The Final Chapter
December 30, 2025
My mother was interred today joining my father. I wasn’t able to be present unfortunately having to head back to Pennsylvania to help my wife with her own ailing mother.
We created a shrine in her memory today. It’s conjured up many different feelings. Sadness, joy, frustration, regret and anger.
My mother was a complex person. Her trajectory in life was also complex. I’ve struggled with grief over the last couple of weeks. It’s been heart wrenching being the one tasked with closing down all her accounts.
Receiving her death certificate was a gut punch. It brought her death to the surface. It’s left me with a huge hole in my heart that can never be filled. I had so many questions I still wanted to ask her about her life and family which the more I’ve learned recently about her extended family fascinated me and I wanted more. Unfortunately that will never happen and it hurts. A lot.
My mom struggled in recent years. Personal issues with spending too much, hoarding and withdrawing from society. It was a difficult time for all of us. You can only help someone to the point where you realize it’s actually not helping anymore.
I lost contact with my mother for several years. Since my father passed fourteen years ago, her ability to stay balanced became more and more chaotic. Bipolar disorder is dreadful and can totally derail your sense of stability. I’m seeing it now with my brother.
I was able to repair my relationship with my mom. Her decline actually brought our family together. It’s uncanny how much influence my mother had over us all, even during the times we despised her. She could spin a fascinating yarn then quickly insult you to the point you just sat there laughing in disbelief.
One of the most sadly hilarious situations in years was at their house on Greenlee ave in St.Bernard. My father was dying from bladder cancer and his sister came in from Arizona to pray over him. She was a Catholic Evangelical who was in a sect that spoke in tongues. Yes, these people do indeed exist. In the room was my father, my aunt Mary, my slumped over mother, my brother Jon-Paul and the cable guy trying to fix their satellite dish reception.
I’m sitting on the couch, my mother is filling the room with cigarette smoke and my aunt is rambling on speaking in tongues over my dad while the repair guy is using the remote to channel surf.
My brother and I were texting back and forth on the absurdity we were witnessing and I texted “the only thing missing here is a guy in a Hitler uniform and a gorilla eating spaghetti.” They all wondered why we were both laughing. I love inside jokes.
Even during death, I can find a way to lighten up the mood because life is fucking hard. I know personally. Heart issues, cancer, burying deep down unprocessed grief, being verbally abused by my mother-in-law. The full gambit dressed up like a double barreled shotgun pointing at my head. I made it through the other side so far but there’s more work to do.
Having to deal with my mothers personal estate or what remained of it has been hard. I had no experience in what I was doing including cremation, certificates, internment etc. I got all these tasks accomplished but I could have used my brothers help. He’s vanished.
Another family member struggling with bipolar disorder but refuses to acknowledge it. He’s actually embraced it and has weaponized it to emotionally attack family and friends. He created a website to take passive aggressive pot shots to hurt all of us. I spent five weeks in Cincinnati and he never contacted me once. Neither did his son and one person or another informed him about our mother’s decline. He informed my aunt that “he moved on from us.”
We’ve been nothing but supportive during his disastrous life choices and he turned on all of us. He wasn’t even there for our mother’s death. This will haunt him until his dying day. I have a clear conscience.
My extended family have been nothing but supportive. Giving me a place to stay during this process, feeding me, providing emotional support. I can’t thank them enough. We are all better people because of this.
My mom suffered during her final days. My work isn’t complete until I help hold her facility tasked with her care accountable. So many other poor souls with no family like ours to visit them and I want to make someone aware they deserve an advocate like my mother did and I will do something. I’m not sure what but they all deserve to be protected from incompetence and neglect.
I wanted to share my final story and close this chapter on a difficult time in our lives. I’ll probably need to talk to someone eventually to process all that has happened. I’ve learned a lot about myself. Some good, some not so good. Who knows what 2026 has in store but I hope it will be better than 2025.
Here are some pictures of our shrine and my mom’s interment.
