Archives (page 8 of 12)

August 2, 2018

Back in Time

Originally published in the August 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

Scott Mulhollen stared at the screen in silent disbelief. With only an hour notice, he’d received a tip on an eBay auction too good to be true. As the clock ticked away with only seconds to spare, he made his first and only bid.

He took a moment to let the win sink in, then he picked up the phone to confirm it was all really happening. The stranger who answered seemed somber, then his wife got on the line and was clearly confused. She didn’t even know her husband was selling it.

“Who is this?” she asked again, to which he politely replied, “I’m Scott, the guy who just bought your DeLorean.”

Graciously offering to back out of the sale, Mulhollen learned the car was the couple’s first purchase together when they were wed in 1982 and had been meticulously maintained ever since. But now retired and downsizing, it was time to move on.

“I didn’t have the heart to tell them what I was going to do to their car. You never know how someone is going to react,” he recalled. “So I chose to respect their memories, assuring them I was going to take care of it as lovingly as they had, that it wasn’t going to a chop shop or flipper.”

Mulhollen wasn’t kidding. He loves the car, and has his whole life. But he’s no classic car aficionado or broker of automotive ephemera intent on turning a quick buck.

“You rarely find a car this pristine and well preserved, and never at this price,” Mulhollen explained, whose bid was well above the $28,500 he actually paid. “The guy who owned it before me was an electrical engineer and stripped the entire car and rewired it, because DeLoreans were known for sometimes catching on fire. Collectors want everything original, so I was the only bidder.”

That was hardly the end of the upgrades. It’s taken nearly 30 years and a small fortune to realize the vision of his adolescence. But after months of delays and painstaking modifications, Scott Mulhollen is now the owner of a bona fide time machine.

“I remember sitting in the theater as a kid watching Back to the Future and dreaming about someday owning ‘that car,’” he confessed.

Mulhollen now runs his own self-defense school, which often requires connecting with kids who aren’t always easy to reach. A long-time collector of iconic ’80s memorabilia, his office is more of a museum dedicated to his childhood, from Garfield to Ghostbusters. Not just trinkets either — everything from autographed animation cells to a legit proton pack. Even his martial arts background and enthusiasm for teaching grew out of his own experience with bullying. He was an actual Karate Kid who defied more than a few naysayers and turned a calling into a career. “When kids come here, it helps to let them know I was just like them,” he explained. “But there was still that one big dream that remained out of reach.”

For those of a certain age, it’s almost impossible to overstate how beloved Back to the Future is as both a personal and pop cultural milestone. I was an exchange student to Japan in the summer of ’86 and my host brother had a bootleg recording of just the audio from Back to the Future he’d played on his Walkman nearly nonstop for a year before I arrived. It’s essentially how he learned English. We’re still in touch, and can still exchange every line of dialogue even decades later.

“When I was initially considering all of this, I knew it had to be a business to make sense, but one that enabled me to share this passion with others and make a positive impact,” he recalled. “With the right combination of private rentals and charity events, I knew I could make it work.”

It cost nearly twice as much to convert the car as he’d paid for it, and it shows. It looks handmade, which it is and as it should. There’s a delicate balance to creating cinematic replicas. Too stingy and it feels cheap. Too polished and it feels mass-produced. Perhaps only the Batmobile is as indelible down to the most exacting detail. Complete with lighting and sound effects, diodes and doodads, Marty McFly himself couldn’t tell the difference.

“When the film’s prop makers were designing the car, they wanted it to look like something Doc Brown could have made in his garage,” he explained. “It took the builder seven months, and even then, he’d have taken another month or two if I let him.”

Once you get past the heavy price tag, the sticker shock gives way to immediate envy. Plenty of people spend as much or more on a midlife crisis car that no one wants to have over for their birthday party or private gathering. You could have just another Tesla, or you could have a time machine and folks will gladly pay you to come hang out for a few hours.

“My goal is three years to pay off the car, a few big gigs and we’ll get there,” he noted. “The car isn’t really an expense; it’s an investment that holds its value. I could sell it tomorrow and still make money on the deal.”

Delays in the conversion pushed the debut until just after Ready Player One’s premiere — which was unfortunate, but not tragic. Summer commitments like Ohio Comic Con and a recent al fresco screening of Back to the Future at the Gateway Film Center were already booked, and events to raise funds for children’s charities and Parkinson’s research were also in the works. But blockbuster blowouts aren’t the only option to get up close and personal with a piece of the past, or the future.

