Lambertville is a funky place. This small New Jersey city has a deep history dating back to 1732 and has visible ties to the Revolutionary War era. Beautiful row houses and narrow streets give this town a distinct historic charm.
There is a level of diversity we see here that we havent seen since living in cities like San Francisco and Portland. LGBT friendly, it is replete with artists, musicians, and a vibrant culinary scene that contributes to the rich culture of the town. It is a perfect mirror of neighboring New Hope which is right across the Delaware River in Pennsylvania.
We’ve dined at a number of restaurants here. The area provides a variety of different eateries whether it being Peruvian or an upscale steak house. One of our favorite places to visit is Bell’s Tavern.
It is a quaint yet very busy Tavern that’s has been family owned for years that offer excellent cocktails, wine and beer, and every Tuesday, they create a twenty dollar bottle wine menu and a twelve dollar pasta menu that comes with a salad and garlic bread.
My wife opted for the linguine with meat sauce. The portions are massive and we ended up taking half home. For an additional three dollars more, you can order another bowl. The pasta was cooked perfectly and their sauce was amazing. For two people, you could have wine and a full meal for less than twenty five dollars a person.
I opted for a steak, with mashed potatoes and a side of sautéed spinach. I haven’t had a steak in over a year, and it was spectacular. It was also accompanied by a side of roasted red bell peppers. Cooked a perfect midrare. The side of spinach had hints of chili flakes and a generous amount of garlic. We devoured it, no questions asked.
The place is always lively with a great mix of folks who frequently dine here. The service is friendly and efficient. We didn’t feel rushed even though the dining room filled up quickly. Our next visit we plan on sitting at the bar. It always gives off a party vibe when we pass through.
I highly recommend Bell’s Tavern to anyone who appreciates a well executed menu with great, friendly service.
La Maya Hellertown
June 2, 2026
In the vast culinary landscape of rural South East Pennsylvania, using the old adage needle in a haystack phrase rings true on many occasions when you are attempting to find food that doesnt fall under the category of tavern, Italian or diner.
I get it. The area is replete with my fellow working class folks who enjoy simple meals, but we are definitely witnessing a gentrification of areas once home to acres upon acres of farmland. Sprawling fields of agriculture being gobbled up by subdivisions of McMansions as far as the eye can see.
We find ourselves venturing outside of Bucks County to seek out food that doesn’t usually fit into the categories I just previously mentioned. Hellertown is a charming little borough in the Lehigh Valley county of Northampton.
Founded in 1742, Hellertown consists of a modest downtown that is home to a number of restaurants that continue to draw us to this charming hamlet. Typical Mexican restaurants where we live simply don’t exist or they aren’t very good. This place was highly recommended. We made the choice. Off to Hellertown we go!
Even though the place has a feeling of slight appropriation and a tad hipsterish, we do appreciate good food made with local ingredients. All in house liquor is PA made and it’s a scratch kitchen so we entered the vestibule with an open mind.
The bar and dining area is shotgun designed that seats around forty guests. It is well decorated and unlike typical Mexican restaurants.
Perusing the menu, we were greeted by an eager server who was definitely trained to steer us to fan favorites that he highly recommended. Having never dined here before, we put our faith in his hands and chose items from the menu he suggested.
We first decided on two cocktails. La Moda Mexicana and the Coco Pasion. Both delicious.
Our server suggested their most popular appetizers to start. The ceviche and guacamole and chips. We enjoyed the flavors of both dishes though they could have been simplified a bit so they could be navigated easier. The seafood on the ceviche was cut extremely small so we fumbled when trying to make it’s way to our mouths and the two large tortilla shells didn’t work well when breaking them apart as we dug into the guacamole.
We moved on to one of our favorite appetizers. Enfrijolada is Queso Oaxaca, corn and wild mushroom stuffed tortilla, bean sauce, habanero crema, and queso fresco. We found the flavors unique. It was a fantastic dish.
We shared the Pescado a la Talla which is butterflied grilled branzino, marinated in salsa verde, topped with red cabbage slaw, morita salsa, and verde cruda, served with house-made tortillas. It was delicious though we probably wouldn’t order it again. The amount of bones I encountered made it difficult to navigate and the micro greens made it difficult to identify the random bones as well.
We enjoyed our visit. Despite some of my mixed reviews on what we chose, we will definitely return. Their menu is extensive and veggie friendly which our dining companion really enjoyed as well.
My Recipe For A Great BBQ Sauce
February 26, 2026
I’ve tinkered around with BBQ sauces for years. There are so many variations that have roots to regions of the United States. Each sauce has it’s own distinct flavor, whether its sweet, spicy, vinegar forward or mustard. I love them all.
I tend to try to balance them all. Slightly sweet but also has a good acid presence with a little heat. It’s been an evolutionary process that now has about 15 ingredients. This is a large batch recipe but with some adjustments can be scaled down for a smaller batch. Enjoy!!
Our Own Version Of Cheers Revisted
February 26, 2026
In the vast wasteland of Bucks County Tavern and Pub scene, there are diamonds in the rough that give you that Cheers feeling of inclusion.
My last few years as a chef have been mainly focused on upscale tavern cuisine. Simple, home-cooked meals, elevated but still approachable to the working class folks that keep these places humming.
We’ve tried a number of places to extract those feelings of inclusion and community. My previous employment at The Farmhouse Tavern comes to mind. Unfortunately due to poor management and unsavory business practices out of my control, this place is no longer an option for our dining needs.
We ventured into a local tavern just up the hill from our home called The Gardenville Hotel. Not a hotel anymore but it is an historic tavern dating all the way back to the Civil War, steeped in history.
We love connecting with local patrons. We tried this in Cincinnati at a place called The Friendly Stop in Glendale Ohio. Great food but friendly wasn’t on the menu. We literally felt invisible everytime we went in. Check please!
We initially went for drinks at The Gardenville. I’ve always been skeptical of pub food establishments. I always compared their food with mine and my wife always complained that she preferred my food over anywhere we ate. Not to sound ego centric but so did I.
We started going more frequently to Gardenville. It’s cozy, welcoming and the staff is always really attentive and seemed to love working there.
We noticed everyone ate when sitting in the bar section of the Hotel. It’s a small, funky space replete with deer heads, odd decorations and a comfortable seating area. Perfect for what we were looking for.
They have a decent tap list, a great to go beer selection and a well rounded food menu. We decided to try some of their offerings. We ended up being one of their biggest fans. Really good burgers, fish and chips and great turkey dinners.
Our wallets weren’t happy because I constantly drug my wife there because the social scene keeps us in a positive light being stuck in the middle of nowhere.
No one screams our name when we come in but they know what we drink, and are always happy to strike up a spirited conversation with us. It definitely makes us feel welcomed and that’s really important during these trying times.
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.
