Everybody may not know your name at the Taproom, but they will all know the name owner-bartender Pete Cammarano gives you. For instance, Marty Acaster remembers walking through the front door and being greeted by Pete:

"It's a Miracle," Pete would say, because he had given Acaster the name "Miracle Marty," after the local Miracle Mart. "My favorite thing is that over the years, some people don't even know other people's names," Pete said. "Just what we call them here."

And these are people who see each other all the time. Pete estimates that nearly 50 percent of his customers visit once a week. Talk about regulars. And if you call those who visit every three weeks regulars, then "it's amazing." There's a regular Thursday night crowd, a regular Wednesday night crowd ... On most days, Dave -- who usually orders Whitbread or North Coast Red Seal -- is the first customer. Certainly there are beer tourists. The beer selection doesn't get much better than here.

Pete, who'll be 40 this year and has been basically the only guy behind the bar since he bought the place in 1983, is a beer pioneer. "How's the board look?" he'll ask when you walk in, inviting you to make a tough but wonderful choice right off.

When we last visited (January 1997) we found not much had changed since we walked in the first time and said, "Wow." Pete has added a handpump for keg-conditioned beers and is talking about changing the pizza recipe. But what we wrote a year and a half ago pretty well explains why we're as happy to drink beer here as we are any place else in the country:

Referring to the Northeast Taproom in Bars of Reading & Berks, published in 1988, authors Suds Kroge and Dregs Donnigan wrote, "Parking is a bitch, the service sucks and the men's room stinks -- we love this place. Pete is the answer ... but we forget the question."

Things haven't changed much since then. Parking can be challenging on the hilly and narrow streets nearby, and the men's room is a tiny closet (the sink hangs on the wall outside, in the bar area). But the service was fine, and Pete was still behind the bar, dispensing beer and beer advice.

It was the best bar in Berks County for serious beer drinkers back in 1988, and it's still the best. The 13 draught choices include a well-chosen mixture of imports and American craft beers, both regional (Stoudt's) and from afar (Hoegaarden White). While it seems just about anybody can cram a cooler with 100 bottles these days, this is always a cooler worth visiting. The tap choices are listed on a blackboard decorated with a large, carved bartender.

The Taproom is a place out of pop culture, sometimes politically incorrect. Next to a framed set of antique dog-trial ribbons is a picture of a woman with her fist stuck in her mouth. There are old signs, pieces of local artwork, beer advertisements, kids' drawings and autographed pictures scattered about the bar area and on into an upstairs room. Autographed photos include those from Connie Chung, Joe Paterno, Frank Sinatra and a personalized picture from Captain Kangaroo. Stuffed animals are tucked here and there: a small bear on the beer cooler, an unusually gross boar's head, a mangy owl, and a porcupine tied to a scratching post beside a window.

As evening set in, the only light in the taproom came from stuff that was lighted -- the Anchor neon in the window, a clock, the cooler, the Beer on Tap sign, the jukebox . ... A basset hound wandered in, and the patrons started talking about beer. "This beer tastes like beef jerky," a woman said. New beers out of Philly were critiqued, then the decision of businesses such as Boston Beer Co. and Pete's Brewing Co. to "go public."

Soon the basset hound was curled up on the footrest under the bar, and somebody had punched up a track by the group Rusted Root on the jukebox.

Did we mention the Lava Lamp?

The bad news is that some college students stole the porcupine since then. Also, we've learned a little bit more about the place. The basset is Pete's dog, Tapper, and he's been going to work with the boss for 12 years. For the last three years, Pete has given regulars Taproom nightlights, and they are so popular he also sells them. Then there's the Spam Carvin' competition, held for six years now. Pete buys the SpamŽ, and contestants then pay $5 a can, with the money going to the Berks County Food Bank. Four hundred dollars was raised last year.

The winning entry last year was "Spamel Joe," an interpretation of Joe Camel, with "Spamtasia" second. Regulars say Pete kept the winner right there on the bar for going on a month before it had to be thrown out. By then it probably knew everybody's name.

February 1997