Crossing Padanaram Road in Danbury about six in the evening, I was mowed down by a fast-moving vehicle.* To what do I attribute my unlikely survival? To the hard head that has enabled me to write the unpopular truth when it’s called for and the padding put onto this once-athletic body by the excessive lifestyle of a restaurant critic.
When I came to by the busy roadside, I shook the gravel out of my cowboy boots, dusted off my blue jeans and woozily climbed the steps to Jim Barbarie’s.
I went inside—and it was Life On Mars. I appeared to have awoken in the 1970s. “What year is it?” I gasped to the friendly, well-muscled guy manning the maître d’ station. “1973,” he replied.
And so it was.
I found myself with a friend from my high school days, Robert—flute player, choir member and fellow debater. Robert was dressed entirely from the brown and beige part of the color register, but he wasn’t wearing his pocket protector, making me wonder if he’d caught the malevolent eye of a high school bully.
But it turns out that getting run over gives one quite an appetite, so I abandoned such questions and focused on Jim Barbarie’s menu. I began with a bowl of New England clam chowder. Since it was the 1970s, I knew I could count on it to be thick with either flour or cream or both—with more calories than a Big Mac.
Robert ordered sausage-stuffed mushrooms in garlic sauce. Anachronism alert! If I hadn’t come from the future, I might not have recognized what was topping the mushrooms. Melted over them was a bountiful covering of snowy white fresh Mozzarella. I don’t think I encountered fresh Mozzarella until at least the early 1980s.
In the 1970s, salads actually came with dinners. Remember? What a concept! But again, the folks at Jim Barbarie’s seemed a little ahead of their time, having prepared their own house salad dressings. Anachronism alert, my brain again screamed. The future bleeding into the past. Which of course was the present.
My buddy ordered an assorted seafood platter, three kinds of broiled fish plus jumbo shrimp in a lemon butter sauce. The well-cooked seafood was accompanied by plenty of fluffy mashed potatoes, carrots and green beans.
Ironically, waking up in the 1970s had made me nostalgic for my past. Which of course was the present. So I ordered an end cut of prime rib, figuring I’d be all right just as long as I didn’t try to swim across Candlewood Lake after eating it.
As I struggled to finish the slab of meat I had ordered, I watched other tables receiving huge platters of food, invariably greeted with great enthusiasm.
If it had really been the 1970s, I would have finished the meal with something like a big wedge of cheesecake. But I no longer had the enviable metabolism that once enabled me to eat whatever I wanted without putting on any weight. Gone were my halcyon eating days of wagers won and contests clinched. Sadly, I was too full even to consider dessert.
So instead, my companion and I sat back and enjoyed Jim Barbarie’s atmosphere. We watched a number of people get up and dance to the live music being performed. I wished my wife were with me, because I sure as hell wasn’t getting up and dancing with Robert. In his dreams!
As we reminisced, we recalled things we liked about the 1970s. We liked the gusto with which everyone ate. We liked that everyone wasn’t a critic then. Everyone couldn’t cook gourmet meals at home. We found ourselves waxing nostalgic about fondue sets, casseroles, salad spinners and crock pots. And the days when a server might ask: “Coffee, tea or me?” Yeah, I know—in my dreams!
Jim Barbarie’s generously apportioned and reasonably priced American fare seems to draw young and old alike. The restaurant does feature a few items that one wouldn’t encounter on a 1973 menu. For instance, one wouldn’t find ahi tuna seared rare and served over mixed field greens in a light sesame ginger dressing. Even the blackened chicken would have been a few years ahead of its time.
Generosity aside, what we liked most of all about Jim Barbarie’s, however, was its incredibly friendly atmosphere. The staff couldn’t have been nicer, the customers better-natured. Jim Barbarie’s may indeed be a blast from the past, but there are good reasons that the restaurant’s as popular as ever.
*With apologies to the cancelled ABC show, Life on Mars.
Jim Barbarie’s, 47 Padanaram Road, Danbury, 203-743-3287
You hit the nail on the head. My family has recently “rediscovered” Jim Barbarie’s — and it never fails to satisfy. Perfectly-prepared, classic American food, reasonable prices, live music on weekends, and the near-guarantee that you’ll run into people you know and love. The place is still in the Barbarie family, as I understand it — that muscular dude you see at the host station is the third generation, and one of the current owners. Oh, and lest I forget, this is one restaurant that hasn’t forgotten how to make real, stiff cocktails — even a simple beer is served in a glass big enough to hold at least two regular ones.
Oh, and finally, they serve oysters, raw, on the half-shell. This, alone, is enough to bring us in. I love Jim B’s!
Great commentary on a Grand Ol’ Dame of Connecticut’s restaurant history, Frank. Paula and I dated there, 3 decades ago, and fond memories persist. Thanks for reminding us that it has been a few years since we mau’ed down on two-pound lobsters at Jim Barberie’s, with the salad included!
We have been invited to a private party at the home of friends this weekend, but next weekend, it’s Jim Barberie’s for us!