Toby Goodshank Original Art 2025

Life with Chicken and Broccoli

Category: Review

  • Restaurant Review: Down the Hatch – Brookfield, CT

    Restaurant Review: Down the Hatch – Brookfield, CT

    On a beautiful sunny day when the breeze is gentle, continuous, and blissfully free of humidity, where can you go to enjoy it all? I’ve never been one for regrets, but I’m slightly disappointed I only discovered Down the Hatch later in life. At least I found it. What an amazing little spot to have tucked away in the heart of northern Fairfield County.

    I’ve been several times over the years, and this place is always about the location. It’s beautifully nestled on a hill overlooking scenic Candlewood Lake. There is only the outside here, not unlike in Ghostbusters when there is only Zuul. Zuul, you big nut.

    You wouldn’t want to sit inside even if you could. And if you had to, you probably wouldn’t want to be at this restaurant on that day.

    You walk down the handicap-accessible ramp to the first level of the restaurant and bar. You always get a good mix of people, though I do prefer coming earlier now to avoid some of the rougher types who seem disappointed with life after several Budweisers and are actively looking for someone who doesn’t agree with them or someone with whom they can have a misunderstanding. My misunderstanding days are long gone. I’m just happy to enjoy any nice day by the water.

    We came in with our core three — daughter Judy was at work — and were meeting my brother-in-law with his kids. They’re young and playful, so we were looking for a spot that still gave us a view without being too close to anyone else’s table. We were seated on the lowest level, and that was perfect. There really isn’t a bad view, though I didn’t want to be up top, stuck behind a few tables that might block the breeze or obstruct the view of the lake.

    The whole point of this place is the outside, and I was just so happy to be sitting outdoors. Any summer day in Connecticut when the sun is shining and the humidity is low is a big win.

    Our summer table for six was shaded under an alcoholic beverage sponsor tent overlooking the lake. The waitstaff are all young, home from college or whatever it is kids are doing now. I honestly have no idea. But they’re friendly and happy, and that’s what matters. Our waitress was a kind redhead and had a bit of Southern sensibility, though I don’t know if it was earned down South or acquired from watching too many shows set there. There’s this big amalgamation of phrases now like “I got you” and “y’all” all mashed together.

    The food is what you’d expect and good enough for what it is. I got the mahi-mahi in a wrap instead of a sandwich, along with a small crock of coleslaw. It was vinegar-based and delicious. I only wish the portion had been a bit bigger, but I suppose not everyone is a cabbage fiend like me. I also took a bite of my wife’s lobster roll, and that was very good, with large chunks of tail and claw in a buttery roll.

    It was really great that my brother-in-law came with my niece and nephew. It’s always good to see them. As close as we all are, life pushes you in different directions, and you have to push back to make time. The kids are extremely cute, fun, playful, and smart. I just enjoy taking a minute in their world, watching them do their thing. It reminds me of my own kids and how quickly they grow up.

    As I sat outside in the sun, I was hit by a deep wave of calm. The kids wandered toward the fence to look out over the water and watch the ducks go about their day. I’ve been lucky lately, but more than that, I’ve been grateful. Grateful for these kinds of days, and really, for any day to be alive. For hope and for my family.

    It’s easy to forget how miraculous the ordinary is. The weight of gravity holding us here. The sun warming the tops of exposed skin until it becomes just uncomfortable enough. A thin layer of sweat rising. The gentle whisper of wind across the skin. The smell of fried French fries drifting by. Ducks gliding silently without concern.

    There is beauty in all of it. In simply being here. You just have to want to see it.

    Final Verdict with view multiplier: 7.5/10

  • Restaurant Review: Lucia Ristorante – New Milford, CT

    Restaurant Review: Lucia Ristorante – New Milford, CT

    It was a beautiful Friday night on the green in New Milford as we made our way to Lucia Ristorante, located on historic Bank Street. The street feels like a scene out of 1950s America, with old-school theaters, storefront businesses, and residential apartments above.

