I can’t remember the first restaurant in which I really paid attention to the Edison light bulbs. They’re not something you notice, necessarily. They’re part of the atmosphere—you bask in their soft glow. But they’re there. They’re everywhere. Was the first time at Harvest in McKinney, off the historic square, the earnest, throw-back look completed by reclaimed wood, Mason jars, and terrycloth napkins? Surely by the time Filament opened last winter in Deep Ellum the exposed-filament light bulb phenomenon had become so widespread that it was almost common parlance for a hip, rustic- or industrial- chic aesthetic, whether in coffee shop or urban-forager restaurant or bar.
A New York Times article in 2010 flagged the trend, its author suggesting that the ubiquitous bulb was already “a badge of retro cool that is fast becoming the restaurant-design equivalent of the Converse All Star.”
Oh, but in 2010 we were only just beginning. How many restaurants have opened in Dallas, even in the last two years, in which Edison bulbs were part of the guiding design language? It’s a sign of where cool culture is going—or wanting to go. It’s a sign of the statements restaurants are wanting to make. Yes, but if everyone is using the same language to make the same statement …
Earlier this summer, my editor Tim Rogers forwarded me an article from The Guardian entitled “Same old, same old. How the hipster aesthetic is taking over the world.” Chief among the indicators of the gestured-at decline was—you guessed it—the Edison light bulb, along with sparse décor elements of the concrete-floor-and-Subway-tiles-and-hanging-air-plants variety. They’re lovely and they’re soothing and the light they cast is intimate. But what about when they’re everywhere? Is it intimacy or some kind of lazy simulacrum. Is it simply saying, yes, you are my tribe?
The topic has become a subject of ongoing observation. So much so that when I filed a recent review of October’s Newcomer restaurant, On the Lamb in Deep Ellum, Tim and I had the following imaginary conversation in my head. [Note: he will not be surprised to know that I carry on a good number of conversations this way.]
Tim: What’s this month’s Newcomer?
Me: On the Lamb, a new place in Deep Ellum. It’s neat. It’s cool. You’d like it.
Tim: Don’t tell me … Edison light bulbs.
Me: Yes, but does it count if they’re in sideways vintage fan cages?
For the record, yes: I think it double-counts.
But last week, LA Times critic Jonathan Gold answered another question in this consideration of where all of this stands in terms of sign-of-the-times stuff: would the Edison lightbulb ever make it into a dining review lead? Last week, it did.
“How many Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling at Kettle Black?” Gold asks in his opening. “So many Edison bulbs.” [And here I hear a tiny pause, maybe a quiet sigh.] “I got to the mid-70s the night I counted — there are more — but I got distracted by the 17-foot-high back bar, the weathered wood floor and the industrial-steel undercarriage of the stools.”
Does this mean the Apocalypse is nigh? I ask you, do we top LA? Do we, somewhere, is our most hipster-chic of enclaves, muster a count above 70? And this is where you blame me for spending half of your next date night counting.
