By Ken Anderson — Columnist
When I learned that Papa Razzi was closing, the news fairly exploded in my head. What!? How? Why? Practically a lifetime of memories.
In its earlier existence, it was a Howard Johnson’s (HoJo’s), known for 28 flavors of ice cream. Who needs that many when you have vanilla? Especially when you can complement it with hot fudge sauce, maple syrup, or even brown sugar if you are desperate. As time passed, I broadened my ice cream tastes to include chocolate chip and peanut butter cup. The former flavor was included in the original 28; the latter flavor I am sure was not.
What do I remember about HoJo’s? It was a hangout of sorts. While I did like ice cream, I really enjoyed their hot dogs with the rolls grilled, served with brown, not yellow, mustard and relish.
The sugar packet payoff
After high school golf practice one afternoon, Peter Webb (an upperclassman), Seth Aronie, and I would often go to HoJo’s for something to eat. One day, while waiting to be served, Peter gently fondled the stack of sugar packets and asked if we would give him 50 cents to eat four of them. What? Is he nuts? Sure. He did, and we paid.
Our football team had their pre-Thanksgiving lunches at HoJo’s.
And there were attractive waitresses working there.
We have a black-and-white photo of the HoJo’s taken by my father in 1949!
After college, I lived in Boston, pursuing my actuarial career — working by day and studying at night — living on Beacon Hill, in Brighton, in Watertown (now married) and finally back in Concord, where HoJo’s was an almost forgotten part of my past.
A blossoming friendship
Dear friends of ours were having breakfast there one Sunday morning. Their young daughter sat facing a table with another couple and daughter. The girls made faces and connected with each other. Reaching the checkout counter, the mothers agreed that they should get together so the girls could play.
And then, along came Papa Razzi.
Good Italian food at reasonable prices and right down the street. Last-minute meals, takeout, reuniting with college friends, hanging out on Thursday nights with the golfers, dinner at the bar, practically a place where everyone knows your name. The bartenders were like regulars as well: Casey, Kelly, Vanetta, and another woman who drove from Everett to work.
One night, we had dinner with Ashley, our youngest child, who was then in high school. I had forgotten my reading glasses, but, remembering some basic optical physics, I dropped my menu to the floor, the right focal distance, and was able to read it. Ashley, horrified, promptly said to the gentleman at the next table, “He is not my father!”
On another night, after a golf tournament day, several of us went to Papa Razzi and were served by a somewhat brash waitress named Jennifer. She remembered me on subsequent trips for dinner and would often remark to our dining companions, “What are you doing with him?” I liked Jennifer, and she liked me. We always asked to sit at one of her tables.
Straight up, then down
On still another night, we were at Papa Razzi’s with two of our grandchildren. I had ordered a gin martini straight up, and it had just been delivered. As I reached across the table to help with a napkin, my thumb caught the stem of the glass, spilling the drink all over the table. (Expletive deleted.)
Sensing my despair, Jennifer hustled to the bar and returned with a replacement — in a sippy cup! Our grandchildren thought that it was about the funniest thing they had ever seen.
Papa Razzi was a wonderful place to dine with large and small groups. I particularly enjoyed dining with a friend, sitting face to face and talking about whatever came to mind.
One night, as we finished our first drinks, I observed that we were having so much fun that we should invite our spouses next time. He replied, “What? Are you crazy? If we did, we would have to order dinner before the second drink!”
Papa Razzi has been razed, and the area is being prepared for replacement businesses. One nearby will be a Dunkin’. I love Dunkin’, but I wonder how many eastbound people will add a stop to their morning commute, exiting to the left, and returning with their coffee, to continue their trek to the city.
At this point, all I can say is I am happy that I retired before Dunkin’ became an easy stop on my commute to West Concord. Even if their coffee roll has fewer calories than their blueberry muffin, a steady diet of them would have a deleterious effect on my waistline!
