the hottest spot north of havana

Just this week my son told me he was going to a show at a newish venue in Philadelphia called Nikki Lopez. I say "newish" because Nikki Lopez opened in the former location of South Street stalwart, the infamous JC Dobb's. JC Dobb's was a little hole-in-the-wall bar that featured the live music of a number of popular Philly bands as well as early career performances by bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Rage Against the Machine. Dobb's opened and closed several times since its "official" closing in the mid-90s. Allegations of sexual assault by some of the venue's employees forced the current owner to put the place up for sale in 2023.

Early in 2025, JC Dobb's emerged again, this time under the name Nikki Lopez. Along with drinks and the promise of hot dogs, Nikki Lopez presents the same caliber of bands that Dobb's featured in its heyday— updated to fit into current trends in 21st century live indie music. The show my son went to fit square into that category.

On his way to Nikki Lopez, my son called to tell me that Copabanana, another staple on the South Street of my formative years, had closed. For good.

That made me sad, although I had not been to Copa (as it was affectionately known) for years. And by years, I mean way too many to count.

I have such fond memories of Copabanana. When I first met the future Mrs. Pincus, she lived in a small apartment just a few walkable blocks from South Street. We went to Copa often for a quick dinner and a taste of  their signature Spanish fries. Those were incredible. They were a simple combination of French fries, mixed with fried onions and fried green peppers. I could have sat at a table in Copa and eaten basket after greasy basket of their Spanish fries. I used to work at a popular ice cream shop on South Street. After work — sometimes around midnight — I'd stop at Copa and get an order of Spanish fries for Mrs. P and I to share, despite the late hour..

The atmosphere at Copa was always a little... shall we say.... shady. There was always some hoodlum-looking character catching a quick cigarette outside the kitchen door. He was the last person you'd want to be preparing your food. Once navigating the dark and foreboding bar — fully stocked with one unsavory individual after another — the dining room wasn't much better. The interior was a maze of close tables and winding passageways that, in another life, may have been a carnival fun house. The carpets were worn and sometimes damp. The air conditioning blew hot air and the in-house sound system broadcast more crackles than actual music. But it was funky and cool and it was the place to go on South Street. Their extensive menu offered burgers and sides and even a selection of vegetarian-friendly options long before that was "a thing."

More recently, from the confines of my safe suburban home, I would often keep up with local news concerning Copa. On a regular basis, stories would circulate about rent increases in the South Street neighborhood and Copa would face the possibility of closure. The stories and reports would dissipate and Copa would remain open... until the next story would make the local papers or appear as a footnote on the local news.

According to some superficial investigation, the current owner of Copabanana started a GoFundMe campaign in 2023 to help "save" the struggling restaurant from its financial burden. A proposed goal of $250,000, funds of which would be split between saving the restaurant and supplementing the health needs of its home-bound owner, had only garnered $165. 

I stumbled across a Reddit page on which both former employees and former patrons voiced their unbridled and uncensored opinions of the "beloved" bar and restaurant. Some called the place "disgusting." Others, including a user who claimed to have been a long-tenured waitress, labeled Copa "a shithole." Some wondered why the drug dealers who frequented the bar couldn't lend a financial hand. Another creative user posted a "musical" comment bookended with musical notes as "♬ Her name was Lola / She was a crackhead ♬," alluding to the similarly-titled Barry Manilow hit of from the 70s, while simultaneously noting the clientele. There were tender memories of fist fights, drunken regulars, surly and aggressive bartenders and that memorable damp carpet.

Still, there was something very comforting in knowing that Copa still existed, knowing I could still go there anytime I wished... although I had zero intentions of going.  But, I can still picture — with great clarity — the South Street landscape of the early 1980s. The TLA Cinema, Zipperhead, Paper Moon, Frank's Pizza, Keep In Touch, Skinz and yes, even Hilary's Ice Cream where I worked. And, of course, Copa — right there on the corner of 4th and South. Its purple walls and lime green trim standing like a guiding lighthouse for the punks and the weekend wannabe punks.

I remember when another legendary Philadelphia eatery closed its doors, the treasured Automat Horn & Hardart's. In the wake of changing trends in the restaurant industry, Horn & Hardart's, with over 100 locations, announced its closure in 1991. Folks, all sharing misty memories of the chain's glory days, flooded the corporate office with phone calls, expressing sadness and outrage. "How can you close?," the callers would demand. The corporate answer was a sardonic "When was the last time you ate at a Horn & Hardart's?"

I'll miss Copa, although I don't remember the last time I had their Spanish fries. They sure were good.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com