If Concord were the solar system, then The Common Man is the sun.
Concord is a relaxing little town devoid of pretense considering it's the state capital. But that's what I love about New Hampshire. There's no need for the Nutcracker to come to town for people to enjoy themselves.
Having said that, it's like any other small town in the United States. It has a small downtown area with a few bars and token ethnic restaurants. It has a giant CVS and fast food joints scattered here and there.
These days, that counts as Americana. These are necessities but they make towns indistinguishable from each other.
Which is why I'm glad Common Man came to Concord at some point.
The restaurant converted every inch of a large house into a hybrid, super-mutant of every relaxing place you could think of. They have three bars, dining areas, large tables, small tables, high tops, sofas, paintings, and knick-knacks. The few TVs in the place are in corners or above sofas where they would be in your house.
This means that if you want to watch the game, you're more than welcome to do so but you'd be better off doing so at the sofas or corners. If you want to stay at the bar, you're going to be drawn into making eye contact with people, something that happens more easily in Concord than in larger towns.
We went to the bar upstairs and found a standing spot at the bar for two people. That was fine with us. It's not like we're arthritic and we had more elbow room this way.
I looked around and noticed something that got me excited.
____________________________________________
WARNING: RACE TALK AHEAD. ASSHOLE AT WORK!
____________________________________________
Everybody was white. I was not. I love when this happens because it reminds me of the Midwest. Not only am I comfortable in this situation, I thrive. I use my grizzly appearance to maximum comedic effect. (I look like I should be going to Imam College but I sound like I grew up in Laramie).
Everyone was having a good time and minding their own business but I did turn a few heads. Glowing in my quasi-celebrity status, I placed our food orders.
The middle-aged couple next to us offered us their seats because another couple was eyeing the seats from behind them. We were grateful for this even though standing wasn't that uncomfortable. Friendly people right off the bat! Get used to that in New Hampshire.
Our food came out and the guy who brought it to us did something I've never seen a server do. He called to the bartender to tell him which dish belonged where. I pointed to our spot on the bar. Wordlessly he put them down and walked away. Odd, but I didn't care. We got our food and it hadn't taken forever to arrive.
Miss K got the beef kebabs and I got the pot roast.
My pot roast came with a side of dirty rice and veggies and Miss K's kebab came with veggies. The pot roast was decent. It was a little dry but that can be solved by drizzling it with more gravy from the pot. The zucchini was cooked well, the beans were crisp, and the dirty rice was cooked perfectly too.
Miss K's kebabs, though, were in a completely different league and I would recommend those over the pot roast.
They had a perfect, crisp char on the outside and they were medium on the inside. Eating a piece of meat that's chewy/soft on the inside and charred and crusty on the outside is the food equivalent of waking up with a flat stomach despite eating a pizza the night before.
The kebabs were threaded onto a skewer with roasted peppers and came with a side of zucchini as well. Everything was as fresh and well-cooked as the food on my plate.
The meal done, I continued to glow in my melanin singularity as we sipped drinks. Then I went to the bathroom and saw an Asian dude at the urinal. Shit.
I reported this to Miss K.
"I just saw Concord's only Asian."
"SSHHH!!"
"What?? Does anyone here look like they would be offended?"
"It doesn't matter. Keep it down."
"What matters is that I'm still the only one of my kind in this town."
Out of nowhere, an old Indian dude walked into the bathroom.
"GOD-MOTHERFUCKING-DAMNNIT!!"
He wasn't assimilated either. He looked like he had been picked out of an insurance office in Punjab by god and planted in the Common Man just to fuck with me. The only thing missing was his entire family, the women in saris.
My dream of uniqueness shattered, I said I was ready to go.
To top off the meal, we asked for the white chocolate, one of many complementary small bites. Some of the others include charcuterie and cheese and crackers. Naturally, you have to ask the staff for these before they give it to you. The fact that they do this at all is incredible.
The capitalist translation of "free" usually means you're about to give your phone number to a corporation in exchange for 2% off. But when the Common Man says free, they mean free.
Take advantage of it. Appreciate it. read more