    We were heading out to celebrate our friend’s birthday with our wildly successful, humorous, glorious, good-looking couples group. The group used to be bigger but has now been suitably curated to magnificence by removing some malignancies that once threatened the whole.

    Having grown a bit burnt out on our own town’s dining scene, we were looking for a nice spot that still respected the golden radius of restaurants, which must stay within 30 minutes of home.

    Lucia’s is an Italian restaurant which, according to its own website, describes itself as a gem of a place where head chef Antonio can please any member of your family. After my second visit, I don’t dispute the first claim. And as long as the second refers strictly to food, I can get behind that too.

    The restaurant layout spans two levels, and I prefer the second. Fortunately, both times we’ve visited, we were seated upstairs. I think it’s due to our group size, which has been on the larger side. The upstairs dining area is nicer than the downstairs, and both levels include a bar.

    Our first interaction was with the Water Person, who asked if tap water was acceptable. This always feels like a Grey Poupon moment to me. It’s the phrasing, like are you trash who wants tap water, or someone worthy of bottled or sparkling water sourced from an Italian cave where an old woman has been washing family linens for 100 generations. We got the tap water. Sorry, Momma Leonie.

    The menu has several items that interest me, and they always offer some excellent specials as well.

    When we sit down, our group tends to split between the gentlemen and the ladies. The boys usually talk about professions and sports, or, in this case, one of us meeting the world-renowned Tom Brady with pictures to prove it. The ladies dive into the gossip, the juicy bits, skin color palettes, and what the kids have been up to.

    Bread service was solid. A nice fluffy dinner roll was served with cold, not spreadable butter, olive oil, and a small dish of pecorino cheese. My favorite touch was the homemade giardiniera, pickled vegetables that tasted great on the bread.

    For appetizers, I ordered the Calamari Lucia, which came sautéed with beans, arugula, and cherry peppers in a white tomato broth. We also had a special, prosciutto-wrapped something. I can’t fully recall, writing this a few days later, but there were some vegetables involved. The calamari, which was the star, was a little chewy but very tasty. The prosciutto-wrapped mystery bites were also good, though neither dish was a showstopper.

    For my entrée, I was torn between the black spaghetti and the seafood paella. I went with the black spaghetti and felt confident either choice would have made me happy. The squid ink pasta came with Gulf shrimp, sea scallops, mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, and arugula in a cream sauce. The dish was excellent. The pasta was perfectly cooked and well seasoned. The cream sauce was delicious and not too heavy. The seafood was the star and was tender and perfectly cooked.

    Our waitress did a commendable job. Everything that came out looked excellent and would be worth trying on a return visit.

    Even though the entrées were generous portions, we still made room for dessert. My wife had already informed the table that Lucia’s has excellent desserts, including several multi-layer cakes. She picked the pistachio layer cake, which we’ve had before and knew was good, and paired it with coffee. I went with a decaf cappuccino.

    At some point, the owner dimmed the lights. In hindsight, this may have been a gentle warning that they were closing soon. We interpreted it as ambiance, setting the mood, which, as my friend astutely predicted, I would absolutely include in this blog post.

    We happily continued our conversations as time drifted by. Eventually, we gathered our things and made our way outside, still laughing into the night.

    The air was warm, the stars were out, and the streets of Bank Street felt like a movie set with a 1950s green Ford truck parked outside. There is something timeless about a summer night spent with people who know you, make you laugh, and genuinely enjoy your company. Nights like these remind me that good food is just the backdrop. The real magic is the connection, being together.

    Friendship, laughter, stories passed back and forth like bread at the table. It was all there. We stood outside for a while, not wanting to break the spell, just grateful for the kind of evening that lingers long after the last plate is cleared.

    Final Verdict: 8.75/10

  • Review: Walmart Supercenter – Middletown, NY

    Review: Walmart Supercenter – Middletown, NY

    Norman Rockwell’s Nightmare

    After our nostalgic dinner at Outback Steakhouse, we needed to grab a few supplies we’d forgotten for our overnight stay at the baseball tournament. And when in doubt, you can always count on Walmart. They say the average American lives just 4.2 miles from one. The blessings of unimpeded capitalism.