“I have a woman coming down today from Toledo with her husband to see the car, and he has no idea. Those are the reactions that are priceless,” Mulhollen said. “People get emotional, they get overwhelmed. I’ve had people cry before, whether you’re a CEO or the guy who operates the forklift. They may be in their forties, but when they sit in this car, suddenly they’re 10 again. It really is a time machine.” ▩

For scheduled events and private rental details, visit ohiotimemachinerental.com

August 2, 2018

Cocktail Curiosity

Originally published in the August 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

Chad White doesn’t look like what you’d probably expect from the founder of the Ohio Rum Society. He lacks the sailor’s swagger and pirate’s pedigree some mistakenly associate with the world’s most versatile and diverse distilled spirit. Also absent is the alienating ego that easily identifies pretentious experts in elixirs as unmistakably as a parrot, an eye patch, or a peg leg.

Instead, you’ll find the modest charm and Midwestern demeanor of a kid from Toledo, captured by the allure of Columbus more than a decade ago, who carved out his own corner of the local craft cocktail scene in a category that stretches far past the fabled shores of the Caribbean.

“I was the victim of really great niche marketing,” White confessed of his college years at Ohio University and an early affinity for rum. “It wasn’t until I ordered a flight of premium rums with a friend at a rum bar in Cleveland that I realized there was more out there.”

The most familiar names in American rum aren’t awful, but aren’t exactly transparent either. Adulterated by artificial flavoring and coloring, many are more like alcoholic soda pop than true spirits. Luckily, White and his future wife’s shared love of travel afforded him the opportunity to collect interesting bottles from exotic locations, a hobby that quickly escalated, perhaps out of hand.

“It wasn’t long before my suitcases were coming back filled with rum,” he chided. “My wife told me I either had to drink it or share it—not just the rum, but my passion for it.”

Columbus has a knack for finding or following the next new thing. From coffee and cocktails to breweries and barbecue, White knew he couldn’t be the only one in town experimenting at home with his spirit of choice. What started as just another Facebook group to exchange articles and opinions on the emerging rum scene didn’t stay there long.

“That online conversation soon evolved into inviting friends to my house for tastings,” he recalled. “If there were a bunch of bourbon drinkers, I’d start out with something dry and well-balanced, but with a little weight, obviously aged, with bold flavors.”

Further reinforcing the notion that everyone already seems to know everyone else in Columbus, that first formal gathering at Grass Skirt Tiki Room quickly grew to connections and subsequent soirées at Curio, Denmark on High, Blind Lady Tavern, and The Light of Seven Matchsticks. It turned out there was quite a bit of quiet dabbling behind local bars as well, substituting rum for traditional base spirits.

“It connected me with all of these underground rum geeks—bartenders, proprietors, but also curious cocktailers—people who love brown spirits like bourbon, or white spirits like tequila. People who love the craft of fermentation and distillation.”

White is a recruiter for the tech sector by day, a knack that clearly extends beyond his keyboard. Unlike similar ‘societies’ that simply need to usher a readymade community into the same room, White had to educate and elevate rum among the masses while roping everyone into the same orbit.

Two years in, there’s no slowdown in sight, with meetings nearly monthly, an updated membership program, and a new name—recognizing the greater geographic reach and influence of his growing group of self-described ‘rumheads.’

“We began as the Central Ohio Rum Society, but soon started pulling in members from around the state for our tastings. So we’re now the Ohio Rum Society, even though our interest is really international.”

Themed meetings from “January in Jamaica” to “Rum, Beer, and Revolution” tap into the convergence of history and chemistry, as well as practical and tactical conversations, like getting rum into the country a little easier by flying back through Puerto Rico for a less onerous trip through U.S. Customs.

“I have three bottles of rum I ordered from Europe that have been waiting for weeks in Customs in Chicago,” he explained. “Importers are still figuring out if there is enough interest in the States to distribute here. So that’s part of the hunt.”

Speaking of flights, no conversation about rum would be complete without one. Like most, I know what I like even if I lack the keen palette or industry jargon to put it into words. But that’s where White and his fellow rumheads earn their reputation as approachable connoisseurs, not another class of liquor snobs. Chad carefully curated a collection based on my beer and bourbon background. In fact, he could easily spot each style and brand at a glance, an impressive feat after more than an hour of cocktails and chit-chat in a deliberately dim tiki bar.

