L's Inner Circle

Everyone, regardless of celebrity or anonymity, is subject to a Stoney's ribbing.

"The thing about coming in here is we try to kid people," Tony says. "Make a little noise. Scream 'n' holler a bit."

"We've been here for a long time, so it's like fighting with your brothers and sisters," Sandy, 48, says.

Later, she looks over a framed collage on the wall, photos of everyone when they were younger, thinner, alive.

There's Frank, aproned and smiling, a cook during the day and "Miss Rose" at night. One time he came in wearing a pink jumpsuit and wig, so the staff sent him to the Old Ebbitt Grill to drop in on Tony, who was dining there.

There's "Momma" Thelma Hammett, who created the bar's trademark "super grilled-cheese" sandwich (comes with bacon, onion, tomato), and her husband, Willie, who cooked during the lunch shift.

There's Chuck, who worked all the holidays and loved his vodka, and Staci, the bubbly waitress who moved to San Diego and sent a Christmas card last year with "God Bless You" all over it. Sandy thinks maybe Staci found religion; what's important is she got out alive.

"It's funny," Sandy says, snickering and pointing, coming across a photo of her 30th birthday. "Mo comes in here and looks at the pictures and goes, 'Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Almost dead.' "

Things change. Regulars come and go as the government moves people from office to office, town to town. People drink less, eat healthier. Gone are the days of the three-martini lunch, when the guys from the DEA would plant themselves at the tables for four-hour marathons.

The Stoney's staff used to make eggnog around the holidays. They'd fill chocolates with Rumple Minze and pass them out. They don't do that anymore.

"It seems like all the good stuff is gone," Sandy says.

Friday Night Fights

O happy hour.