Dan's Papers - August 31, 2007 - Voila! Bridgehampton!

Somebody commented the other day that Bridgehampton was the French Hampton. Down by the War Memorial in the center of town - which features, among other things, a tribute to our soldiers who fought in France in World War I and our soldiers who liberated Paris in World War II - there is the French restaurant known as Pierre's. French flags are flying out front, French pastries are in a case to the left just after you come in and the food, decidedly French, is worthy of several stars from the Michelin Guide. Pierre is the host, of course. And then on the wait staff are people such as Jacque, Marcel and Brigitte.

At the other end of town is the wonderful French bistro, Almond. Here, in a building reminiscent of a French farmhouse, you can enjoy Le Grand Macaroni and Cheese, Escargots and Foie Gras Mousse. As for Almond, well, she's from Brooklyn, of course. And there to help her out is Eric Lemonides and Jason Weiner.

In between these two restaurants, there is the Blue Provence, a shop owned by Thierry Miroir who sells nothing but items made in France. Here you will find French dishes and glasses, French furniture and curtains, and various canned foods, such as caviar and salmon, all imported from that country.

And then, right next door to our place (Le Papier de Dan) there is the aptly named Urban Archaeology store, which features beautiful French mirrors and French tile work, stone statuary and other carvings from France and European ateliers. Out front of this establishment are two statues that once stood guarding L'Arc de Triomphe at L'Etoile at the most westerly end of the Champs-Élysées. How they got to Bridgehampton is a story in itself.

Also in Town are Cache Salon, the hairdresser owned by a woman named Daryl, and Chez Soi, which in French means At Home, where you can buy very high-end antiques.

The interesting thing about all this is that if you went to sleep thirty years ago and then, in Rip Van Winkle fashion, just woke up, you would not only think you were in the wrong town, you would probably think you were on the wrong continent.

Thirty years ago, Bridgehampton was a farm town surrounded by potato fields. The farmers who owned these fields were mostly big men of Polish extraction wearing overalls and muddy boots. They would come into town to get rye grass seed at the Thayer Hardware Store, manure and potato-bug spray at the Agway Store and gather around at the Candy Kitchen every morning to discuss the upcoming weather forecast and the current price of potatoes. Often, they also went to the Candy Kitchen to wait out the time when their tractors and backhoes were being repaired in the mechanic's bays at any one of a total of six gas stations that existed at that time between Almond and the War Memorial. (The town had an overriding smell of fresh Bridgehampton loam, potato spray and motor oil.)

The six gas stations were 1. in front of the Hampton House, now under restoration, across from the War Memorial, 2. kittycorner across the street from the War Memorial in what is now the Beverage Barn, 3. in the complex where today we have the Bridgehampton Florist and Pennywhistle Toys, 4., next door to Le Papier de Dan, where the Urban Archeology is today, 5., across the street from Le Papier de Dan, where State Farm Insurance is today and 6., down the hill from Le Papier de Dan and across from Esp Oil which, today, is exactly as it was thirty years ago.

Come to think of it, practically every one of the shops which today house chic French establishments was a real hoot and a half thirty years ago.

Where Pierre's is today was, thirty years ago, Billy's Triple Crown Bar. Billy DePetris was a local character who grew up in Bridgehampton and played on the Bridgehampton High School baseball team, going undefeated as Billy pitched strikes to a fellow named Carl Yazsremski. Yazstremski, the son of a Bridgehampton potato farmer, went on to be one of the great stars of baseball and is in the Hall of Fame today. In 1967, he won the Triple Crown. In that year, he had the highest batting average, the most home runs and the most runs batted in of any player in the league. No player has matched this feat since.

Billy, remembering his boyhood friend, opened a restaurant here in tribute to Carl Yastremski. On the walls were baseballs and bats signed by the great man, plaques and awards, newspaper articles that read YAZ HOMERS FOR SOX AND WINS, one of his baseball shirts, several caps and all sorts of other trophies and paraphernalia.

The food? Not French to be sure. It was all American: spaghetti and meatballs, lasagna and baked ziti.

What is now the Almond Restaurant in the west end of town was, thirty years ago, in the middle of a transformation. Before 1968, for years and years, it had been a redneck bar known as The Woodshed. In 1968, it was taken over by two young women, Vita and Vitesse, a gay couple, who converted it into a hippie coffee house they called "The Grotto of the Purple Grape." It was called "The Grotto" by 1977. Hippies rented a garage in the back.

What is now the Blue Provence was, back then, Danny's Luncheonette, a competitor and cheap imitation of the Candy Kitchen that, up front, sold among other things girlie magazines and gossip newspapers such as Confidential. Chez Soi was a hot lead and linotype print shop called Hallock Printing. It smelled of ink and the printers were even dirtier than the farmers.

And Urban Archeology, next to Le Papier de Dan, was, back then, Junior's Gas Station, a filling station and auto repair shop run by a handsome young black man named Junior Brown. He was not only the owner of the place, but was also the mechanic. And, from next door, where I was able to look out at him for about ten years, it was hard not to note that he loved the ladies and the ladies loved him. He was always taking care not only of the farmers and their machinery but also the beautiful young blonde women with red sports cars who were beginning to add a bit of glamour to this down-and-out Hampton with greater and greater frequency.

Junior Brown sold the gas station after a while and got a job for the Southampton Town Highway Department, retiring after twenty years. I recently ran into him and asked him about all the blonde ladies. He told me that he had a side business taking care of and polishing up rich people's automobiles while they were away in New York City during the week.

"They'd come out on the train and get off at Bridgehampton. The station was just a block away. I'd be there to meet them in their cars. That's all it was about."

As for our boy Rip, I have suggested that he go back to sleep and come back in another thirty years. Who the hell knows what he'll find then.