    We arrived at the Walmart Supercenter in Middletown, NY, around 9:30 p.m., expecting a quiet scene. Instead, we stumbled into something closer to a chaotic night market. The parking lot was packed. People were loitering around their cars like it was a social event. For a moment, I wondered if we’d accidentally shown up for a midnight console release, with eager fans waiting for their chance to buy.

    But no. Instead, I thought of Al Pacino in Heat, describing “the dregs and detritus of human life” circling the toilet bowl, waiting to be flushed.

    As always, I scoped out an open section of the lot. I didn’t want to park too far off and draw attention, just a strategic space near the Garden Center. My son and I moved quickly toward the entrance. My wife trailed behind, thanks to her shorter stride, but we kept the group together.

    The tone was set almost immediately. A couple entered just ahead of us; him dressed like someone in a “white trash male” Halloween costume, and her in an outfit that led me to believe, rightly or wrongly, she was a hired professional. It was hard not to assume a transactional nature to their night out.

    Inside, we were smacked with the unmistakable smell of urine. I half-expected to see someone relieving themselves in a corner or a bathroom door swinging wildly off its hinges. But there was nothing; no culprit, no bathroom, just the stench. The greeter didn’t greet. He stood stiffly like a late-night club bouncer deciding whether we were worth the risk.

    Still, once inside the belly of the beast, things felt oddly familiar. That gentle blue-and-white color scheme of Walmart had a strange way of calming the fight-or-flight system. We got down to business. Band-Aids for my son’s leg. Some forgotten essentials. This place was massive; easily the biggest Walmart we’d ever seen. Fortunately, the first-aid section was just to the left.

    As we gathered our items, we watched a group of young teenagers spraying perfume liquids on each other while their dazed, over-medicated parent enjoyed a late-night Dr. Pepper, hunched over a cart like they were on mile 23 of a grocery marathon.

    My wife was ready to leave. But my son, Elroy, wanted to explore the place he now referred to as the Mecca of Commerce. So we walked, partly to digest the Kookaburra Wings still testing our stomachs. Inevitably, we ended up in the video game aisle, where we saw our old friends from the entrance. The man in the costume and his late-night lady. He was trying to buy a game, and had sent his companion to find an employee to unlock the case.

    There was something weirdly honest about it. Taking your go-to escort to Walmart on a Saturday night for the Girlfriend Experience, capped off with some light retail therapy. Buying video games together. In a way, this man was my white trash spirit animal. Thank God I’m married, because I could almost understand the appeal. Cost-effective. Low maintenance. Fun.

    Perhaps I had this guy all wrong. I found myself wondering if he had stock tips. Maybe he’s the best accountant in Orange County. He probably runs a wellness clinic and helps fatherless kids set up Roth IRAs for their future. The light bulb of imaginary musings dimmed as I was pulled back to reality by the cold glow of the self-checkout kiosk, prompting me for payment.

    Walmart, in all its fluorescent, urine-scented glory, delivers what no curated Instagram feed ever could: truth. uncut, unwashed, unbothered. Where else can you see a budget-conscious couple’s version of romance, a greeter playing nightclub security, and teenagers engaged in what can only be described as a diabetic late-night shower of perfume?

    In the end, we accomplished our mission. And we got something better than supplies: an unfiltered snapshot of America after dark.

  • Restaurant Review: Bottega – Bethel, CT

    Restaurant Review: Bottega – Bethel, CT

    It was Friday evening, and we were looking for something quick but still with that night-out vibe. Not somewhere we’d sit around for hours, willing the time away. A spot we could get in and out of depending on what time my son needed to be picked up from his friend’s birthday party. After some thoughtful deliberation, we opted for dinner at Bottega in Bethel, CT.

    What I like about Bottega is the pizza and, sometimes, a few of the apps. They used to have a charred octopus dish with sausage, fingerling potatoes, and arugula. But they got rid of it, probably because most people around here just want deep-fried comfort food and couldn’t care less about anything with tentacles and greens.