My Trip Back Home To Cincinnati is Complete
December 16, 2025
For at least now it has. What was expected to be only a few days back home turned into five weeks. Sometimes wonderful, much of the time it was excruciatingly painful.
What was originally planned as a pilgrimage to honor a friends passing quickly morphed into a parents hospice vigil. What was supposed to be a connection to my mom, evolved into becoming an advocate for her safety with evidence of neglect, incompetence and elder abuse.
With the amazing help of Hospice, I was able to make necessary steps in protecting my mom while she transitioned to death. It was an awful task, many would consider thankless, but I had to ensure her safety with reports of multiple falls, lack of basic requirements like food, water and medicine. Hospice helped fill on the gaps. They helped me see this process through with my mom with grace and empathy. I thank them for this.
I spent many days alone on this journey. I told my wife that I was extremely anxious about being able to step up as a son and perform the duties needed to care for my mother. She reassured me that when the time came, I’d rise to the occasion and I did. It was very difficult in the beginning because no one wants to see their mom suffer. I knew her prognosis and it was killing me to witness her decline but I pushed all of that deep down inside me and focused on the tasks at hand. It all became second nature to me.
Now those feelings are starting to come out and it hurts. Very bad right now. Whenever I left her room, I’d go to the car to release the pain I was feeling and started driving. A lot. I’d spend hours driving around Cincinnati. To old haunts, witnessing the changes that were taking place. Some I considered good, some not so good. Eminent domain dismantling the Clifton area I enjoyed for years so UC could command more presence in the community. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.
I needed places to unwind. Have a drink, sometimes too many drinks. I didn’t have my wife with me to help keep me balanced and found myself going off the rails, not eating well, downing anything put in front of me. I was a fucking mess. I fortunately made it out alive and didn’t kill anyone, or myself thank God.
I did run into some wonderful and caring folks at multiple places I frequented to blow off steam. The first place I ventured into was The City View Tavern in Mt.Adams. lauded as one of the oldest bars in Cincinnati, it probably has the best view of any place I’ve been to. It’s a no billshit bar. No martinis, no margaritas, it’s a beer and shot joint that has great burgers and a decent tap list. Cassidy was the bartender who I got to know and she became familiar with my mom’s situation, like most places eventually did and was extremely gracious with me every time I came in.
During my drives, I’d also try to do things that didn’t require pounding drinks and absolutely loved Eden Park. It helped me reflect on great times I had as a kid in Cincinnati. This included the Krohn Conservatory.
One of my favorite spots is the Northside Yacht Club. A cool hip eatery off of Spring Grove ave that has excellent pub food and a great beer list.
I ended up in Camp Washington. This was my first neighborhood I moved to when I decided to live on my own at nineteen. It’s a great concrete jungle where our backyards wall was the old Cincinnati workhouse. This also required an obligatory trip to Camp Washington Chili.
Another must visit was our old home as a toddler on Walker St. in Mt. Auburn. I had many fond memories as a little kid living there.
One Tavern I frequented was The Oak Tavern in Oakley. Everyone there knew my situation and I have to say, they were some of the nicest people I’ve ever met. This was pure Cincinnati love. Their food rocked as well.
Chili, it’s what’s for dinner! Including Skyline in Clifton. Nothing beats a hangover more than a five way and cheese coneys.
My friend Scot treated me to a few beers at Madtree in Oakley for my birthday. For a huge place, it ran like a well oiled machine and the beers were excellent.
My wife insisted on a return to Korean Riverside in Covington. I reluctantly agreed and Holy Jeebus, I forgot how wonderful that place is!!
Another amazing place my friend Scot mentioned was Bridges Nepalese cuisine in Northside. I’ve never tried this type of food before and it’s similar to a cross between Indian and Chinese food. It blew our minds.
I spent many nights at The Comet. I had to. It was a Northside institution, Dave was my friend and I loved that place. I got to see many old friends during my visit.
