A Trip To This Galaxy Will Cost You

My grandfather was very loyal to certain restaurants. He knew the owner, the menu, and most importantly, the wait staff. A meal for him was much more than showing up, having a cocktail, eating food, and paying the check. For him it was equally about connecting with other people and learning a little bit (or a lot) of their life's story. For a number of years, he called Li'l Joe's Pub in Bath, Ohio, his home away from home. This was where he would go to unwind, have a Manhattan (or two) and order one of his favorites from the menu, like the linguine with white clam sauce. Sadly, Li'l Joe's closed down a number of years ago (although Papa Joe's is still going strong) and in its place today are the Ken Stewart power duo of Tre Belle and The Lodge.

Without a place to go on a regular basis, my grandfather sought the comforts of an eatery much closer to where he lived in Wadsworth, the Galaxy Restaurant. At the time it was just a restaurant and banquet facility, but over the years a pub, wine room, and small market have been added. While I have eaten on and off at this restaurant for over a dozen years since it originally opened, it wasn't until I saw fellow food blogger CJ's review on CJ's Real Deals on Meals that I realized that with all of the Wadsworth restaurants I HAD reviewed, for some reason I missed this one.

I decided to stop out today for a late lunch and do a formal review of them. The facility was located right off of I-76 and Rt. 94. The address was 201 Park Center Drive, Wadsworth, OH 44281 and they can be reached at 330-334-3663. Parking was available in a lot that surrounds the entire building. Here was the sign that delineated where the property began:


Once I had parked, I walked up to the entrance (there were several) that was most closely connected with the dining room:


Fortunately, once you are inside, there is a connecting hallway that runs the length of the building from the banquet facilities to the pub. The dining room seemed particularly empty and when the woman manning the hostess booth returned to her station, she said that I could eat in the dining room if I wanted to or I could enjoy myself (and the same lunch menu) over in the pub. Figuring that there would at least be a television or two to entertain me while I ate, I chose to walk past the small market to the pub entrance.

After being seated, I was handed the menu:





While the menu has evolved and adapted over the years, there were still some old stalwarts in existence on the menu today: The chicken salad has been a long-time favorite of my grandmother's. When I saw that they were offering hand breaded onion rings, I decided to pair them with one of the sandwiches. But first, I was in the mood for either a cup of soup or a small salad. Interestingly, some of the salads offered were plated in either half or full portions. When I saw the spinach salad with bacon and hard boiled egg AND that it was available in a half size, I was hooked.

Here was my spinach salad:


This was a HALF portion! It was huge. I can only imagine how large the full portion would be. The salad came pre-dressed with a red wine vinaigrette and while I was initially worried that it would come swimming in dressing, I was pleasantly surprised that it was dressed perfectly. Besides the spinach leaves, the salad had cooked and chopped bacon, egg, mushrooms, red onion slivers, shredded carrots, and in an unusual twist, fresh bean sprouts.

First, the good. The dressing had a nice balance to it between the sweet and the sour. The spinach was very fresh and crunchy. The bacon added nice bursts of saltiness to the dish. The bean sprouts, even with all of the other flavors going on, easily sang through the other flavors, but didn't overpower the symphony of flavors. Second, the not-so-good. The mushrooms were slimy. There was barely any egg in the salad. The dressing needed more salt. Nevertheless, I finished my portion.

While I already knew I would be upgrading my order today to take advantage of the onion rings, I wasn't quite sure with which sandwich I would pair it. I let my gaze fall across the "Sandwiches" section of the menu until it eventually gravitated to the Chicken Parmesan sandwich served on a toasted hoagie roll. This was what I would order today.

Here was a shot of my lunch as it arrived from the kitchen:


First, let's talk about the Chicken Parmesan sandwich:


The bun was fresh and nicely toasted, with the exception of the spine, where sauce had compromised the integrity of the bun and turned it into a marinara mush. The rather large and awkward piece of fried-from-frozen chicken didn't sit very well on the hoagie bun and I had to use my knife to more or less cut it into multiple pieces and wedge it between the two halves. The marinara looked a little bit scant in terms of portion size, but when I finally bit into the sandwich, it turned out to be an adequate amount of sauce. Picking up my newly adjusted sandwich, I took a bite and was rewarded with hot, but completely dry chicken meat. It wasn't dessicated, but neither was it juicy. The sandwich was ... eh, okay.

