In the early morning of January 13th, Griff’s caught fire. Within minutes, the damage was so extensive that the building was deemed a total loss. Houston without Griff’s is almost inconceivable. At the risk of being overly-sentimental, many of the best moments of my adult life happened here. It’s where I performed my first and last full band concerts in Houston, watched the Astros clinch two World Series championships with sprayed champagne and orange Jell-O shots. It’s where I ate my first crawfish, drifted out after many Houston sports heartbreaks, attended St Patrick’s Fests I’d ironically like to forget but can’t seem to stop talking about, and had a hundred nights out with friends that I know I took for granted. Bars and restaurants, especially in Montrose, are in a very competitive space. What’s the niche, the signature cocktail, the instagrammable element, the trend-setting fusion? We’re inundated with it. Local and national publications and their Top 10 lists, social media influencers highlighting new spots, 50 “must eat” meals... Griff’s had good food. They had cheap pitchers and buckets. But no one ever went to Griff’s because it was trending, because it was breaking new ground. They went because it wasn’t. It was honest, it was timeless, it was refreshingly un-pretentious and one of the last spots that really was. It was the hometown bar we all want in our lives where we’re recognized when we walk through the door, where we bring out of town friends so they can be adopted into the family, and where we watch ourselves and the friends around us grow and change in a place that never does.