Artichoke Sandwich Bar
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Published on Kansas.com, for The Wichita Eagle, Aug. 2, 2007
By Roni Ayalla

Heaven Snyder, 12, timidly strums the borrowed guitar in her lap. Her long, blond hair and school uniform are out of place athe scruffy, gritty men at the Artichoke Sandwich Bar.

Heaven Snyder, 12, plays the guitar for the first time in public at the Artichoke Sandwich Bar on March 6.

She finishes playing and looks up. As she sighs deeply, the room erupts in applause and cheers.

It's the first time she's played in front of anybody other than family.

"I'm glad it was here," she says. "It's where I'm most comfortable."

The Artichoke, an odd mix between a family restaurant and a dive bar, is unexpectedly warm. It's a place that parents, like Heaven's, feel comfortable bringing their children early in the evenings.

Five sandwiches on the menu feature cream cheese, an ingredient not typically included at a sandwich joint. The specialty is the Famous No. 8 that features eight ingredients - turkey, bacon, Swiss cheese, cream cheese, lettuce, tomato and Italian dressing on bread.

From the outside, the Artichoke doesn't give off such a welcoming feeling. Located just north of the busy intersection of Murdock and Broadway, the Artichoke is in the midst of pedestrian activity and traffic at all hours.

"It isn't a place you think would be safe, but there's never any trouble," says John Quintanar, a local artist whose work was recently shown at the bar.

When you enter the dim, pale-green room, it's easy to forget the activity outside and feel the sense of belonging that keeps so many patrons coming back.

The entrance to the Artichoke is a two-way mirror. If you're on the outside, you can't see in.

In fact, the inability to see inside the bar until you open the front door is symbolic of the bar itself. You don't know what you're missing until you're inside. And though the street is visible from inside, there is a soft, yellow glow that makes it seem far away.

Jeremy Hazzard, 27, moved to Wichita from Oklahoma City in January. He frequents the Artichoke a few times a week for the good food and the friendly waitstaff.

"It's like a local Cheers," Hazzard says.

While the food and service keep the lunch crowd happy, owner Pat Audley's support of local acoustic music draws crowds in the evenings.

Audley, who has owned the bar since its opening in 1984, goes beyond just opening the doors for live performances. The Artichoke is home to the Songwriters Circle, an informal monthly gathering for area musicians of all levels.

An event unlike any other in town, anyone is welcome to perform original songs. There is no microphone, no PA system. Just acoustic instruments and voices.

On the first Wednesday each month around 7 p.m., musicians begin filing in. They head to the back room, prop their cases on the pool table to unload and tune their instruments -- most of them guitars. By this time, tables have been shoved aside and a half dozen chairs placed in a circle in the center of the main room. Musicians will continue to filter in and out throughout the night.

Bruce Huss, left, performs an original song while Bryan Masters, right, looks on. The two are regulars at the Artichoke’s monthly Songwriters Circle.

Bryan Masters, who founded the gig with Mackie Redd, usually plays the first song of the night. After he finishes, the next person in the circle begins. The music continues until the final performer calls it quits for the evening.

Some play all night, leaving their post only briefly. Some play just one song each night and spend the rest of the night chatting and listening to the others.

The audience is treated to each performer's unique style, level of difficulty and mood. It isn't rare to laugh out loud to a song about taking shots of tequila on a houseboat right before a song in memory of a friend who died in Vietnam.

Songwriters use the monthly get-together as a place to try out new songs. Halfway into the evening, Bruce Huss, a regular, stands up before he starts to play a song about his father.

"I haven't made it through this song without breaking down yet."

That night, among his friends and fellow artists, he does.

In its sixth year, the Songwriters Circle is drawing new musicians like Matt Miers, a junior at Southwestern College in Winfield.

And, though she's been watching for three years, Heaven finally made her debut just days before she and her mother, Tiffany Sulier, moved to Texas.

"It was important for her to do before we left," Sulier says. "It was her first step towards gaining more courage."