I next turned my attention to the onion rings:


First, the good. The breading was tasty and not greasy. Clearly these had been hand breaded just before frying. On onion rings that had some thickness to them, the sweet flavor from the onion was a nice balance to the saltiness of the coating. Overall, these were decent rings. Second, the bad. Not very many of the rings were thick enough to provide the proper sweet contrast to the savory outside coating. Many of the rings were so thin before frying that they became like onion jerky. Finally, clearly these had been hand breaded just before frying. Yes, yes, gentle reader, I know I listed that in the positives column. Let me explain. Because they hadn't had time to sit with the coating on them before frying, as you touched each ring, heck, if you breathed in the wrong direction, the coating on the rings would shatter and fall off. It became almost an exercise in futility to try and get a ring with coating into your mouth.

Accompanying the onion rings today was a side of Bistro Sauce. While it looked like Thousand Island dressing, when I tasted it, the additional flavors of sweet pickle relish and a spiciness of some type, perhaps cayenne, also came into play. The sauce actually went well with the onion rings, but because the rings were so nicely seasoned, I didn't use very much of the sauce. My server, distressed that I hadn't like the sauce because I had placed it on the table instead of on my plate, asked me if I didn't like it. I assured him that everything was fine and I had only placed it on the table to give me more room on the plate.

With tax and suitable tip, my lunch today (I had a glass of water) came to $19. Now, $19 isn't exactly cheap for lunch, and given the quality of the lunch I did have, I'd say the value today was a bit in question. While the Galaxy (and especially the pub) have served as a popular meeting spot for out-of-town friends who need a spot for a pint of their favorite frosty beverage and a bite to eat, for this kind of money, the food really ought to be stellar. I do intend to return to review the dinner menu in the dining room. Since lunch is the same no matter where you sit, I hope that this review gave you a good idea of what to expect should you decide to go for yourself.

Grandpa, Still Gone And Still Not Forgotten

Today marks the second anniversary of my grandfather's death. It seems a little odd that one year ago when I wrote up a blog entry recalling some of my favorite memories relating to my grandfather, I remember feeling a fire inside of me. It was as if my fingers couldn't type fast enough and in one fell swoop, everything that had been pent up in my brain and simmering for so long just flowed from my fingertips to the keyboard, already edited and ready for publication.

Today's entry has not been as forthcoming. It isn't that there is a lack of stories I could recall. Oh, no, I've got plenty of those. I simply think that I may have moved on in the grieving process and while I do really miss my grandfather, I firmly believe that I've stopped mourning for him. I miss him, sure, but the pain has subsided. Actually, I don't even know if that's the right way to say it, because before my grandfather, I'd never lost someone so close to me. All I know is that a year ago, I had angst. Now? Not so much.

My grandmother and I sit around now and occasionally bring up how much he used to like to both grill outdoors and enjoy his Manhattans, speculating that he may have liked the cocktails a touch more than the cooking. I remember doing post-dinner walks with my grandfather when I was a little boy, exploring the new housing developments that had sprung up near their home on Dohner Drive. My grandfather was in the habit of chewing on scallions to keep the mosquitoes at bay. I don't know what kind of repelling effect it had on the mosquitoes, but I'm sure my grandmother wasn't too fond of it.

I have fond memories of butter basted eggs in the morning; not-so-fond memories of ham salad sandwiches for lunch, perched in front of the large console television set watching Dorothy Fuldheim on the mid-day Channel 5 news; the ever present mid-afternoon Shirley Temple, my glass of lemon-lime soda studded with as many of the maraschino cherries as I could humanly fit (and that my grandparents would allow); and the occasional snack I would enjoy in the evenings, when a favorite past-time of my grandmother's was to play Down And Out, a dice game where you roll and move sliding tiles.

My grandparents' house was where I learned what Peter Pan peanut butter tasted like. Our house had always been a JIF household, and the notion that all peanut butter was NOT created equal was somewhat of a revelation to me at such a young age. To this day, even though when I have a choice I will pick an all natural peanut butter, I can always tell when a restaurant uses Peter Pan. It has a very particular sweet and salty flavor to it.

I think what I will always regret, and I suppose this must be the final stage of grief, is that I won't be able to share those communal experiences, like eating and talking, with my grandfather anymore. I speculated a year ago and I think it is still an appropriate notion that my grandfather would be, if nothing else, fascinated by the idea of what this blog has turned into. He would've even been more fascinated to learn that through such little promotion of my own, I have managed to attract a core of loyal readers.

