Sitting at the Bar

and why it's my favourite seat in a restaurant

Strawberries are in season. This morning I rinsed a pint under cold water and tipped them into the giant white bowl that was handily right there, drying in the sink. Last night the bowl housed a chopped salad, big enough to serve seven. The bowl is too big for a pint of strawberries, but they deserve the grandeur.

This story isn’t so much about the strawberries, but the big white bowl. Actually it isn’t about the bowl either, but the salad that was in the bowl last night - an homage to Fawn, a now shuttered restaurant in Halifax.

My friend Christina and I would meet at Fawn, chosen because we loved it, and it was located exactly between her house and mine. We’d sit at the bar, swivelled toward each other, backdropped against soft pink walls and giant abstract paintings. We loved the velvet banquettes, the tattooed sommelier in heels, and of course the golden swans in the bathrooms that doubled as faucets. It was a women-run business and you could feel it.

The order was always the same - a plate of french fries, the skinny kind, meatballs in tomato sauce and a giant chopped salad. I remember greens, the kind that can hold their shape - radicchio? Romaine hearts?- tossed with slivers of tomato, parmesan, pepperoncini and thin strips of salami. I loved how every finely chopped spoonful held the distinct quality of each ingredient - salty, tart, crunchy and sweet. And it was easy to share - no floppy large lettuce leaves divided by two. Just simple spoonfuls, neatly chopped. We’d talk about our creative lives, partners, her two boys, my three, solve the problems, share the food, then say goodbye. They were such good dates.

Fawn closed in April. The rent was high, the competition for diners steep. I miss it. To fill the void I’ve been testing chopped salad recipes. I’ve also been thinking about the unique pleasure it is to share a meal with someone while sitting at the bar.

A few weeks ago my husband and I sat at the bar at Edna, another local treasure. The place was packed and conversations reverberated throughout the white-walled space. The hearing in my left ear isn’t great. Sitting across from anyone in a busy restaurant means head tilting, extreme forward leaning and generally missing out on salacious conversations. But that night I could play someone else - a couple on a date, me on the left, he on my right. We shared his burrata served with olives warmed in chilli oil. We shared my endive salad - not quite chopped, but a shareable celebration of bitter crisp leaves sprinkled with pink peppercorns, creamy white manchego and pops of pistachio vinaigrette. Between courses we chatted with the servers as they swished by. When there was a lull in service we watched as the bartender deftly separated egg whites from their yolks. She’d use the whites to make whiskey sours; the yolks would go into tomorrow’s hollandaise. It was like watching actors in a play - purposefully moving, telling us a story. A story I could hear.

I’ll have to go back with Christina.

PS - This salad from Simple Bites is the closest I’ve come to Fawn’s chopped salad. Do you have a favourite? I’d love to know.

PPS - Treat yourself to this wild chopped salad experience, eaten straight off the counter. Take note of the romaine chopping technique - lengthwise, then crosswise. This is key.

PPPS - We ate the above June strawberries (as Anna Jones calls them her latest substack, “strawberries that taste of something”) chopped, sprinkled with a little sugar, and bathed in a little pool of cream. Hello summer.