The noise
police aren't the only ones that have a beef with Antonio's Nut House. I've got a bone to pick and it's eating at me like an army of termites.
Yeah, I've had it up to here with the hullabaloo at Antonio's Nut House. You'd think it was a Hollywood hot spot, the way people talk.
To begin with, I'm sick to death of the incessant ranting about Antonio, whose real name is Tony Montooth, by the way. You'd think he was Tony Soprano, a real big cheese. The guy was born to be a barkeep; he had no choice, so why go on about it?
You can pick him out blindfolded. He's the big lug with a staff sergeant's haircut. Can you picture Tony behind a computer, or selling real estate?
A lot of folks will tell you that they go to Antonio's Nut House just because of Tony. "I couldn't see myself drinking here everyday if the place was called Irving's Nut House," I overheard a patron say one day as he downed a glass of brew. But nobody would ever call Montooth a softie. He's the constable on patrol when it comes to keeping the bar peaceful (if not entirely quiet), especially around the pool tables.
OK, so I can't begrudge people making a fuss over Tony. He's a Palo Alto legend, larger than life, the kind of club boss you'd expect to see in Chicago or Kansas City. It's hard not to like the man, and if you want to sock down a cold one in a bar without ferns, you go to a place that has a gent like Tony behind the counter.
But there's a point where I draw the line, and that's concerning the "Nut" of Antonio's Nut House. What's the big deal? Everybody makes a mountain out of a molehill about the peanut shells on the floor. Where are you supposed to put the shells? In your pocket? Even when you're at home watching PBS, if you crack a peanut there are going to be shells on the floor. So at Antonio's you've got maybe 10,000 on a good night. But who's counting?
Then there's the other school of thought that "Nut" refers to the lunatics that love Antonio's. Believe me, characters aplenty call Antonio's home. There are regulars sitting next to first-timers, Stanford students alongside taxi drivers, anarchists across from Bushies, plus a smattering of nerds, swingers, prodigies, sharks, pundits, sales reps, scribes, bikers, academics, royalty, hustlers, and an occasional city official.
"Mad House," would have been a better description -- if not for all of the peanut shells.
Antonio's is a one-of-a-kind, I admit that. Hell, just about every guidebook around devotes a paragraph to the place, and it's even been the setting for a chapter in a novel. Anytime somebody refers to Palo Alto as "gentrified" they always have to add, "except for Antonio's Nut House." It's the only place in town where one can use the word, "funky," with a straight face.
OK, so you're wondering why I've got a problem with the oh-so-famous California Avenue saloon. Here's why: You see, I'm the "House" in Antonio's Nut House -- but no one ever pays a whit of attention to me. We buildings have feelings, too, and I don't want anyone to accuse me of having an Edifice Complex.
What would Antonio and his damned Nut collection be without me, the House? I've put up with being ignored for more than 30 years, for what? For peanuts, that's what! And I'm getting fed up.
Yeah, folks, I've got all the salty signs hanging up and down my inner walls, and it's my floor that's covered toe to toe with shells. And I'm the one who spends 24 hours a day with the damned mechanical gorilla; how'd you like to stare at that hairy beast at 4:30 in the a.m. when it's just the two of you?
And to make it even worse, some damned columnist seen lurking around has declared that it's not really a gorilla but public art. Sheesh.
Oh, and how about the commodes? Believe me, on a Friday or Saturday night, words fail -- they're unspeakable. And I won't even mention Super Bowl Sunday.
So the next time the subject of Antonio's Nut House comes up, don't spend your time obsessing on Big Tony or the nutshells or the nut cases. Think about the House. After all, how'd you like to imbibe your next draft at Antonio's Nut Gazebo? I didn't think so.
Gerald Brett is a member of the Palo Alto Public Art Commission and of the Weekly's Board of Contributors. He is founder/owner of an international language institute in Menlo Park, Language Pacifica. He can be e-mailed at gerald_brett@yahoo.com.
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