Ever since moving to the TCU area in 2003, I looked upon Ocean Rock as the perfect neighborhood spot. It was within walking distance of my house. The seafood-centric menu was consistently solid. The servers were always happy to see you.
Take it from me: If you brought your sweetheart and ordered a couple rounds of frozen prickly pear margaritas, a lively night would almost certainly follow.
Walking my dog past its doors every day for six years, I took Ocean Rock's presence on Bluebonnet Circle completely for granted. The possibility that it might be struggling economically never occurred to me. In fact, I didn't even put two and two together when I saw the lights were out on a weeknight in early January.
I figured the owners were taking an extended holiday vacation and would soon be back in action.
As it turned out, Ocean Rock had closed its doors for good. And it's not the only beloved neighborhood spot in Fort Worth that has served its last dinner. Just recently, we've also lost Aventino's, Ovation and Cafe Aspen.
The spate of closings is a reminder that, even though the American economy continues to slowly improve, we're going to be feeling the aftershocks of the Great Recession for many years to come. Yet there's also another factor in play: Namely, our collective tendency to take things for granted. I'm just as guilty as the next guy. I only dined at Ocean Rock once during 2009. Like everyone else, I was scaling back on extra expenses. When I did dine out, I was inevitably attracted to the new spots that had sprung up all across town: Eddie V's in the museum district; Cowtown Diner in the downtown area; Ellerbe's on Magnolia Avenue. I figured there would always be time to revisit Ocean Rock. Turns out there wasn't much time left at all.
Don't get me wrong: This is not a lament for the old-fashioned, slower-paced way of life. All good things must eventually run their course. I'm a believer in throwing out the old and bringing in the new -- especially if the old is beginning to wither. It's a philosophy, I think, that helps keep a city vibrant and evolving.
That said, Ocean Rock was a neighbor, and I can't help but feel like I failed to keep up my end of the neighbor contract.
No, it wasn't my responsibility to single-handedly keep the place in business. But as with any long-term relationship -- whether we're talking about a work colleague or a family member or a business establishment -- it was my responsibility to occasionally check in on my old friend and lend a little support. On that score, I dropped the ball.
So a belated farewell to Ocean Rock: You served me well over the years. Your blackened tuna sammy was especially scrumptious. Those frozen prickly pear margaritas led to all sorts of delicious trouble. Thanks for making my life and my neighborhood a little more pleasurable.
And, finally, a plea to readers who might be taking the Ocean Rocks in their own lives for granted.
Look around. Think about it. Maybe it's a college friend you haven't reached out to in months. Maybe it's a dry cleaner that you stopped patronizing because a newer one opened closer to home. Maybe it's the local bar that, now that you're entering your 30s, you've stopped boozing at quite so often.
My advice: Drop in and say hi. You need not stay long. You need not spend a ton of money. But show a little appreciation. Be a good friend and neighbor. Because -- trust me on this one -- you won't realize how much you've missed until you look up one day while you're walking your dog and discover that you've missed your chance to say good-bye.
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