He described the origin and attributes of each as I sipped and swished, noting the time and terroir evident in the sweet heat and woody finish of the aged rums before moving up to the bright bite and botanical nuances of the rhum agricole, made from distilled cane juice, not fermented molasses. The journey from 60 proof to 120 was dangerously delicious, and it’s a flight that might require a copilot to get home.

“Rum is a shapeshifter,” he explained. “That’s what we love about it.”

Obsession over such subtleties may sound like the musings of wine wonks. But as an admitted rum amateur, the flavor profiles actually fit right in line with my inner coffee geek—sometimes spicy, earthy, or even floral, but never one note.

We wrapped up with shots from his personal stash (a rare bottle from Barbados actually signed by the distiller) and a couple more classic cocktails, further burnishing the depth and breadth the right rum can bring to nearly any glass—not just those with a garish garnish or bawdy boat drinks in your buddy’s basement.

“None of these rums were available in Ohio when I started,” he revealed, noting the reach of the Ohio Rum Society in creating demand from restaurants to retail. “It’s why rum is still so shrouded in mystery for most, past the major brands. But that’s why we’re here. Columbus is a trendsetter, and we’re fundamentally changing the way people think about rum.” ▩

For more on the Ohio Rum Society, find them on Facebook.

July 1, 2018

Change is in the Wind

Originally published in the July 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

Pop Quiz: What does the City of Columbus flag look like?

If you don’t know, you’re not alone. And even if you do, you probably aren’t too excited about it. But maybe that can change, and should change. At least that’s the opinion of an army of armchair vexillologists (flag geeks), who think many of our obscure symbols of civic pride nationwide are overdue for an upgrade.

Citizens from Sioux Falls to Milwaukee are organizing campaigns and committees to rethink the most obvious, yet often inconspicuous, incarnation of their cities. As an emerging epicenter of arts and innovation, perhaps we should join them.

“I didn’t even realize what our city flag looked like. I’m sure I’d seen it before, but never really paid much attention to it,” confessed Paul Nini, OSU design professor, and creator of The People’s Flag of Columbus. “This situation of a city flag like we have is pretty common because they’re generally created by governments, not designers. They just have the official seal and whatever else they throw on there.”

Nini was inspired by Roman Mars, Newark native and host of the prolific design-focused podcast 99% Invisible. Mars also happened to be the keynote speaker at an industry conference Nini attended in 2015 and the idea stuck.

“I tried to follow the basic rules of what makes a great flag. The design should be simple and memorable and have meaning behind the forms,” he explained. “It has negative white spaces that come through the center representing Broad and High, with the star as a symbol that we’re the state capital. The fields of blue and green with a semicircle represent the Scioto River and the Franklinton peninsula, the heart of the city, the original area of downtown. Anything more complicated gets tricky.”

For those who may not know, the current city flag is only the latest incarnation, with several since its inception. Over time, it’s come to incorporate images of the statehouse, Buckeye leaves, and the Santa Maria, along with the typical eagle, stars, and other stuff shared by nearly every flag of the era. But it’s all so cluttered and compressed, you have to squint to even make any of it out.

In contrast, Ohio’s swallowtail burgee is the rock star of state flags, cited by historians and designers alike as a prime example of following the rules, but still breaking them. For more than a century, Ohio didn’t even have an official flag. But Cleveland architect John Eisenmann’s design and the symbolism behind it still feel modern, unlike the Columbus flag, despite being about the same age.

“The original proposal tried to use the original colors, to get the city interested in it,” Nini recalled. “This was before Ginther was elected mayor and was still City Council president. I talked to his chief of staff who essentially said, ‘This is nice, but it isn’t really on our radar.’”

Reluctance is pretty typical as well. The current design was created by a CPD officer, denoted by the shield. That and the contemporary controversy over the city’s namesake are where sentiment and sensitivity collide. Even if our flag wasn’t what critics call a “badge on a bed sheet,” changing it won’t be easy.

“That’s very different than a city like Chicago with its four six-pointed stars embraced by everyone, from city government to its citizens,” noted Nini. “They love it. They use it everywhere. It’s a symbol of pride for the city.”

Nini was raised in Clintonville and still calls it home, but a recent grad school reunion in Chicago only reinforced his resolve that Columbus is a city that is changing, and our flag should reflect that.

