Stone(d) Mason

Today's Weird Li’l SIS:  Mason's Bar & Grill
Date:                    11-07-13
Official Location:       13490 Farmington Road

                         Livonia, MI

My Donkey Kong companion and satisfied Mason-ite, Jimbo

In the event that there are three people in metro Detroit that have not heard of Mason’s Bar & Grill, this entry is for you. For the rest, what are you doing reading this crappy blog? You obviously have some spare time. Get back to Mason’s. Go now. Don’t be stupid.

 

As for those aforementioned three, well, let me just say, “Mmmm, Mason’s.” How has this place operated under my radar for over fifty years? I can only assume that there has been a dedicated conspiracy to keep me from knowing about it. Perhaps I unwittingly offended the Polish community and hiding this joint has been their payback. If so, I’m so very, very sorry. I will never again question how many of you it may or may not take to screw in a light bulb.

So, how did the cat finally get released from the bag? Well, I was hangin’ in Livonia with my lovely sister-in-law, Reet the Beat, the other weekend, and she casually brings up this local bar she and her husband have been enjoying for years called Mason’s. And as if she’s speaking of something as mundane as the weather or actuarial tables, she casually tells me they make one of the best burgers in the world. That’s a mighty bold and provocative statement to say to a judgmental, food whore like me. Since she’s typically not prone to hyperbole, I truly wanted to believe her, but she may just as well have asked me to believe that George W was an intellectual president or that Santa Claus loves venison. Needless to say, I had my doubts. She was not exaggerating though, and now I am torn between wanting to treat her to a day at the spa for turning me on to the place or kicking her ass for keeping it from me for so long. Sisters!

Mason’s was everything I needed it to be after a long day swinging a sledge hammer (which suggests that I’m either in construction or I take my Donkey Kong way too seriously). To me, there’s just something so comforting about a working-class bar that has successfully fought the temptation to redecorate since The Brady Bunch originally aired. Needless to say, there are no pretensions there.  I don’t know if it’s the brown, wood-grained Formica bar, the red leatherette chairs, the wobbly tables, or the 50 plus years of bric-a-brac and private jokes hanging on the walls, but this place pretty much had me at, “Just sit anywhere, Hon.” Add a minimalist number of tap beers (the crappy domestic, the light version of that same crappy domestic, and the brown one that is kinda’ full-bodied but still, in essence, a crappy domestic) and a full complement of mid-shelf liquors, and this bar, to me, is like a giant hug from grandma (assuming grandma could hug your liver directly).

But as Reet the Beat promised, the real attraction here is the burgers. Mason’s makes a humble, simple bar burger by which all other bar burgers should be judged (and, yes, before you flame me on what you incorrectly perceive as my naiveté, I’ve been to Miller’s, The Red Coat, Duggan’s and dozens of other fine contenders.  I stand by my claim.) Mason’s burger comes in a classic, one-third pound version and a nearly obscene, two-thirds pound version, and I’ve tried both, because, well, I’m willing to sacrifice my arteries for you because I care.

 

The good stuff in a nutshell: 

• Fresh, hand selected and hand smashed beef from Eastern Market
• Steamed buns
• A tray of fresh fixins’ brought to your table (or in my case, barstool)
• A generous side of crinkle cut fries. 

The bad Stuff:

• Seriously, if you put a gun to my head, I guess I could say that the napkins are too small for wiping up after the super juicy, 2/3 pounder. But don’t let that deter you. Bring your own beach towel if it bothers you. 

Oh, and if you want the deluxe experience, add some bacon and grilled onions for a few pennies more, and then sit at the bar and watch the cooking magic unfold right before your very eyes. And when (not if) you go, play it safe and don't mention my name (and it would probably be best if you didn't mention light bulbs either).


m. karvinen