    The space has that rustic Albanian-meets-industrial-steampunk wood theme that’s everywhere now in bars, pubs, and mid-level restaurants. We got lucky and landed one of the booths by the bar, but it wasn’t exactly a win. They were all open, and it was already 6:45 p.m. The bar area was more happening, with friends and lovers recreating a well-shot B-roll from a good Hollywood movie.

    Bottega doesn’t do specials, and the menu stays pretty much the same.

    For tonight’s exciting adventure, we ordered the Cup and Char Pepperoni. My wife explained that the “cup” is what the pepperoni does when the heat hits it. It curls into a cup. The “char” is what happens to the toilet bowl later that night. I guess the name refers to a style of pepperoni that cups and chars at the same time. Like a talented ass-kicker with only one leg.

    The other pie we ordered was the G.O.A.T., which had goat cheese, pistachios, garlic cream, red onion, and a drizzle of local honey. Solid combo, but I don’t know if it’s the greatest of all time.

    To balance it out, I ordered a fresh green they call the Quinoa Salad, just to not go completely to hell with myself.

    One shining star at Bottega has always been the mixed drinks. They’ve consistently made one of the best takes on an Old Fashioned I’ve had. Even with new bartenders rotating in, the recipe has stayed delicious and true.

    All the food came out together. That made sense, or maybe it didn’t. The server didn’t ask how we wanted it paced, so fine. His name was Fuddy Duddy, and Fuddy did his Duddy best. That meant drinks came out one at a time and slowly. No rizz, no personality. His face is already dissolving, lost to the hourglass sands of the weekend.

    The pizzas looked great. My one ongoing issue with Bottega is that they never salt or season their food enough. I think of all those chef shows where contestants are constantly hammered for not tasting their food. With pizza, maybe you can’t grab a full slice to sample, but you can taste the components. And yeah, bland. We asked for salt, since it’s never on the table here, and it took a solid 10 minutes “Where’s Waldo” search to appear. Returning with the smallest salt shaker and with the least amount of sodium I’ve ever seen allowable by “CT Statute 238.5 Salt Shaker Rules and Regs, subsection 2a, salt gram amounts per shaker.”

    Once the salt arrived, everything was good. The flavors started to come alive and I was able to do my pizza happy dance, just a little shimmy and shack allowed by people over 40. The salad was fine, nothing too standoutish about salad even with the multi-colored quinoa.

    Heavily carbed up, we decided to forgo the dessert. We wrapped things up with a round of decaf cappuccinos, except they weren’t cappuccinos at all. More like some espresso-coffee hybrid with a splash of milk, but they were HOT. I’ve promised that next time we go, I’m going to be wearing a gold chain with my own personal salt shaker.

    Final Verdict: 6.95 out of 10

  • Restaurant Review: Leo’s – Southbury, CT

    Restaurant Review: Leo’s – Southbury, CT

    Rolling up to Leo’s in Southbury, CT, at 10:30 for that late breakfast love. From Main Street, the location is tucked away, requiring a turn onto Poverty Road. On this beautiful Thursday morning, there were already diners enjoying meals on the front patio.

    After turning into the complex and navigating around the building, it’s clear the space was converted from some type of office into a restaurant. The first thing that caught my attention was the front flight of steps, which probably keeps some of the Heritage Village crowd away.

    Inside, the restaurant is quaint, though the motif is a bit unclear, perhaps a beefed-up diner vibe in an office setting, featuring high ceilings, neon lights, faux wood beams, and an assortment of knickknacks and bric-a-brac. The main dining area has tables in the center surrounded by booths. My friend, who arrived earlier, chose a table with half booth seating and half chairs in the bar area, which was empty except for us.

    Previewing the menu beforehand, several items caught my eye, particularly the entire section dedicated to “Leo’s Famous Breakfast Specials.” Next time, I plan to try “Eight is Enough,” aptly named as it features eight ingredients served with their signature bocca bread and a fresh fruit mini tower. This visit, I opted for Leo’s Special Omelet, which included sautéed onions, mozzarella cheese, bacon, home fries, and rye toast. I also added my usual side of coleslaw and a decaf coffee.