I don't know that he would've understood the technological components behind writing a blog (my grandmother has a very tenuous grasp on the concept at best), and I don't know that I would've wanted to get into another, "But what the hell is DOT COM?" two-hour discussion with him, but I think the underlying principle that I've somehow shared my experiences with you is an idea he could connect with strongly.

My grandfather and I disagreed on a lot of topics, politics being among the most common. And I will concede that we even had differing opinions on some aspects of food. He was always of the opinion that the potato should come on a plate separate from the meat and a sprig of parsley was all that was required to dress up a nice steak. Personally, I enjoy a plate with a bit of height and pizazz. But the one place where we always came together was on taste. He may not have known much about how to prepare most food, but he knew a good plate of food when it was put in front of him.

Once again I will find myself in the not-so-uncommon position of being at the Velvet Tango Room after work today and I intend to enjoy a Tango Manhattan on his behalf.

Grandpa, I just wanted you to know that I'm trying my best to take care of Grandma with the time she has left here with us and that we are looking forward to that point in the future when you two can be the loving and cantankerous couple once again.

Grandpa

One year ago today, my grandpa died. And while I thought I was over his passing, I'm guessing that I'm not.

My grandpa was my first real epicurean inspiration. He grew up at a time in our country's food history where there were no convenience products. Sure, people were self-canning their own produce, but there was no access to the vast quantity of processed foods we are buried under at today's supermarket. He used to talk fondly of the sheer quality and quantity of food that his mother used to make on a regular basis. Apparently to make ends meet, his mother took on borders and would cook meals family-style. Unfortunately, I only knew my great-grandmother as a very young child before I had a chance to develop any sense of a food palate, so I was never able to experience the awesome amount of cooking knowledge she must have possessed.

The memories I hold most dear regarding my grandpa always seemed to center around food. I remember being grateful in high school and college when he treated me to a good restaurant meal. Having no money at the time, I always vowed that someday I would return the favor. Finally, after graduating and landing that first job, I was thrilled for the first time to be able to treat him to a good meal.

My grandpa was a bit of a card and loved to interact with other people. This sometimes led to some embarrassment of myself, but in general, he was just a guy who loved to socialize. One particularly poignant moment is the first time I took him to the Baricelli Inn located in Cleveland. At the time, the Baricelli Inn was what one would consider "uppity", "snooty" if you will. We had ordered our meal, an appetizer, salad, and entree and a wonderful bottle of wine. About half-way through our first glass of wine, the waiter brought out the appetizers. I don't remember what we ordered, but it was decadent and delicious (as was the entire meal, actually).

Shortly thereafter, our persnickety waiter returned to check on the progress of our appetizer course. It was at this moment my grandpa gleefully exclaimed that it was "'Raat good!" and then proceeded to explain that he was from West Virgina and that was how they say it down there. Another time he responded that his meal was "Deee-wicious!", just like the little boy from the French's mustard commercial had done on the television. I would've been mortified had it not been so funny to see our waiter's reaction. I realized at that moment that my grandpa's outlook on life was the same whether he was sitting in a four star restaurant or the diner at the end of the block. From then on, his comments never bothered me anymore. (As a side note, the Baricelli Inn has since completely revamped it's menu and style and become much more accessible to a wider variety of customers.)

During the late 1990's in the midst of the Internet boon, I was fortunate enough to discover an upscale Mediterranean restaurant named Grappa's. Led by Chef Scot Jones (currently Executive Chef for The Vegiterranean in Akron), we would dine there about twice a month, the check always being picked up by me (those were some good years, consulting-wise). One of the servers there became our most requested server because of how well she took care of my grandfather and doted on him. After a number of months of visits, I finally had the chance to speak to her while my grandpa was in the restroom. I thanked her for the tremendous job she had always done taking care of us, especially taking the extra time I know she didn't have to talk with my grandpa. She simply looked at me and said, "You know, I have a grandpa, too. And that's how I'd want him to be treated if our roles were reversed." I shed a tear even now thinking about her kindness.

And although I didn't start my food blog until after his death, I would like to think that what I've done up to this point would make him happy. I share in his love of eating good food and engaging in good conversation. I've even discovered his love of Manhattans through my good friends at the Velvet Tango Room where they make a delicious Tango Manhattan. I wish I had discovered VTR a little earlier in my life when he was still around. As a cocktail drinker all his life, I think he would've appreciated the artistry and commitment that the entire staff has for an excellent cocktail.

So, while I can't bring you back, grandpa, I can raise my Tango Manhattan to your memory and spirit tomorrow night when I meet up with friends to help celebrate life, happiness, and a love for good food.