Wednesday, May 14, 2014

The Charlie Chronicles

I suppose we all should have had some idea that it could happen, but certainly none of us wanted to believe in the reality that it would happen.  Boston's Charlie's Sandwich Shop, in its generations old familiar linoleum and vinyl fashion, is to be no more.  Ugh.

A front page - above the fold - story in The Boston Globe titled "Authentic to its Final Morsel" let the world know that after nearly nine decades the exhaust fans whipping away the smell of turkey hash from the griddle will be able to take a breather.  Yes, Arthur, Chris, Marie, and Fontaine are ready, or I should say, they are done.  Next.

For 22 years, I have been enjoying the personalities, the counter, the friends, the mystique, and, yes, the food, as a local insider.  I get my water poured for me in a big glass and don't need to go to the back and fill a small glass myself.  I get my order remembered wrong, then corrected, every time.  I've had a place mat and "Miss Sunshine" set out for me because I called ahead and was in a hurry.  Yes, I love the place.  Every bit of it. 

In my quest to remember Charlies, and perhaps to be remembered, I have committed to eating at the counter every day, except Saturdays, until they close.  And write about it.  It will be my version of "Super Size Me", and I might just be the one getting Supersized.

And so begins my slow and fattening goodbye to my friends.  And yes, the hash dropped wheat is on the menu.


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