I was an anomaly in North Jersey; a member of a rare club whose existence dwindled smaller by the day.
Already in my young twenties, I'd never been to Tierney's Tavern — but not because I wasn't a culinary connoisseur, didn't have friends at the university down the street or ultimately lived under a rock.
Montclair's locally-proclaimed "Cheers" had just eluded me. For decades, I simply didn't visit the bar.
This year, though, prompted by the prospect of one of the state's most coveted secret menu burgers, I decided to change that.
Taking a seat next to Coors Light Johnny (or whatever it is that the staff secretly called him), I snipped my rare-breed member card — and officially became a resident of our unique pocket of the state.
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Visiting a 1930s tavern
Tierney's Tavern is nothing special to look at from the outside. Sporting brown wooden beams, dated Guinness posters and windows too small for its light tan body, it's about as dive-y as pubs get.
Behind its heavy doors (that probably could've been stripped from a medieval estate), though, lies a vibrant oasis. Community sports memorabilia, vintage advertisem*nts and flashing televisions adorn the space. Rows of colorful boozy bottles make multi-tiered pyramids in its center, and hanging green light fixtures fill the air with imagery of Ireland.
When I entered, I felt like I'd landed somewhere between a European sports bar, motorcyclist's abode and vintage Halloween party.
I sat at the counter, and a bartender named Frank came over to take my order.
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Stouts, IPAs and onion-topped burgers
"Buddy burger," I confidently told Frank. "With a side of pickles."
Though it was my first time in the tavern, I was on a mission to do Tierney's the right way, and — according to locals — this Worcestershire-grilled onion-topped cheeseburger was the thing to get. Try to find the sandwich on the menu, however, and you'll come up dry.
The sloppy meal, regulars say, is an in-the-know type of commodity.
"And whatever drink you think is your best," I continued.
Frank looked at me as if I was missing something.
"This is an Irish bar," he said. "You're getting a Guinness."
Keeping it in the family
I'd received my frothy stout, but was still waiting on that juicy burger, when a pair of women made their way into the bar. Though the space was already bustling with customers, it was only noon, so missing anyone — especially people who looked a decade (or five) younger than everyone else — was hard.
The girls, I learned, were Grace and Sarah Tierney; descendants of the bar's namesake family and current co-owners of the tavern.
And, when they heard me chatting with Frank about Buddy Burgers and beer (or recognized that another Gen Z was tucked amongst the early bird crowd), they quickly slid up some stools to join me.
"I've actually never been here," I told the sisters, "But all of my friends have. My boss told me to check it out."
That was 95% of the truth.
"I also really like cheeseburgers."
Grace — the younger of the two — looked genuinely surprised (about my lack of visitation, not the burgers).
"Wow, yeah," she said. "Everyone comes to Tierney's. We have the Montclair State kids, but also regulars who have been coming in for 40 years. Ed is like 90, so he's probably been coming for 70."
That customer loyalty and local fame comes as no surprise, however, for an establishment that's been run by the same family (in the same place), for nearly a century.
"I heard it's like the 'Cheers' of Montclair," I said.
Grace laughed.
"It is," she responded.
The rise of a local landmark
Grace and Sarah own Tierney's Tavern with their dad, Bill, and uncle, Michael. The fifth generation of management, the sisters are the latest in a long line of Tierneys to run the bar. In 1934, their great great grandfather opened it with his five sons.
The family feel in the tavern, however, extends far beyond the blood-related core of staff.
"I think the best thing about Tierney's is the regulars," Sarah said. "We know all of them, they all know each other."
"We know exactly where they're going to sit," Grace added. "We even have nicknames for them. There's Moose, Geese — "
" — T-Bone — "
" — The Wanderers, PBR King — "
" — And Cold Cut Rob," Sarah finished.
"Oh, I love Cold Cut Rob," Grace said. "Every Saint Patrick's Day he comes here and slices corned beef for a week to help us make sandwiches for the holiday."
"Cold Cut Rob is literally the sweetest," Sarah concurred.
From the bartenders to the patrons, they explained, everybody in Tierney's was connected; united by a distinct bond to the same community anchor.
And, for the next few minutes, heartfelt statements and stories like those continued to come —until, suddenly, they stopped.
The girls looked at the counter.
My Buddy Burger had arrived.
Tasting Jersey's iconic 'Buddy Burger'
Grace and Sarah waited patiently as I lifted the sandwich to my mouth. An off-menu customer favorite, the hush-hush burger came topped with melty cheese and a mountain of booze-soaked fried onions.
Before I sunk my teeth into the burger, I was convinced it would need a sauce. I was pleasantly surprised, however, when it didn't. The beer-laden onions provided all the juice and flavor each bite could need.
"It's delicious," I told them, "And unique."
They smiled, explaining it was "everybody's favorite," and how the patty (and just about every other meal that comes out of the kitchen) is cooked in the grease of the fried onions.
I went in for a second chomp, enjoying the flavors that simultaneously filled my belly and connected me to five generations of locals.
For a moment, I felt like I was in an old movie, or a "1972 in New Jersey" pamphlet — until we got back to talking about social media and memes.
Reviewing an unassuming dive
Two days after I left Tierney's Tavern, I sat down in front of my computer, ready to message the boss who had urged me to visit it.
According to her, and a handful of my friends, the spot was one of the best bars in the country.
I paused before typing my review.
Did I think that the unassuming dive was truly extraordinary? I don't know. There are bars in Manhattan freezing live orchids into ice cubes and serving them in co*cktails — and it wasn't that, I was sure.
But there was something about Tierney's that was special; something that just kind of sits in the corner of your soul like the imperceptible beginning of an emotion.
I glanced at my computer screen, which was littered with North Jersey bookmarks, and my walls, which were decorated with memoirs of my most celebrated Garden State accomplishments.
Tierney's Tavern — I realized — had heart, history and longevity; just like New Jersey.
And, if a bar can encapsulate the entire, unwritten thesis of a state inside of its IPAs and onion rings (so much so that it can literally make its guests feel as if a cheeseburger had inducted them into a region)?
Then yeah, she was right.
Tierney's Tavern is one of the best bars in America.
Kara VanDooijeweert is a food writer for NorthJersey.com and The Record. If you can't find her in Jersey's best restaurants, she's probably off running a race course in the mountains. Catch her on Instagram:@karanicolev&@northjerseyeats, and sign up for herNorth Jersey Eats newsletter.
