When I moved down here in 1990 from the land where the rivers burn and smoke from the steel mills turn the sky orange, I needed to learn about my new home city and state. Of course I went to the Stockyards, and, while sitting in a bar there one late afternoon, I was surprised by 30 Japanese tourists who wandered in wearing Stetsons, Wrangler jeans, and big belt buckles.
So much for a cultural education in the Stockyards. But there was one spot in the Fort where I did learn a lot about Tejas and Cowtown, about how this new home of mine was very different from where I grew up. Not better. Not worse. Just very different.
That place was Fred’s Texas Café on the near West Side. I had been taught growing up that anyone who said “y’all” and “fixin’ to” was a hillbilly moron. What I learned in Fred’s was that people who spoke that way could be intelligent and interesting.
I also learned about one of the things that set Texans apart from most other folks in this country. The Fred’s crowd came from all walks of life: Old geezers sat with construction workers and lawyers and the tattooed and pierced. And while many were more politically conservative than I was, this was a fiercely independent bunch. No one judged anyone else’s lifestyle. You were who you were, and more power to you.
This equality was reinforced by the fare at the bar/restaurant. You drank draft beer out of a frosted fishbowl mug, ate cheap and greasy burgers, and paid in cash, keeping the pretentious factor low.
Fred’s today is different, and I don’t go there as much as I used to. Instead of a beer and a burger, you see chicken-pesto pizza or buffalo tenderloin in a fire-roasted tomatillo sauce on customers’ plates. A bottle of wine – not a draft beer – typically accompanies this fine food. And that cheap burger now costs about eight bucks.
I don’t blame famed “Outlaw Chef” owner Terry Chandler for these changes. He saw a market in higher-end customers who weren’t being served, and he is doing far more business than he used to. When bands play out on the patio now, the crowd seems to consist of Westside baby boomers with lots of money in their pockets. Cougars dance around in their sundresses, their husbands smoke cigars, and the staff seems to be young, hip, and cool.
As the West 7th Street corridor blossoms with higher-end housing, movie theaters, and more restaurants and bars, Fred’s could have been seen as a stain on a wedding dress. So transforming the joint into something more than just a greasy spoon was a shrewd move on Chandler’s part.
Some of the old crowd that I used to hang with are mad that Chandler made these changes, saying that he abandoned his trusting clientele, who had patronized Fred’s for decades. I don’t necessarily agree. As a chef, Chandler wanted to expand his horizons, and the food – though far more expensive now – is still high quality but more adventurous. And full liquor and wine service goes with that territory.
I am not opposed to change. In fact, I usually like it. And as Fort Worth grows in stature, many of those small-town attitudes will melt away. Fred’s has moved on to the next level, going from a little dive to fine restaurant and bar with a lot to offer a new crowd.
And maybe this is the new Texas and new Fort Worth, more urbane and fashionable and sophisticated and less of a homespun small town. Change is inevitable, and the bars we hang out at go along with that. A most painful case in point is J&J’s Hideaway, one of my all-time favorite Fort Worth drinking spots that closed its doors about a year ago because redevelopment in the Cultural District increased the property value, and some developer thought it would make a nice Crate and Barrel or some other kind of high-end retail establishment.
So I’ve moved on as well. But I miss those days of my early Texas education. Those Fred’s dudes taught me about the Baptists, what good country music was, how not to be full of yourself, and the right times of year to wear the felt and straw cowboys hats. And the wonders of hunting feral pigs.
You can still get a cheap draft beer and sit at the metal bar watching hunting shows on the TV at Fred’s. But I just don’t know who the regulars are anymore.
– Dan McGraw
Contact Last Call at lastcall@fwweekly.com.