“I was at my alma mater and friends and faculty were saying, ‘We keep hearing how cool Columbus is now,’” he said. “That’s what’s happening, and our flag should be a symbol of the city and where we are going. Whether or not everyone is going to get behind it, I have no idea.”

Nini isn’t the only one vexed by our city flag, though his design does seem to have the most traction. There’s an alternate concept that maintains the current color scheme and features a compass rose, a more iconic reference to Christopher Columbus. There’s even a “Bad Flags” blog based in Columbus with the snarky suggestion of a giant ice cream cone as a more accurate and less divisive symbol for the city.

“I decided not to worry about the government and rebrand it ‘The People’s Flag’ and promote it that way — a path of least resistance,” he chided. “Having been involved in lots of things over the years — as a musician, I’ve been in bands — I’ve learned it’s always best to keep your expectations low, because then you don’t get too disappointed.”

All great ideas get pushback. But we live in a branded city in a branded age. Former Mayor Coleman had the foresight to enlist local agency Ologie to help define and design the city’s visual identity. The flag wasn’t included in that effort, perhaps a hint of how truly invisible municipal flags have become.

“Last summer, I finally found a place that would do on-demand printing and fabrication of flags. Everywhere else I found before would make the flags, but I’d have to buy like a hundred of them and handle all of the sales and shipping myself,” he said. “Now you can buy just one, for anyone who wants to fly it. There are also t-shirts, buttons, decals. If you don’t want to buy a flag, you can still show your support.”

Those supporters have swelled beyond his students and the creative community, and literally letting folks put his idea into the wind has been a winning strategy in other cities where initial proposals to update their flags also fell flat. It’s a battle of attrition, but not a bitter one.

“Having grown up here in the ’60s and ’70s, the city has grown up too. People love the city now and appreciate it for what it’s become,” Nini said, hoping that organic adoption and a few influential brand champions can find the inroads that have thus far remained elusive. “If I drive by homes and local businesses that are flying the flag with pride, that’s the point. A flag should be something people can rally around, a brand that brings communities together. Even if the city doesn’t see it yet, hopefully they will. ▩

For more on The People’s Flag of Columbus, visit columbuspeoplesflag.com

July 1, 2018

Delicatessen Delicacies

Originally published in the July 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

If an upscale deli sounds like a half-baked idea, you obviously haven’t been to Harvey & Ed’s.

The latest creation from Cameron Mitchell Restaurants combines Jewish comfort food classics with artful execution in a Short North space that evokes the unpretentious ease of an East Coast eatery. Named for best friends and brothers-in-law, Harvey and Ed are the father and uncle of CMR President David Miller, with many of the menu offerings inspired by his childhood and the familiar fare of the family kitchen.

But noshes and nostalgia aren’t enough to build a cohesive brand that carefully couples corned beef with a cocktail bar. That’s why it took a team of talent to craft a dining experience new to Central Ohio, yet still unique among the establishments from which they drew their influence.

“We wanted to do something that felt East Coast,” revealed General Manager Jill Armstrong. She and Executive Chef Jonathan Basch traveled to New York and Philadelphia to find the elusive balance between uptown appeal and downtown authenticity. Both hail from Ohio and started relatively recently with Cameron Mitchell, and in the Short North — Armstrong as a server at The Pearl, and Basch as a prep cook at Marcella’s — affording the first-hand insights necessary to connect with the neighborhood and the clientele.

“We went to Katz’s, which is ‘go-go-go’ and not quite fine dining. We really loved Russ & Daughters and Sadelle’s, which have great vibes,” Armstrong noted. “In Philadelphia, we went to Abe Fisher, which is a high-end, more polished version of what we liked, all the way to Zahav, which is more critically acclaimed with a lot of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern influences.”

“That’s how we wrapped our heads around what Harvey & Ed’s was going to be, the difference between being a delicatessen and deli-inspired, a concept that didn’t really exist in this market, but would fit well in the Short North,” she explained.

The location was already a done deal, though the updated deli counter and dining room bear little resemblance to Rigsby’s Kitchen. Amid construction hassles that abound in the area, foot traffic is brisk, even if parking is still a mess. Despite the newness and faint echoes of the former Italian eatery, the restaurant feels like it’s always been there, or always should have.

