice–was a fattier Irish version of Fettuccini Alfredo. A woman who had remained mute for most of the evening caught me eyeing her Shepherd’s Pie–a large pile of ground beef, vegetables, mushroom gravy, and mashed potatoes–and her thumb went up. The Carvel Sprinkle Girl’s tuna on wheat looked sad, but the homemade potato chips were crisp, tasty and addictive.
As the check was making its way around, people were arguing as to which Kate Winslet performance was her best. I did not chime in because, one, I haven’t seen the movies and two, who gives a shit? A guy on the opposite side of the table said that it was Revolutionary Road because Kate looked ugly in The Reader.
The Feminist stood up and yelled across the table: “What did you just say?”
Next time I’m definitely ordering the Irish Coffee.
by Teri Carson
[Photos: Salina Canizales]