One of the last places we lived at was Covington Ky. I love that town. Our street had all historical homes on it including the house we rented. We’d love to live there again. Beautiful.
My family was amazingly supportive of my efforts. My Aunt Sue and Uncle Neal made my stay comfortable and I felt secure. Her dogs were wonderful. Willy, Archie and the great Mango. Neals dog Luna is amazing too. Oh, Sue is a great cook as well. Her mac-n-cheese is killer.
It’s all starting to come to the reality my mom is gone. My work has been done and there is now a huge void where my mom once was. I feel like an orphan. My brother has basically abandoned his family as well as his friends so it hurts even more how isolated I feel. If it weren’t for family and friends and their undying support and love, I’m not sure if would have made it through this. I miss my mom dearly. I think she’s looking over me though. When I turned on Pandora this morning, this was the first song on my list. I didn’t choose it. It chose me.
When You Lose Your Mother…
December 4, 2025
I prepared for months now. My family prepared. We had a mountain of obstacles facing us starting with my mothers health after an unfortunate bout with pneumonia which also was associated with congestive heart failure and kidney disease. Her mortality was staring me in the face yet I was completely unprepared for when she finally passed. But I’m doing ok I guess. It’s been devastating.
My mom was eighty one years old. For the last few years, we lost contact but for the obligatory birthday or mother’s day wishes but over and over again, one of us circled back around and we mended things because we both knew it was important to stay connected. Unfortunately my brother never got the memo. That’s his cross to bear. We’ve all moved on.
My mom could be a difficult woman to be around. Hypochondia, bipolar disorder and other afflictions interfered with daily relationships in which some survived, some didn’t. She lived her life by her own rules. I get it, but it was still difficult.
We fought a lot, but we always made up. We actually had a great relationship and I’m sorry for the recent years lost because of our suffocating pride. I was glad we reconnected and were able to have meaningful conversations before she started to decline. Even in some of her worst states, she was still able to conjure up some self deprecating humor by blurting out “I guess I’m just an entitled bitch aren’t I?”
Even dying she had an ability to get a chuckle out of me. Despite all of her foilables, she cared about her kids until her bipolar disorder took over. She struggled with this for decades. My folks were heavily involved in our sports, the high school band, making sure we had a good education, taking us on vacations and even financially supporting us in our twenties.
We, on the other hand were pretty shitty kids growing up. We stole from them, drove their cars drunk, trashed their house with huge parties when they were out of town. Hell, I even dressed in my dad’s police uniform during Halloween in which I got arrested. Despite that, my mother sent me money for rent, helped my brother with rent while we were both old enough to know better. They weren’t rich but they loved their kids. And they tried their best.
My mother and her family weren’t rich either. They all had struggles during their own formative years but everyone made it out one way or another. My mom owed me nothing when we reconciled. I actually owed her an apology for how awful I was at times.
I chose to be with her for her end of life struggles because that’s what son’s do. There is nothing either one of my parents did that kept me from seeing this through with her. I’d never forgive myself not being home with her during this awful time. Up to her last breath she knew I was with her and she held on till I showed up yesterday. It was the worst day of my life.
I wouldn’t have been able to get through this without the support of my family and friends. Aunt Sue, Uncle Neal, my Cousin Patrick who helped sit vigil with her, my Aunt Toni and the amazing people at Hospice. Even with everything facing us with a broken facility system, we made it work for mom. And she knew it.
It’s the day after my mom’s passing. I’m gutted. I was worried about not getting up quickly enough to go visit her today then realizing there are no more visits. That’s heart breaking. There’s a certain feeling of protection with knowing your parents are still living, even if they are older. That feeling of security has vanished. I feel extremely vulnerable right now. Everyone is reeling now but we will get through this. We will.
Her name was Marilyn and she was my mom. I don’t have many pics of her but when I find more I’ll post them.
This Cracker Hated The Barrel!
