Another day, another vital piece of Toronto’s proud musical past on the “soon to be extinct” list. And this one’s not even a live venue.

La Hacienda, the endearingly crusty resto-bar at 640 Queen St. W. that has served up reliably good-valued Tex-Mex meals and scowling punk-rock attitude in equally generous measure for more than three decades, will shut its doors for good when its lease comes up at the end of September.

True to form, co-owners Anna Barss and Janusz Baraniecki aren’t making a helluva big deal about the closing. They’ve set Saturday, Sept. 21, as the date of what the dryly hilarious Baraniecki calls a last “open-casket visitation” for La Ha regulars both genuine and lapsed who want to be absolutely certain of scarfing down one more burrito or enchilada before the final curtain calls, but the place might yet remain open on and off as the two and/or their staff see fit for the week to follow, if you fancy rolling the dice on a slightly later visit.

For those who move in musical circles in this town, to lose La Hacienda isn’t simply to lose another tether to Queen West’s grittier good, ol’ days, when the local artist class could still find affordable rents on the strip and it didn’t quite so much resemble a streetside shopping mall. The place has served as a stable place of employment — if not an actual place to live, officially or unofficially — for dozens of indie musicians since it was opened in the late 1980s by a pair of punk rockers from the West Coast, future Chemical Sound studio operator Daryl Smith and Chris Roskelley.

One of the first musicians to work there was Tom Paterson of Cottage Industry, who would soon after buy Smith out, and help transform La Hacienda into what it is today. Over the years to come a veritable Who’s Who of downtown rockers, artists, writers and DJs would move through the staff: Suckperpunch bassist Cindy Beattie, Tara White of Elevator to Hell, onetime Superfriend and general drummer-about-town Lonnie James, Katie Lynn of Nashville Pussy, Sara Montgomery of Chickenmilk and Venus Cures All, Randy Curnew of C’mon, painter Michael Caines, graphic novelist Jeff Lemire, science-fiction author Ryan Oakley, DJs Keelah “Kaewonder” James and Shevan “Famous Lee” Bastian and, at one time or another, all but one member of the Deadly Snakes, to name a handful.

As a result of the rocker-friendly hiring policy, the clientele tended in the same direction. It was not uncommon to find anyone from members of Bunchof--kingoofs to Ron Sexsmith to k-os to Danko Jones to longtime upstairs resident Ian Blurton of Change of Heart, Bionic, Future Now and countless other Toronto bands hanging out there. Bruce LaBruce would occasionally hang male nude photography about the room, once prompting a raid by the local morality squad.

This writer, who lived down the street upon landing in Toronto 21 years ago, was familiar from previous visits with La Ha as a place were one of a punk-rock predilection might feel at home, and quickly adopted it as a hangout. I first met regulars Dallas and Travis Good of the Sadies there on an interview date to herald the release of their 1998 album, Precious Moments. As I recall, I was wearing an Elevator to Hell T-shirt; Dallas retreated for a moment and returned with the entire band. The Sadies’ second album would subsequently feature a painting from behind the La Hacienda bar on its back cover.

“It was like a revolving door, but people came back,” says Baraniecki. “At one point there were, like, 30 or 40 employees but everyone was only working a couple of shifts because it was a super-part-time job and a lot of them were going on tour.”

“Musicians had rotating schedules based on where they were playing or rehearsing,” recalls Paterson, who went on to open the Paddock a few blocks to the east and is now one of the owners of Junction Craft Brewing. “And I think it attracted the same kind of people, who were somewhat connected to the arts, whether it was making film or making music or rock videos or whatever, which made the whole place kinda neat in its own way. There weren’t any bar or food ‘professionals,’ so to speak, who were looking to get ahead — even though Craig Dehne, the guy who we eventually brought in to do the menu was a Cordon Bleu trained chef.”

Smith and Roskelley originally opened La Hacienda after obtaining a government youth-enterprise grant of $25,000 and canvassing the neighbourhood for what kind of restaurant it wanted. But it was under Paterson’s stewardship that it moved toward the bar/restaurant model that would serve it so well during the 1990s and early 2000s.

