Difference between revisions of "Larry's Road House"

Revision as of 11:34, 4 January 2009

The following article appearing in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette on December 18, 2008 and mistakenly refers to the location in Brookline.

Larry's Road House link to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Munch goes to Larry's Road House

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

As a rule, Munch is intrigued by any place that eagerly announces its availability for funeral luncheons. Would it not have been equally sufficient for the restaurant's marquee to say: "Book your party here"?

As a rule, Munch is likewise intrigued by a menu so dexterous that it sells fried mushrooms ($3.75) next to a grilled cheese sandwich ($3.50) next to twin lobster tails ($39.95).

And, of course, Munch as a rule is intrigued by a place that is said to be a haunted former brothel, a place that used to be a boarding home pit stop along the Pittsburgh and Castle Shannon Railroad, and a place where a local judge is said to have hanged himself.

Larry's Road House, in the Brookline (Correction - Overbrook) section of Pittsburgh, is a treasure of an old building, a three-story Victorian mansion built in the 1850s and aging relatively gracefully, if not avoiding the process altogether, what with its fading wallpaper, creaky floors, cracking tile work and cobwebby corners.

Well, that's your Bagged Bon Vivant in a nutshell -- creaky, cracking and cobwebby, so there's no reason we shouldn't like this place. The entire bottom floor has been converted into a series of cozy dining rooms, but the bar is where Munch bellied up, hoping that the food didn't disappoint.

The menu is dizzying, with 30-some sandwiches, two dozen entrees, 20 appetizers and sides and, of course, the aforementioned lobster tail. The sandwiches are all under $9, the beer is cheap, and the bar is populated by delightful locals who wear Harley Davidson vests and get weepy talking about their fathers' war heroics. Say, is this a restaurant or an Eagles lodge?

The kitchen has developed a reputation for good, sturdy burgers, but Munch opted for the open-faced turkey devonshire ($8.95), which came with a small side salad and warm rolls. The gravy fries were $2.75.

"That's a lot of food," the barmaid said. "Hope you're hungry."

"Lady, hope's got nothing to do with it. Munch was born hungry. I was on solid foods at eight weeks. Ate my first porterhouse at five months."

Barmaids have been giving Munch the strangest looks lately. Must be the economy.

The turkey devonshire was, as advertised, a lot of food, a steaming heap of sliced turkey on a piece of white bread, beneath some curled-up bacon, broccoli, tomato slices, cheese sauce, and whatever else might have been found in the refrigerator that evening. I can't say that the sandwich will be winning any Michelin stars, but hey, when you've been out Christmas shopping from daylight until dusk, and six hours of cold Pittsburgh drizzle have nearly rinsed the warmth right out of your body, just about anything hot will hit the spot.

Munch chewed the sandwich quietly, looking straight ahead, so as not to offend the Hells-Angels-looking fellows on either end of the bar, especially the one on the right, a master's degree holder of the barfighting arts who had spent the previous 20 minutes talking about all of the men he and his father had beaten into near comas.

Be invisible, Munch. Don't make any waves. If he can't see you, he can't hit you.

Worse comes to worst, you can always book your own funeral luncheon here.

First published on December 18, 2008 at 12:00 am