November 6, 2025
There’s this old adage that has forever rang true to me. “First time, shame on you, second time, shame on me.”
Enter Cracker Barrel. This is one of those shame on me moments. I’m currently seeing my mom, who is in hospice, which in itself is painful enough, but then you add an excruciating trip through the culinary gates of hell called Cracker Barrel, I believe I must have committed some mortal sin that carved a path to what they consider a foyer.
If every exploited nation that produced useless Tchotchkes were to take a gigantic dump at the same time, all of these consumer feces would have landed smack dab in the lobby of The Barrel.
The lobby was a horrid labyrinth of isles chock full of shit no one needs, a cacophony of keyboards playing music that would make baby Jesus ears bleed rivers of blood and a tsunami of olfactory aromas where you could literally smell fried food and sandlewood at the same time.
Just trying to navigate our way to put our name in for a seat triggered my afib. I’ve seen Japanese subway cram videos that were less claustrophobic than a Cracker Barrel lobby. My head was spinning.
The entire seating procedures were culled straight from a Six Flags business model. Replete with a PA system, we heard our name unfortunately called, which blasted out from a speaker and proceeded to navigate past a horde of ravenous groups of people that should have sworn off this establishment years ago.
The noise level was deafening with screaming kids, food chomping parents, and staff that had to yell over everyone to just do their jobs. It was like being in a wind tunnel.
Speaking of the staff. I genuinely felt for them. Dealing with people that treated them like paid slaves, unruly kids, and huge groups of people wanting everything immediately, every one of them had the appearance of someone that had every ounce of their soul drained from bodies. I actually felt guilty ordering, but we needed to see this through.
I ordered the fried chicken, and my wife ordered over easy eggs with pancakes, and our friend ordered biscuits and gravy.
It’s painfully obvious these places only goal is to stuff asses into seats but as a chef, what I saw coming out of the kitchen resembled every short cut you could take to handle the greed they displayed by over seating this place.
Every item we had besides my wife’s eggs was pre made and then reheated. Reheated pancakes, my chicken was luke warm, and the sides were all slop and serve.
My friends biscuit gravy was so gelatinous that her spoon stood straight up in the serving cup. I looked at her and said, “Are they mad at you? We finally took our last edible bites and begged for the check. Another bizarre moment is when you have to pay. You are once again forced to endure their hellish gift shop to line up in front of a row of kiosks to pay for your “meal.”
It would be easy enough to just pay and leave but the staff is required under penalty of the business end of a cattle prod to bombard you with merchandise questions about if you want to buy any of their garbage on their shelves. My wife almost lost her shit on that poor soul taking our money, but to her credit, she kept her composure as we sprinted to our car.
Yeah, lets not boycott Cracker Barrel for their shameless peddling of foreign produced garbage, the glaring culinary sins committed, or their obvious seating missteps but instead lets boycott them because they changed their fucking logo. We are so cooked as a country, I swear to God. In the fifteen years of contributing to this blog, I’ve never written a negative review about food, but this shame on me experience warranted it. Full fucking stop. Never, ever again
Another Cincinnati Great Lost
October 6, 2025
I knew Dave when I was a young punk trouncing around Clifton and Corryville. Our friendship circle was huge. I’ve never replicated this type of an amazing group of friends in the six or seven cities I’ve lived in.
My first encounter with Dave was when he worked the door at Sudsy Malone’s on short Vine. I tended to hang out up front to see the bands.
One night, some jackass came in and grabbed one of the PA speakers and turned it against the wall. Dave chased him into the street to confront him, and a bunch of the guys friends started to fight him.
I immediately jumped in front of him, and they took one look at me and scattered as I tried to hold Dave back from tossing haymakers at them. It was a wild fucking night.
He never took any shit. None of my friends did. We were all bunch of scrappy motherfuckers who stood up to some of the lamest examples of human waste the city and University had to offer.