“I kinda got the sense that Daryl was happy to have opened the place but he didn’t have any real desire to run the place. He had his sights on being an engineer and running a studio and being in the music business so I basically bought in by buying a stove,” says a chuckling Paterson. “The food wasn’t really very much when we first opened. There was a microwave and a bunch of hot pots and it was pretty sad … I was, like, ‘Wow, if we could get a liquor licence and actually make the food really good, it could be something.’ ”

Onetime Sneaky Dee’s server Baraniecki and his old friend Barss — who, despite being the de facto public face of La Ha for much of its existence, is so shy she had to be worked on for a week simply to sit for a photo for this article — gradually bought in during the early 1990s, basically as a means of hanging onto their lucrative positions waiting tables there.

The only reason they’re giving up the business now is because they don’t want to put in the long hours and late nights required to make a comfortable living there as servers. They’re also renting the place from an aging landlord and would rather leave on their own terms before being walloped with a huge rent increase or a new owner’s change of plans for the property. The situation also makes the prospect of investing in the renovations the rather weatherbeaten spot sorely needs somewhat unattractive. Best to get out while the getting’s good.

“We made a s--tload of money at one point. It did thrive at one point,” says Baraniecki, 57. “But the way to make money at it is working — is doing it ... if we were willing to work all the time and work at night, we could continue for awhile. But there’s no way I can do it now. I’m just too old for that.

“And much like we are getting older, our customers are getting older, as well. It’s not like we’re capturing all the kids, to whom all of the ‘lore’ behind it doesn’t mean s--t. They couldn’t care less. As the customers get older, many of them are still loyal customers but, as loyal as they are, it’s not now once a week, it’s once a year or once every couple of months.”

There are legends of even more famous rock ‘n’ roll folks passing through the place than its locally notorious staff and regulars. However all of these tales, cautions Baraniecki, are “potentially made up” — while it makes sense, for instance, that Vancouver punks the Dayglo Abortions and even fellow West Coaster Jello Biafra would come for a nibble when in Toronto, he finds it harder to believe the myth that, say, Brian Eno was once a regular.

“Now, I have absolutely zero evidence, nor can I find ever anybody who can actually tell me that first-person experience,” he laughs. “It’s the same story with the Ramones. There’s a story about Joey Ramone hanging out there. I don’t know about that … They had to eat somewhere, so maybe.”

Baraniecki can confirm, however, that Crowded House once played a set in the room on a tour trip to Toronto, sprinkling a little antipodean flavour over a room that also witnessed performances by Sexsmith, the Sadies, GUH and even Jim Cuddy and Greg Keelor of Blue Rodeo over the years. Also, he once witnessed Marilyn Manson and his band dining at the restaurant.

“I can attest that it happened,” he says. “They all had beef Haciendas, which is a casserole-dish thing — it has rice and beans on the bottom and then meat on top and cheese melted on top of it and salad and chips and so on. They all ate the meat and cheese and left everything else.”

Unsurprisingly, news of La Hacienda’s impending retirement has been greeted with great sorrow by its many former employees and friends. All of whom, it should be noted, hold its slightly surly vibe as close to their hearts as the no-fuss Mexican food.

As Baraniecki puts it: “We were dicks a bit, as far as service is concerned.” Or, in longtime server Montgomery’s more poetic words: “The whole place was steeped in rock ‘n’ roll, art, pornography and the unstated encouragement that you would pursue your chosen field to the Nth degree or be revealed as a poseur, weak or unworthy.”

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“It was an intersection where art met rock met attitude ... where the staff were notoriously aggressive to any customer who thought the customer was ever right,” she says. “Try to explain to the people having brunch that you can’t turn down the Sun Ra cassette playing at full volume because the dishwasher in the back put it on and he’s going to be pissed if you are so lame as to change it.”

This is a recurring theme. As former Deadly Snake-turned-painter and solo artist Andre Ethier emails, “I’ve never known the vibe of La Hacienda to be ‘welcoming.’