    The servers were nice enough, nothing particularly memorable but also nothing to complain about.

    The food arrived quickly and was plentiful. The hot sauce of choice at Leo’s is Frank’s. Overall, the meal was very good, with the omelet stealing the show, nicely prepared with a generous portion of bacon. Personally, I would have preferred the onions to be more sautéed, but it was still tasty. The home fries and rye toast were good, though nothing standout.

    My coleslaw was initially forgotten by both the server and myself until I noticed the missing texture and crunch. When it arrived, it came in a small plastic cup; a slightly larger bowl would have been preferable. However, it was tasty, well seasoned, and slightly on the wetter side. The value and quantity of the food was also a notch above.

    By 11:30, the early bird lunch crowd was beginning to make its way in. I was abruptly knocked forward as a walker with wheels hit my chair, indicating it was time to leave. There was actually a line of people waiting on the stairs as we left. We enjoyed our brief visit to Leo’s and will definitely be back to try some of those other specials.

    Final Verdict: 7/10

  • Diner Review: DinerLuxe – New Milford, CT

    Diner Review: DinerLuxe – New Milford, CT

    “I’m back, baby!” Frank Costanza yells as he returns to cooking in Seinfeld. That same triumphant energy hit me walking into DinerLuxe in New Milford, Connecticut. After being closed for quite some time, it’s finally reopened under its original management and owners. Think of it like the Enchanted Tiki Room in Florida, when Disney scrapped the “new management” gimmick and brought back the beloved classic. Some things are just better the way they were.

    DinerLuxe is what I’d call a “Designer Diner,” a place intentionally built to be a monument to the great American diner. Unlike most diners, which can be rehabbed buildings or converted train cars, this one was purpose-built to deliver that nostalgic East Coast diner experience. It was born to be what the sign reads outside: “An American Classic.”

    And what does that mean exactly? The diner defies all nods to history and convention in every way. The architecture is pure American teenager defiance to old-world structure, with loud vibrant colors, a mismatch of building materials, and the regal majesty of silver and chrome accents. It also means we want to eat whatever we want, whenever we want. Breakfast at dinner? Of course. That’s the whole point. We didn’t come to this country to be told what meal goes with what time of day. “We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.”

    From the moment we sat down, the vibe was right. Our server, Megan, was just a genuinely happy human being. Her energy made everything better. It made the black coffee sweeter, the syrup flow smoother, added an extra crisp to the bacon, and almost made my brown eyes blue. Special shoutout to the food runner too. She brought an added touch of professionalism and care that really elevated the experience.

    We were seated in a cozy booth. The cushion still had life in it, giving my backside just the right amount of support. I ordered the Farmer’s Omelet with home fries, rye toast, and a side of coleslaw. The coffee cups were small, which meant frequent refills, always delivered promptly with green-handled pots that seemed to appear exactly when you needed them.

    The plate for the omelet was perfectly sized. No separate plate for toast, no awkward overcrowding. You don’t always notice good design when it’s done right, but you definitely feel it. The ratio of home fries to omelet was spot on. I’m convinced they used the golden ratio or Fibonacci sequence to portion it all out. The omelet was perfectly cooked, with bacon bits that brought the ideal combination of salt, fat, and texture.  The coleslaw was another hit, with beautifully shredded cabbage and just the right amount of dressing, hitting that Goldilocks zone.

    The home fries had a beautiful griddle sear, crispy on the outside and tender inside. The rye toast had a rich golden brush of butter and was cooked just right, not dry or underdone. They didn’t have the usual suspects like Frank’s RedHot or Tabasco, but I appreciated the notch above with Cholula, both red and green varieties.

    I also took a bite of my wife’s bacon, egg, and cheese on a plain bagel with fries. It was excellent. Everything came together in harmony, each bite better than the last. My son’s chocolate chip banana pancakes were another standout. Honestly, it made me question my entire pancake history. How have I never had bananas in my pancakes before? What kind of messed up life have I been living?