We chased Nazi skinheads out of our hood and didn’t give an inch to the jocks or frat boys that attempted to infiltrate the shit hole Nirvana we created in Clifton and surrounding areas. This was our turf, and we didn’t hand out passes to anyone and Dave was an integral part of my formative years in Cincinnati.
Things change, we grow older, some of us move, some pass on, and some pass away, unfortunately. The old haunting grounds of Corryville and Clifton fell victim to change, a loss of a music, bar and club scene and eminent domain which gobbled up much of our old stomping grounds that are now corporate gulags for Univesity students.
I even said fond farewell to Cincinnati in 1992. I saw my surroundings change and needed a break. I think Dave saw it, too. People ended up migrating to a transitional neighborhood called Northside. Turn of the century architecture, industrial buildings, cheap rent, and Dave saw an opportunity to open a bar on the outskirts called The Comet.
I was in San Francisco for about a year when The Comet debuted. I took a number of trips during that time back home and never missed a chance to visit this great bar and say hi to Dave. He was always welcoming to me and made sure to ask me how I was.
Fast forward to 2000, and a freshly married Kevin moved back to Cincinnati with his wife and during my first spring in Cincinnati, if my memory is correct was the time I played on The Comet’s softball team.
I wasn’t great but I was a great singles hitter and a pretty lousy catcher. I didn’t care as long there was beer flowing.
My wife and I never missed a chance to see Dave’s uncle play bluegrass on Sunday’s and were called The Comet Bluegrass Allstars. Amazing group of musicians.
I haven’t been back home in almost five years. I’m not on social media anymore and found out by text that Dave passed away. It was like a gut punch. The guy I’ve known for over thirty-five years is gone. I was a loss for words. He made an indelible impression on the bar, music, and food scene in Cincinnati that I consider unparalleled. I hope folks who knew him feel the same way.
The Only Tavern We Support
September 7, 2025
I realize Bucks County has a ways to go to achieve what other areas of the country have gained culinary. It’s rural, sparsely populated, and isn’t pushing envelopes we’ve been used to.
I get it. If you are going to serve food that pleases the common working man, you have to do it right. It has to be consistent, and above all, it has to taste good.
In the last couple of years, we’ve been loyal patrons at The Gardenville Hotel. A historic mid seventeenth century former hotel. With ties to the Revolutionary War, it is a wonderful tavern that serves really good American fare.
We only just recently started going there. One reason is I was already a chef at a Doylestown Tavern call The Farmhouse. We really had no reason to venture out to any other taverns because my wife loved my cooking, and I became acquainted with many regulars who were an integral part of my social life. Plus, other taverns in the area couldn’t touch our quality of the food.
After leaving The Farmhouse in 2023, we struggled to find a decent place for a burger or wings. We lived just down the hill from Gardenville and thought of the place as a drinking establishment vs. a full service restaurant.
One afternoon, we decided on drinks at Gardenville and wandered in. The bar was funky and old. Deer heads all over the walls, various pictures on the walls, many showcasing the owner’s fishing jaunts, and we immediately felt at home.
The servers, who have been there years, provide some of the friendliest and attentive service we’ve ever experienced.
Since we now go at least twice a week, they anticipate our needs immediately. It’s a rarity to find places like this in our area. Most of the Taverns just don’t care enough to go the extra mile. This place blows most local Taverns away.
We highly suggest their wings, the burgers are excellent as well as amazing fish and chips and turkey anything. It isn’t cheap, but nothing really is post pandemic. We only sit at the tables in the bar. That’s where the fun really is. The dining room is More suited for families and older folks. We like the buzz the bar provides.
The Gardenville Burger
Our Wedding Anniversary Trip To Easton Pennsylvania
August 30, 2025
We’ve been to Easton a number of times. It reminds me of old cities that still have their architectural charm like Cincinnati and Wheeling West Virginia. Both cities are surrounded by hills and turn of the century buildings.
