A Neat Oasis in Georgetown
by Kurt Epps—the PubScout August 10, 2021
I don’t always go to Georgetown, SC.
But when I do, my favorite pub is usually closed.
That pub would be The Old Fish House—aka Big Tuna. You can read about that here.
It’s usually just closed on Mondays, so I figured I’d ride my Harley down today to have some victuals and grog. But I get there, and the sign says “Closed Monday AND Tuesday.”
90 miles on the big V-Twin with the temps at 86º required some re-hydration at the very least, not to mention finding a loo. Time to improvise, adapt and overcome.
So I walked a few doors down to a place called the River Room. The missus and I had eaten there once and enjoyed it, so I figured I’d amble up to the bar, check out the beer list and, um, re-hydrate.
Only problem was there was no bar, or at least none that I could see. It was all tables and booths, and I didn’t feel like sitting down in the dining room. My biker regalia makes some folks antsy, and I didn’t want to cause any discomfort to the seasoned citizens already enjoying their lunches.
I was about to leave when i saw this dark, inviting door. It looked like there was a piece of heavy equipment in there, and that it was perhaps a storage room.
But it wasn’t.
It was a pub, and a quintessential one. It was small, but that only added to its appeal.
Dark, cool and inviting with a few tables and a small bar tended by a very friendly gal. the space had no specific name that I could gather, but it turned out to be just what I was looking for” a small, cool private spot with a decent beer list and lots of privacy.
I ordered up a Hop Art from Coast Brewing (makers of the excellent DIPA called Boy King). Exquisitely balanced and served properly in a tulip glass, this beer checked in at 7.7%, not too high to preclude riding back on two wheels, nor too low to have any substance. Still, I only had one. Better safe than sorry.
But the space was very special. The “equipment” I had seen originally was an elevator that had been moved from a different location when the restaurant was under construction. That the elevator stood in such a prominent spot of the pub testified to its significance in the pedigree of the River Room.
With just the right amount of bric-a-brac and atmosphere, this little pub was a special find. It’s likely a well-kept secret, as I doubt even most restaurant patrons know it’s there.
So there I sat, enjoying my respite, my reverie and my beer, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Are you a biker?”
I turned to see a woman of about 75 years with a pleasant, friendly face, clearly not antsy in the least about my biker regalia.
“Yes, ma’am. I like to think so,” I said.
“So is my brother, and guess where he is?” she challenged.
“Sturgis,” she said, without waiting for me to answer.
“He once had his bike shipped out to the west coast and rode out there for a few weeks,” she allowed. “And then he told me that this year, he was going to Sturgis, because he wasn’t sure he had ‘all the time in the world.’ So he did it.”
She had been siting alone in a darkened corner at one of the few tables in the pub, having a chicken salad for lunch. I had barely noticed her.
“And how was your lunch?” I asked.
“It was excellent, and thanks for reminding me. I almost left my doggie bag on the table!”
We parted with some pleasantries, but they were sincere—on both ends. As she exited the dark pub, I turned to finish my beer, happy that I’d had the chance to meet and chat with her, however briefly. I never got her name, but it didn’t seem necessary.
But that’s what good pubs are about: meeting and chatting with people you might not ordinarily encounter over a beer. And having your psyche smile when the meeting is over. The encounter reminded me of why I do what I’ve been doing since 1996.