    We’re already excited to go back and bring more people. We’re even talking about ordering dinner at dinner, so yes, we are officially living on the edge. New Yorkers take their diners seriously, and that point was hilariously underscored when we walked out and saw a black BMW SUV with a vanity plate that simply read “DINER.”

    Please go to DinerLuxe. It grows the economy. It saves lives. As my friend used to say about a girl he was infatuated with, it’s the complete package.

    Final Verdict: 9.25/10

  • Movie Review: Tarot

    Movie Review: Tarot

    Some nights, I scroll endlessly through all the streaming services, and by the time I finally land on something I might want to watch, I’m already half asleep. Lately, I’ve gone back to old reliable, Netflix. To their credit, they’ve been putting out a solid lineup of shows and movies worth watching. They also do a great job of curating genres, and their algorithm has officially gotten into my head. It knows me, and I try to be nice to the A.I. so they might keep us around when they take over.

    Tonight’s choice was Tarot. I’m not sure why I picked it. I’m not usually a fan of horror or jump scares. Maybe I thought it would be lighter because of the playful banter between the characters. Whatever the reason, I hit play.

    What made it special wasn’t the movie itself, it was the moment. My daughter, who’s been a homework machine since she started elementary school, kept poking her head out of her room to say hello. She’s doing so well, and I’m grateful, but sometimes I feel like I barely see her. On this not-so-stormy night, she asked me to draw a picture for her end-of-year project. So while I was sketching away, Tarot was playing in the background. My wife and I were sitting on the couch. She was there, which I appreciate, but was doing her usual social media scroll, part of her nightly wind-down routine.

    As my daughter waited for my amazing doodle, I think the beginning of the movie caught her attention. The characters were just a few years older than her, and she recognized Jacob Batalon from the Spider-Man movies, which helped hook her. We started watching together. My son would have joined us, but he was at a sleepover. My wife after awhile declared, “I’m going to bed”, as she departed down the hallway.

    The setup was classic horror. A group of friends rents an enormous, eerie house in upstate New York for a birthday. Of course these kids can somehow rent a small mansion, while my college friends and I had to pool funds just to drink Popov Vodka. Naturally, they run out of alcohol, and one of them says, “Pretty sure this place has booze locked up somewhere,” which leads to them exploring and eventually breaking into a locked basement. Security deposit is toast. And really, when has anything good ever come from a basement in a horror movie?

    Down there, they find all kinds of weird stuff, including a handmade deck of creepy-as-hell tarot cards tucked away in a custom wooden box. Naturally, someone in the group just happens to be a tarot expert, and they start doing readings. The order and content of each reading becomes important later as the story unfolds. The group makes it through the night without incident, but the real fun begins the next day when they head home and the death cards start coming to life.

    My daughter and I had fun trying to remember what each card said and how each person might die. We were talking throughout the film, making predictions and laughing at how into it we got. Each tarot card came to life in the form of a character that hunted down one of the friends. It was standard horror formula, but it was fun. The tone was silly in parts, which helped, and even though I liked the CGI, a few of the deaths were pretty graphic and made us both cringe.

    More than anything, I was just grateful for the time with her. I loved listening to what she thought was going to happen and watching us both cover our eyes as a character was sawed in half. As kids get older, it gets harder to find those shared moments. Their interests start to drift from yours, and you have to work harder to stay connected. She’s going to be a senior next year. College is right around the corner.

    The little girl I used to lie next to while watching all her shows has grown up. I’ve always believed that if you want to stay in your kids’ lives, you have to meet them in their world. They’re not going to come into yours.

    So I hold onto these moments. I try to find ways we can connect; movies, books, drawings, whatever it takes. Time is flying by, and nights like these remind me how special the little things are. We enjoyed the film. The critics shredded it, and maybe rightfully so, but like everything in life, including a simple horror flick, it’s not always about what you’re watching. It’s about who you’re watching it with.

  • Diner Review: The Blue Colony Diner – Newtown, CT

    Diner Review: The Blue Colony Diner – Newtown, CT

    Easy on, easy off.

