L's Inner Circle

A Neighborhood Fixture

As he often does, Tony sits at a table with an ice water, phone and tattered address book, a brassy big-band tune filling the void left by a departed lunch rush. Steve DeSimone wipes glasses. Sandy Irvin settles down next to Harris with a tumbler of red wine. Both Steve and Sandy are the jacks of all trades, alternately cooking, managing, waiting -- Steve for six years, Sandy for 20.

Stoney's has squatted too long on prime real estate, a stowaway on the vessel of the building boom. What has allowed the place to get away with it for so long? What is the Stoney's allure?

"These girls from New Mexico came in the other day and said it was the friendliest place they been to," Tony says.

"We're not really that friendly," Steve confides in his husky baritone from the bar. "We're surly."

"I know!" Tony says, clapping his hands. "I couldn't believe it."

"The food is always good," Sandy offers. "The friendliness depends on how busy it is."

Tony loves everything about the restaurant business -- the characters, the service, the "action," as he calls it. (Says Steve: "We're hoping to be here when he dies so we can show him -- have a Stoney burger and a wake.")

Tony's father, Peter, emigrated from Greece in 1921 and operated the Stanton Grill in Northeast Washington for 50 years. Tony, now 65, grew up washing dishes at the grill, graduated from Coolidge High, and in 1962 left Montgomery College for the Army. He encrypted reports, stationed just south of Heidelberg, Germany. He was discharged in '64, returned to Washington, and sold Chevrolets for four years until his uncle told him about a property on L Street that needed a tenant.

A History Lesson

Occupancy: 50. Square footage: 1,500, stretched narrow. Thirteen barstools, 11 tables, all in a row. Wood paneling. A swarm of law enforcement badges decorates the front wall -- Boston Fire Department, Salt Lake City Police, the Southern Ohio Violent Fugitive Force.

In front of a big mirror behind the bar, a ledge of liquor. On the right wall, signed photos of Tommy Lasorda, Pete Rose, Bobby Knight. Near the back, a framed photo of the 1954 Washington Senators. To the right, shots of Tony at various functions with Charlton Heston, Sam Donaldson, Bill Clinton.

The tiny bathrooms are upstairs, next to the office. The Vulcan oven downstairs came with the place and still makes a helluva brisket. Then there's the trademark scent -- cigarettes and french fries. You walk out wearing it. ( Stoney cologne-y, they call it.)

Sometimes there is a familiar face. Jesse Jackson once came in and had a Coke. George Stephanopoulos swings by sometimes. Geraldo bunked at the bar till 2 a.m. after the inauguration in January. Roger Mudd, Janet Reno, Wesley Clark. Steve says former secretary of state Lawrence Eagleburger came in, smoking, and wanting a bowl of chili shortly after his open-heart surgery. When the Secret Service was headquartered across the street, the guy who pushed President Reagan into his car after the assassination attempt had his morning coffee here when Stoney's used to open at 7 a.m. "Jerry Parr," Tony says. "Nice guy."