We’ve never stayed overnight before and usually just visit their marketplace, which I wrote about earlier on this blog.
My wife surprised me by booking us a suite at the Grand Eastonian Hotel. They’ve turned a 1927 hotel into condominiums and reservable rooms and suites. Our suite was gorgeous with a balcony looking over the city and also has a heated salt water pool that was amazing.
Home
Surprisingly, the restaurant we made reservations with was directly across the street called Kabinett, which is named after a German style of wine. The meal and service were great. They have an enormous wine list as well. We do suggest sticking with noshing on a variety of apps. My steak, which was $59, came out a bit under done and wasn’t hot. They quickly remedied it, but we liked our apps much more.
https://www.kabinettwinebar.com/
We had a cocktail at a lounge two doors up that played great 60’s r&b that featured some excellent cocktails called Presley’s.
I highly recommend Easton Pennsylvania. If you are seeking a city, feel like New York but want more accessibility and a slower pace, this is a great town to visit.
A Reflection On My 25th Wedding Anniversary
August 25, 2025
In the fifteen years of contributing to this blog, I rarely talk about my personal life. I have a post here and there, but I try to stay true to why I created this site to begin with. To celebrate the restaurant industry and everyone that contribute to one of the most important industries on the planet.
Even during the Great Depression, people still dined in restaurants, cafes, taverns, and pubs. Being together and sharing a meal gave one a sense of community and hope in dire times, and what a better prescription but a well crafted meal.
This same industry is how I met my wife, Judy. We both worked at a “Euro Bistro” in San Francisco called Palomino. I came to San Francisco in 1993. My twenty-eight years in Cincinnati had come to an end. Shitty jobs, shitty relationships, and I was ready to make the leap out west. I had family in the Bay Area, so I sold everything I owned and with a duffle bag and six hundred dollars to my name, I drove someone’s car and delivered it to Palo Alto and my journey in San Francisco began.
I really had high hopes of turning the whole “failed relationship” yolk I was hauling around. Man, was I in for a surprise. The first two and half years of attempting to date anyone resembled the Sahara desert. I had no idea what I was doing. Sitting in pubs trying to start up conversations was an abysmal failure. I almost lost hope when I first noticed my future wife walk past the kitchen on her first day at work.
I played it cool because I didn’t really know her that well. At this time, I was hyper focused on my career to become a chef, so I didn’t really talk to her. About a week in seeing her action, I couldn’t stand the woman. Loud and Philly bred, who was already a favorite of the General Manager, and I was already turned off. But then I heard her infectious laugh, and that was it. I must know more about this woman.
I played it cool. Didn’t seek her out, but let my sense of humor slowly chip away. This lasted two god damn years. Yeah, I know, I’m a hopeless idiot.
I lived a block from her in Oakland. We both had really cool apartments. I used to walk behind her as she escorted her dates to her place. No, not in a stalking sense. We both took the same bus home.
We started to hit it off more. She loved head rubs and always sought me out. I was always happy to oblige. It usually got me in hot water because I guess you shouldn’t attempt this at the front desk of your restaurant. I didn’t mind. I was ready to risk it all.
I had a few miserable dates with coworkers that resulted in nothing. I knew Judy was the one. We both had the same exact sense of humor, we both liked the same music, and I felt it if I just went slowly and kept my cool, she’d feel the same way.
One night, the gang ended up at our local watering hole called Smitty’s. It was a glorious shit hole frequented by industry folks. Beer, smoking, occasional coke, and a pool table. An industry Nirvana.
I put my head in her lap and she pulled me up and viola! Our first kiss. Two drunken fools finally finding each other. I am not one to rush relationships. We moved in two weeks later.
This was 1997. We bought our first car together. A 1968 VW bug. We replaced a dented fender and she inscribed on it,”Kevin’s empowerment, Jude’s freedom.” No truer words have ever been written. We had that wonderful car for ten years before it unfortunately caught fire.