    The Greek families who settled in Newtown, Connecticut weren’t content with just arriving in a new country. They wanted their own colony. A Blue Colony, to pay homage to their Grecian shores. When they were welcomed to the New World, they didn’t simply accept it. Maybe they got mad. Maybe they didn’t understand the language. Maybe they were just being stubborn. Either way, they said, “No problem. We make our own colony.” And so, the Blue Colony was born.

    Their relatives, settling in neighboring towns, followed suit by creating their own color-based colonies. The Red Colony still stands today, born out of friendly rivalry or maybe not-so-friendly fights between the families.

    They even created a crest for the Blue Colony: two majestic lions flanking a shield, proudly displaying the letters B and C. The message was clear. Don’t mess with our colony, Malaka!

    The diner has served us faithfully through the years. As kids, it was our Sunday morning ritual after church. I remember ordering from the kids’ menu; the Rocky Balboa Roast Beef with mashed potatoes, while my brother went with the Lion, a classic roast turkey dinner.

    In high school, the Blue Colony became our late-night landing zone. A place where inebriated or high teenagers scraped together loose change and dollar bills to split coffees and cheesy gravy fries. We would sit there trying to get our heads right before heading home, watching the cast of local characters filter in. Sometimes there would be a fight. Sometimes someone tried to run out on their bill. I earned my own badge of honor the night I got banned after rolling in with a rowdy crew who got into trouble. I didn’t even do anything, but I wore the ban like a badge.

    Fast forward to today, and this place still stands tall. A Newtown landmark since 1973, it is everything you would expect from a classic East Coast diner, full of charm and character.

    At the entrance, a massive display of oversized cookies, pastries, and desserts greets you. The diner is split into a right and left section. I always seem to end up on the left, the side we knew growing up. The right side is either newer or always felt darker. I can’t help but feel like Larry David, wondering if we are being deliberately pushed left. Is this the “ugly” section for undesirables?

    Our party of five was seated in one of the rounded corner booths on the left. Our server was a tall Greek man named Alex who did a great job. Diner staff can always be hit or miss. I feel most places have seasoned servers who carry a heavy life burden or maybe just the wear of so many years holding large plates. Most people are mirrored reflections of your own mood, so I always try to bring a fun, light energy.

    In diners, there are safe bets and there are total gambles. My friend once ordered spaghetti and meatballs at 1:30 in the morning—a clear gamble. He was ruthlessly mocked for it. I stuck with a classic: the Farmer’s Omelet, home fries, rye toast with butter, and a side of coleslaw. Everyone else had breakfast for dinner, except my sister-in-law and son, who went with the can’t-go-wrong turkey triple-decker with fries.

    I like my omelets slightly runny and my home fries with some char, but I never ask for it that way. I have been on a lucky streak lately and enjoy the surprise of seeing what shows up. The most impressive part? The speed. It felt like the cook in the back was racing a stopwatch to see how fast they could crank out five meals. The food arrived quickly and tasted exactly as it should; hearty, satisfying, and consistent with what has kept this place thriving for over 50 years.

    The coleslaw was reliably good, as it always is at a proper diner, each with its own variation. I had a spoonful of the seafood bisque, which came out like molten lava; flavorful, with mysterious but tasty chunks of seafood. I also appreciate that they serve a BIG cup of coffee, one that lasts the whole meal without needing a refill. And to finish, I snagged a few sips of my son’s black and white milkshake, ordered to calm his nerves after a tough baseball game. Everyone was happy and content with their food.

    Now, in midlife, I am glad they forgot about my ban from all those years ago. I can walk in with my head held high, check out the specials, sit among the early-bird diners, and get excited just like my mother used to about the sheer quantity of food at a great value. She always used to say, “I’m going to wrap this up and eat it for lunch tomorrow.”

    Thank you, Blue Colony, for settling these lands so many years ago and doing it your way.

    Final Verdict: 7.25/10

    W/Nostalgia Kicker 8/10

    Still one of the best around. Still doing it right.