“She was unfriendly to most of Her patrons,” he says. “People were always asking for the music to be turned down and the volume would always be turned up. The music was on for the enjoyment of the kitchen. It was meant to drown out the conversations of the diners.

“I was always having to soothe the hurt feelings of a friend who had had an ‘experience’ at La Hacienda. The servers there were emboldened by the management to not take any bulls--t, and bulls--t seemed to include asking more than cursory questions about the menu. But if you were a friend of La Hacienda, you were extended great courtesy. Musicians gravitated there because of La Hacienda’s proximity to Rotate This and the Rehearsal Factory, and also the staff were either musicians or music fans. I was pretty young when we started spending a lot of time there, barely of age if that, but my little gang was welcomed by Anna. Anna was the Matriarch. She is from the east coast and has the ability to turn a downtown Toronto bar into a kitchen party. I think we were allowed to hang around because she thought we were good looking.”

La Ha was actually far less frightening than its frosty facade let on. New Brunswick expat Tara Landry-White (formerly White) recalls feeling instantly at home — much as this fellow ex-New Brunswicker did when he first moved to Queen West — at La Hacienda due to its “unpretentiousness” and easygoing atmosphere.

Indeed, she says, she spent her first Christmas Day away from home helping Barss paint the bathroom floors.

“That’s where I wanted to be if I couldn’t be home with my family,” she writes from her more recently adopted home of British Columbia. “It was comfortable, but if you were uppity or annoying as a customer you could be pretty sure to get the boot by one of the people working there. I’ve seen it and kicked a few obnoxious and demanding people out myself …And the food. The food was just soooooo good. I’d do anything for a chicken black-bean burrito from La Ha before it closes. And have a closedown drink with Anna, Janusz and the rock-steady regulars I love and miss so much. I’m actually shedding some tears as I write this.”

Above and beyond the mythology, La Hacienda was incredibly good to its employees.

“It was the most fun place I have ever worked,” says Kieran Adams, who left Armed & Hammered for the U.K. 25 years ago and a subsequent, long tenure in punk combo the Restarts. He recalls that his old band “It was run by rock ‘n’ rollers and artists and they understood the nocturnal, late-sleeping lifestyles of their employees and clientele … La Ha employees had an unspoken rule of self governance that said: ‘Our food service is good; if you don’t like the music? Leave.’ ”

And now that Baraniecki and Barss themselves are leaving? (He’s going to pursue an undisclosed future in another discipline, while Barss has kept her plans typically private beyond an online request for tips on a “cat-friendly apartment.”) Hearing word of La Ha’s demise, says Adams, is “bloody heartbreaking.” As it is to anyone who has witnessed other fixtures of the strip, from Future Bakery and Goulash Party Haus to the Epicure Cafe and The 360, go down over the years due to the march of time and gentrification.

“I haven’t lived in Toronto in over 25 years,” he says. “I haven’t witnessed the gradual erosion of Toronto’s bohemian culture so when I manage to venture back and see the multitude of alternative hangouts turned into soulless trendy hipster bars, it kills me inside.”

You didn’t have to work there to be treated extremely well by La Hacienda and its handlers, by the way. That’s why the Sadies were such fixtures.

“Yep, they cared above and beyond,” affirms Dallas Good. “I have spent an insane amount of time there, often after hours. But sadly not for years. Anyhow, yeah, the lure for me was the great owners and staff since the beginning. When I was in high school, I worked at a guitar shop close by and that’s when I started going there all the time in the early ’90s. And even then, I already knew most of the employees from the arts community. It’s a place where all my friends felt comfortable and my enemies hated it.

“After being a regular for many years and always being on the road touring, Anna and Janusz really looked after me. In tough times — which were many — I’d get rice and beans and a beer if I brought some weed and did rollups with the cutlery and napkins. I was certainly a major pain in the ass, but I guess putting up with me for all those years was better than hiring me. I’ll love them forever.”