The Clayton Tavern

Many in modern times often wax rhapsodic about the imagined life in a medieval village. Places like renaissance festivals and Medieval Times purport to give people a taste of what it was like to live in simpler times. Unfortunately, such establishments often feature the mere trappings of the pre-modern era without giving one a true flavor for the medieval mindset and culture. To gain a true view of medieval culture, one really needs look no further than the typical, rural American small town.

The Smyrna and Clayton locale happens to provide a particularly pure distillation of this ancient mode of village living. It is, by and large, an agrarian society, with all the rustic manners and mores concomitant with it. The locals who have lived in the area for years have formed tight-knit bonds with one another, and may tend to be wary of "outsiders." The local constabulary - like the Sheriff of Nottingham of yore - rather aggressively taxes the population and passers-by - in this case, by issuing an excessive amount of speeding tickets. Craft and quality are eschewed in favor of the all-consuming pursuit of the low prices required to maintain a subsistence living.

The Clayton Tavern, with its calligraphic sign hung proudly on its exterior, is the local "watering hole" for this village. A juke box hearkens back to earlier, simpler times by belting out tunes from the era of classic rock - the time period from whence the Tavern's decor is also derived. The local fire brigade, its members proudly and loudly declaring their rustic allegiances with the modified mufflers on their pickup trucks, tends to drop in from time to time. Heineken is the "up-scale" beer served at the place, and all the mixed drinks contain double-shots. The only food served at the tavern most days is in the form of frozen pizzas or french fries, with the occasional special evening when savory steamed shrimp is available. During the day, a hot dog / sausage stand sets up shop outside in the parking lot.

The only danger you'll likely face here is from the local police, who lie in wait (like vultures or hobo spiders) for patrons to enter their vehicles and drive from the Clayton Tavern inebriated (their spotters sit by the firehouse with binoculars and notify their henchmen on either side of Route 300). You may occasionally be challenged at the Tavern by someone from south of the border to "put something down on the table" if you want to play billiards, but this is a rarity - most of the locals using the pool table are merely good-natured and exceptional players who would be happy to show you a trick or two about the game. All in all, the Clayton Tavern is not a bad place to throw back a brew and enjoy a taste of what life has been like in small communities since time immemorial.