My wife and I were planning to go to Frederick, Maryland after some apple picking and ice cream up by Thurmont, and have dinner at Firestone’s Culinary Tavern, a very nice and longstanding restaurant right in the middle of downtown. We only actually made it there once, but it was one of those places you knew was good and worth another visit. If we were closer—it’s about an hour away—we probably would have become regulars. There was also a market and a small lunch spot; the place was a three-in-one and employed over 60 people.

Here it is, from our table on the second floor, looking down over the bar and main dining room:

I say “was” because when I went to look it up to call in a reservation, I found that it had closed in June. It had been open 26 years, which is a very long time for a restaurant, more than enough to make it iconic/an institution/etc., especially when it’s centrally located in the heart of a small city.

At least we didn’t contribute to its downfall by not coming back soon enough; the 90-year-old owner died, had no children interested in taking over. The restaurant company still owns the property, however, and says it is looking for a worthy buyer. The comments on a Reddit thread about it are the kinds of comments any local business would love to get:

“Absolutely devasted about the market, have been eating there almost once a week for 9yrs.”

“It’s been one of the best local business downtown for as long as I’ve lived here.”

“Market on Market is truly the only place in town to grab a quick bite and get basic groceries. I can’t tell you how many times the market saved me after running out of milk or eggs. It also became a family tradition to pick up all the fancy meats, cheeses, and spreads for holidays.”

“I JUST started going there this year and it quickly became my favorite place downtown to get food. All the time I missed of greatness and now it’s leaving just as I found it.”

Why is it called Firestone’s, anyway? Yeah, the tires:

Here’s one of those truth-is-stranger-than-fiction facts: Some of the best pastrami in Maryland—west of Corned Beef Row, of course—comes from a “culinary tavern” in Frederick run by an Episcopalian from California.

Whose kitchen produces such savory smoked meat? None other than Kim Firestone, 81, the scion of rubber royalty.

The local government even put in a word: “Richard Griffin, economic development director for the city of Frederick, said Firestone’s ‘set the high mark’ for how to operate a restaurant.”

So how do you do this? How does a town or city end up with a place that’s so well-loved? Can a mayor make it happen or not happen, or facilitate or frustrate it? That’s what I’ve been thinking about with this string of pieces on my hometown and the small towns in New Jersey. It’s so hard to find this: a business where everything is just right, the price obviously matches the value, and nothing gets your inner critic’s hackles up.

What this also makes me wonder is, what is a community? What does it mean to be “part of” a community? There’s a certain tension in urbanist thinking, I think, here.

In insisting that “you don’t buy a neighborhood” or that what your neighborhoods do with their property is none of your business or that prioritizing “people who already live here” is mercenary exclusion, some people are going to hear “We don’t really think there’s any such thing as a community.” There’s a tension between saying “This place is so great anyone who wants to move here should be able to” and “nothing makes any place in particular special.”...