We’ve been through hell and back together. We’ve moved across the country three times and lived in about seven different cities. She’s stuck with me through jobs both good and bad, my cancer, strained relationships with family members. Not once has her love for me wavered. She’s been my rock. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
I need to definitely work on being a better me. A better husband and a better friend. I owe her that much. She has stood by me at my lowest points in life and has always made me see the bright side of things. She always told me to think of five things I should feel blessed about. It always works.
I just hope the next twenty-five years are as amazing as the last. Our anniversary is August 28th. Her name is Judy and I love her.
There’s Only One Restaurant At The Shore
August 15, 2025
I’ve never really been a fan of the Jersey shore. I’ve lived on the West Coast for almost two decades. We enjoyed the solitude of dozens of empty beaches in northern California that gave us peace and solitude.
The Jersey shore always seemed to be the antithesis of this to me. Crammed beaches and boardwalks, tons of kids, strollers, and families, which is probably extremely fun and exciting to them but I prefer the comfort of empty beaches, dive bars and small eateries that we encountered in the bay area.
Now that I’ve gotten that off of my chest, I wanted to share an experience that my wife and I discovered as a fluke at the entry point to the Garden State Parkway, aka the Jersey shore. It’s called Seabright, which is just mile from the Atlantic Highlands. The Highlands is pretty basic place. Airbnb’s, some pedestrian restaurants, a couple of bars, and a vista of New York City
We chose the area because it’s less than two hours from our home and it’s relatively affordable compared to places like Ocean City or Wildwood. It’s perfect for us.
We’ve dined at a few places which were underwhelming yet expensive. Considering we are both in the restaurant industry, we tend to be more critical of our dining experience versus the casual diner.
As we searched for the diamond in the rough, we took a chance on a place on the Jersey shore jetty called ironically 2nd Jetty.
When we pulled up to the place and into the parking lot, we both said wtf? From the outside, it looked like a run-down tiki bar connected to a clam company. PERFECT!
We both committed and wandered in. The interior was a gaudy nautical themed dining room with huge booths and fishing decor on the walls, and we immediately felt at home.
The staff is young, funky, and seemed to love working there. The kitchen resembled the staff from the movie “Waiting,” which I highly encourage watching if you’ve ever worked in a restaurant before.
The core menu hasn’t changed in years. As a chef, I understand why. The chef creates an extensive fresh feature menu that consists of at least five items that the staff have memorized perfectly that even regulars wouldn’t be fatigued by.
Their cocktail and wine menu are both top-notch. The core menu offers a variety of shellfish, raw fish, and small appetizers that have both Asian and Caribbean influences. This is a win/win for us.
We decided on some starters to begin our journey. The Careless Navigator consists of six local clams and oysters and six jumbo shrimp. They literally get their clams from the adjacent business connected to the restaurant. The oysters were local as well. Small, succulent, and delicious. We loathe those gigantic, cow tongue sized oysters that litter many east coast menus. The shrimp were huge and fresh, and everything came with traditional cocktail sauce and mignonet. Amazing.
We continued our culinary journey with the poke of the day. Cubed yellow fin tuna over rice with a wadabi aioli, wakame, scallions, and rice chips. Again, outstanding.
Our final appetizer was the daily crudo. Sliced tuna belly over cucumber with yuzu, sweet soy and aioli with micro sprouts. Delicious.
We decided on our two core menu favorites. The mussels with a coconut curry broth with crostini. The portion was huge! The broth was balanced and had a great umami flavor.
My choice is the popular pan seared Corvina that was served over a “Risotto style” potato-bacon chowder topped with a quinnelle of spiced apple. I get it every time we dine there.
I highly recommend this joint. You can even “buy a round for the kitchen” if you like, and by watching the staff, they will literally give the kitchen that round why they cook you meal.
Finally, 2nd Jetty is seasonal. They usually close not much past Labor day and reopen around March, so visit soon! You won’t be disappointed.
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