When I moved back from New York City in 2009, Armsby Abbey had just opened its doors. My adjustment to Central Mass hadn’t come easily, but I found my cosmopolitan cure in the dim confines of 144 Main St. I grew smitten with everything about the place, right down to the font on the menus.
I applied for a position at the restaurant to secure a second income, but it became a second home. I had no idea accepting a part-time job at Armsby Abbey would recondition my taste buds entirely. Growing up, my family rarely dined out at restaurants, with the exception of my birthday. At the Abbey, my palate blossomed. I learned to love pastrami smoked beef tongue, smokey blue cheese, gobs of bone marrow spread on toast, and pickled watermelon rinds. Every shift felt like a birthday with new oddities to explore.
In a recent training with a new staff member, I had the pleasure of sharing a personal anecdote for nearly every farm and brewery on the menu. When I was through she asked, “How long will it take me to learn all of that?” I assured her she would have stories of her own in no time. There would be days when the restaurant would shut down so the staff could board a bus to visit breweries. There would be days when world class brewers themselves would sit down at her table. There would be long summer afternoons spent at Tougas farm picking berries for the chefs to use in preserves and desserts. One’s understanding of terroir builds quickly as an Armsby Abbey employee.
Throughout my illustrious waitressing career, there have been more eventful shifts than not. There was the shift when the cast of Cirque du Soleil showed up just before close and ordered everything on the menu. The characters that evening were so wild and whimsical, I didn’t even mind staying late on a school night. There was the shift when a group of performers from the Palladium arrived for brunch after being chased down Main Street by 500 teenage girls. Their fans tried to rush past our host, Amber, to ask for autographs, but she held them off with one cool mermaid stare. Then, there was the shift when the man I have come to love sat down at the end of the bar. I hadn’t seen him in over a decade. Though we have been acquainted in one way or another for nearly our whole lives, I never really knew him until he asked me to dance last summer. I have the Abbey to thank for that.
The first day of my Abbey retirement fell on my 30th birthday. I had finally managed to trick so many publications into letting me write about restaurants, that I no longer had enough time in my day to work at one. To celebrate, my boyfriend planned an elaborate party at Lock 50 on Water Street. I have never been surrounded by so many friends and family members in one place. If I am the average of the company I keep, looking around that room gave me the gift of eternal optimism.
At the end of the night, when Big John Short played his final number, my boyfriend and I danced among the beautiful flowers and the twinkling lights and I felt sure that things were beginning for me all over again.
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