Eastern Eats: Part I

This past weekend we were in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.  Before you say, 'Oh, I'm sorry', let us just set you straight - New Jersey is awesome once you get past the concrete, industrial jungle of Newark, which is, often times, all people have to base their judgement upon.  People heading to New York on business, or for pleasure, fly into Newark Int'l Airport take one look around, assume that what they see is representative of the whole state and then go forward to propagate the myth that Jersey is somehow inferior to whatever square state they're coming from.  Well, let us just say we're from Los Angeles and we would hope that visitors would not assume that the whole state is like the city of Compton, if that happened to be the first thing they saw.  After spending much time in the Garden State and especially after this trip, we are convinced people put Jersey down because they are threatened by it.  Jersey has gorgeous beaches, quaint towns, amazing food and breeds some of the world's finest talent (Meryl Streep, Jack Nicholson, Bruce Springsteen, etc.).

The reason for our journey east was for Alison's Cousin's graduation and her Nana's 80th birthday.  We flew in on a Thursday and when we arrived at her grandparent's house we were weary and in need of sustenance.  See, our flight was fine (despite the swine flu frenzy and the fact that if you so much as sniffled people looked at you like you were a leper), but our shuttle to the Jersey shore was long, very long.  There is really no other way to describe it, other than to say our driver was just stupid and it took him about 45 minutes to do a head count before we could even leave the airport.

All was forgotten, however, the moment we stepped foot into Al's Grandparent's house and smelled the feast laid out in front of us from Pete and Elda's:  pizza, New England clam chowder and Italian chopped salad.  We would argue that the pizza in New Jersey is the best.  It's like eating cheese and crackers, and who doesn't like cheese and crackers?  Many people from New Jersey and New York have migrated west and brought thin crust pizza with them, but it is just not the same.  It must be something in the water because when you hold up a piece of thin crust pizza in L.A. it is limp and flops over like a you-know-what.  When you hold up a piece of Pete and Elda's pizza it is erect, well, like a you-know-what.  A piece of Pete and Elds's pie is perfect; thin, crispy crust, a light smathering of sauce and perked up with some sausage and pepper.  If you never get to Jersey for some cheese and crackers, you leave us no choice but to call you a mook. You mook!

Shortly after we devoured our first meal upon our arrival east, we decided it was time to wash it down with some delicious beverages at our favorite watering hole:  Kelly's Tavern.  We fell in love with Kelly's on our first visit to Jersey due to their amazing bar and delicious open-faced Reuben sandwich (more on that later).  Kelly's was founded by an Irish family and is very heavily decorated with an Irish flare.  Right up our alley.  They have an amazingly long wooden bar that looks like something you would find when visiting a pub on the Emerald Isle.  Well, despite the bar being long and expansive, the service is remarkable.  From the moment you order a beer, to the moment it arrives in front of you, there is hardly a moment to develop a thirst.  Not only are their servers quick, but they're also pretty entertaining.

Our bartender personally took it upon himself to school us on the proper pronunciation of Smithwick's.  'Smiddicks' he would yell, 'Smiddicks!' Then he would go to each of us and make sure we said it correctly... there's no time to press your tongue against your teeth when thirsty at Kelly's.

Our bartender also took a shine to Al's Uncle when he found out that he was born and raised in Jersey and visiting from California.  'That's my BOY!' our bartender yelled, when Al's Uncle expressed his happiness to be back in Jersey.

As time drew closer to closing time, Al's Dad decided that it would be a good idea to have an Irish Car Bomb.  See, Al's Dad was unaware of what a Car Bomb was, but when he saw the fun a group of guys were having while pounding their drinks, he decided that he should indulge in the fun too.  Al's Dad and I raised our glasses and tipped them toward the ceiling in honor of his first bomb and our trip to Joisey. We downed our Guinness, Irish whiskey and Bailey's blend, although half of mine ended up on my shirt.

Next up... Pennsylvania delicious dishes and an Irish Pub that turned dance party.