Cover story: New life for Menlo Park landmark Cover story: New life for Menlo Park landmark (October 27, 2004)

Under new ownership, the venerable British Bankers Club gets all dolled up to woo the locals.

By Rebecca Wallace
Almanac Staff Writer

It's just shy of 1 a.m. on a Thursday. Standing at the corner of El Camino Real and Santa Cruz Avenue, Tommy Lynch could have a prime view of all the excitement of Menlo Park's nightlife.

Trouble is, he's facing in the wrong direction.

He's gazing into the long black hole of Santa Cruz, where the only partier might be the occasional tumbleweed. Clearly, it's too late for shoppers, smoothies, or strollers.

So Mr. Lynch turns around, back toward the thumping music and chatter of the British Bankers Club restaurant and bar, which he's standing in front of. Even in his admittedly biased role as general manager of the BBC, he's not exaggerating when he says it's the only game in town for late-night-life. With Cafe Borrone next door closed for the evening, this is it.

"Except for the 7-Eleven," the 29-year-old says with a boyish grin.

On Wednesday nights at the BBC, DJs spin electronic music and hip-hop, drawing a youthful crowd to dance and schmooze.

"If you're over 35 or 40 you stick out like a sore thumb," one regular says.

Sometimes it feels as modern as tomorrow in here. Except there are those stained-glass windows and chandeliers. And the fact that the 7-foot high-definition TV screen in the smaller bar upstairs is flanked by law books from the 1920s.

As the dance floor pulses, colored lights flash across the ceiling, illuminating the stuffed twin Cape buffalo heads that look as if they've been hanging above the bar for decades.

In the BBC, you never quite forget you're inside one of Menlo Park's historic landmarks. In previous lifetimes, the stately 1920s brick edifice served as a bank and as City Hall. In fact, from 1939 through 1948 it housed the city administration, the police department, the library and the traffic court.

These days, the BBC is transforming itself again. A brand-new owner, Keith Kwasney, who also owns the Carrie Nation's pub in Los Gatos, took over in August. Mr. Lynch, who's been manager for five years, proudly shows off the changes made since then, including shiny furniture and state-of-the-art TVs for watching sports.

Some of the less-pleasant remnants of the years have been replaced by new carpeting and redone bathrooms. There are new heat lamps on the patio and fresh plants out front, and the huge bankers' table that people stand around and set drinks on got a new top of blackish-green marble.

BBC managers aren't just aiming to keep the late-night crowd coming in -- they also hope to woo the locals who may have been dissuaded by the place's reputation as a pick-up joint. One way is to bring in a new chef and an expanded "bistro-style" lunch and dinner menu that goes beyond traditional pub fare.

"We want to get Menlo Park back into the place," Mr. Lynch says.

One change, though, has gotten mixed reviews -- the removal of the finely aged plush couches that years of regulars lounged on.

"We've gotten a little negative feedback about the couches," Mr. Lynch acknowledges, "but that'll fade away in time."

From kidney pie to karaoke

The BBC was born as a restaurant and bar around 1976. A yellowed, type-written press release from the 1970s states that building owner Dennis Grimsman of Atherton was hoping to re-create "the atmosphere of a private London club of the Edwardian era."

Over the year, the BBC attracted business folk for kidney pie lunches and dot-commers for networking. For a while it was known as a meat market for baby boomers.

In 1999, the Metroactive Web site awarded the BBC the dubious honor of "Best Place to Observe the White Man's Overbite." Writer Mick Normington explained, "It's known as dancing without rhythm in a shameless attempt to pick up younger females."

Chuckling at the stereotype, Mr. Lynch jokes about the kind of crowds the BBC used to be known for: "Just got divorced? Come get smashed."

These days, the young dance crowds on Wednesday nights are supplemented by 30-somethings seeing live bands on Fridays and Saturdays. Sundays herald acoustic music and Monday night, of course, is for football. Karaoke fans let it rip on Thursdays.

Unlike bars across the creek in Palo Alto, the BBC doesn't have many peers nearby -- which can be both a plus and a minus. There's less competition, Mr. Lynch says, but BBC patrons can't do a pub crawl on foot, ambling from bar to bar. So the hope is to make the BBC a place where people will want to stick around.

That works for Sarah Snyder, 22, who says she and her friends come and hang out all evening. "We love the set-up: you can go upstairs, downstairs, dance, be on the patio," she says.

A "grand reopening" at the BBC is planned for all day November 6, with free food and music. The management hopes to enlist some Oakland A's to moonlight as bartenders, including Barry Zito and Eric Byrnes.

Making friends

Meanwhile, regulars like Sarah Snyder are still packing the place on their favorite night.

One Wednesday, the crowd is starting to really roll in around 11 p.m. Most are so friendly that they even make this geriatric 31-year-old reporter feel welcome.

Under the eyes of a DJ in the mezzanine, the dancers are filling up the downstairs. Despite the bounty of scantily clad women, some guys still manage to be mesmerized by the Yankees game on TV.

I quickly discover that being a lone female in a bar scribbling in a notebook is not a bad way to meet people. Both guys and girls come up to ask me what I'm writing. Some even consent to be interviewed.

A clean-cut guy named Dave says he used to be among the BBC faithful. Like me, he is a long-in-the-tooth 31-year-old. Now, he says, this is too much of a pick-up scene for him.

"So why are you here?" I ask.

He looks sheepish. "I had an Internet date earlier tonight. It didn't work out."

Around midnight, I head out to the patio, where puffs of smoke mingle with the glow of people sending text messages. Too loud for phone conversations.

A bloke named Aaron insists on interviewing me, so I obligingly tear off a piece of paper from my notebook. But he is too inebriated to think of any questions, and just stands there grinning moonily at me.

Carter McCoy stands out in the crowd at age 45. But he doesn't seem to mind.

"I've been coming here almost 10 years," says the Menlo Park resident, who is drinking a mixture of vodka, cranberry juice and Red Bull. "I like the bartenders -- a nice bunch of guys."

He gives a thumbs-up to the BBC's new look, but then turns wistful. "The only thing I'm not sure about is, they took away the couches."

Then there's Wade the Australian, T-shirt-clad and Heineken in hand, who says he digs the "international flavor" here: "As an expatriate I feel welcome."

But the best part is the exodus of the couches, he says: "They made me think of sleaze and geezers."

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