Chris' post said it all. Our home away from home is gone, replaced by a yuppified, trendy seafood spot. The expansive full-floor bar has been replaced with a tiny, cramped area between the last booth and the kitchen. Beer-soaked, peanut shell-covered wood planking has been replaced with trendy Pergo, with nary a peanut can in sight. Yellowed pics of Riggins, Quaid, Auerbach, and the retarded kid have been replaced with watercolors, ship models, and taxidermied swordfish. The wooden bar with decades of grime and water rings has been replaced with a shiny, faux stone-faced monstrosity overhung with purple lights -- it belongs at Yanyu or Au Pied du Cochon -- not the Malt Shoppe.
We cast about desperately like dying men for alternatives in Tenleytown, but encountered only disappointment and the death of an era.
The Malt Shoppe is dead. Long live the Malt Shoppe.
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