“Some people are just excited about the new concept, but we also have people who moved here from New York,” explained Armstrong, noting the table where we were seated served a couple originally from Brooklyn the evening prior. “It’s a mix of adventurous eaters who want to see what we’re all about and transplants to Columbus from the East Coast.”

It’s an easy oversight for ambitious restaurateurs to focus first on atmosphere and aesthetic, and let the menu evolve over time. But Harvey and Ed’s is in many ways new for Columbus — built around a pent-up demand for delicatessen delicacies for some, yet having to essentially introduce ingredients and entire entrees to many. Even I didn’t know Columbus had a dearth of pickled herring until a friend was unwittingly pinched by the TSA trying to bring back a small jar from Russ & Daughters in his carry-on and made him toss it. He still can’t stop kvetching about it.

Though the capital city’s Eastern European roots are represented in the restaurant scene, and with a Jewish community among the largest in the Midwest, some dishes may still require a little deciphering for the uninitiated, offering a new appreciation of why Mrs. Maisel deftly described pot roast as “Methodist for brisket”.

“Not everyone knows what a knish is,” confessed Basch, charged with keeping the menu traditional, approachable, and innovative — which is a tall order for any chef. “We use chicken livers in our chopped liver. Some use beef livers, but there’s a little less iron and they’re sweeter, and we sweat the onions down in schmaltz”.

Bubbe’s Matzo Ball soup is far more familiar, even if it’s the size of a fist, just like Miller remembers them as a kid. Egg Creams are my own long-awaited soda fountain staple, despite the misnomer, containing neither — just Fox’s U-Bet chocolate syrup, milk, and seltzer in perfect proportion.

“Then we got more creative, from the Knoblewurst, which is beef sausage made at The Butcher & Grocer in Grandview, to the Pomegranate Braised Lamb,” he revealed. “Our brisket is confited. It’s so tender, you can cut it with a spoon.”

Purveyors were thoughtfully curated between authentic brands and local sources, a deliberate mix of homage and in-house. Block’s Bagels were a given, with Matt’s Bakery and Orlando for challah and rye, and Turano potato buns from Chicago rounding out the rolls. But the babka and pastries on the deli side are all baked in the back. After some trial and error, Basch decided his Columbus kitchen could hold its own preparing almost all of the fish you’ll find on the menu, from Kippered Salmon to Gravlax. Detroit’s Sy Ginsberg is synonymous with corned beef, closer than Katz’s, and for my money, just as likely make Meg Ryan writhe in her seat.

More sophisticated tastes won’t feel shorted either, from the Latke Royale (with crème fraîche, cured salmon, caviar, fennel, and green apple) to the Seared Seabass (served with vegetable goulash, spatzle, and cucumber yogurt), or keep more Midwest with a Pastrami Burger (aged Havarti, horseradish pickle, tomato, and brown mustard). They’ll even put a fried egg on it if you ask.

Adding a fried egg isn’t the only nod to Columbus culinary expectations. Their brunch expands the menu even further, while their deceptively simple cocktails are the thread that ties the days, nights, and weekends together.

“We don’t serve cocktails with a giant garnish and ten ingredients. We’re more spirit forward, with three or four high-quality ingredients,” explained Armstrong, with the Boozy Egg Cream served in a milk bottle with a metal straw offered as an example of the more playful, less stuffy, cocktail philosophy. “Our seven-day happy hour also includes wine and beer specials, with half-off craft cocktails and noshes as well. We wanted to be sure we reach the bar crowd and keep that a focal point. It balances the restaurant. We want Columbus to know we’re more than just a deli.” ▩

Harvey & Ed’s is located at 698 N High Street. Reservations at harveyandeds.com.

June 18, 2018

The Dube Abides

Originally published in the Summer 2018 issue of Stock & Barrel

When the beloved Blue Danube abruptly announced they were closing after 78 years, the news nearly broke hearts and local Facebook feeds. But early reports of their eminent demise were perhaps a bit premature.

Yes, the most recent operator Bob Swaim had planned to hold on into June. And the Margetis family, which has actually owned the building for decades while retaining rights to the name, quietly revealed plans to remodel and reopen the restaurant in the coming months. No one has offered much in the way of details or assurances, not wanting to become the victim or villain in this story. And neither narrative would likely allay fears about possibly losing yet another Columbus culinary landmark to a pretentious gastropub or gaudy watering hole with no soul.

Rather than dwell on what we don’t know, let’s celebrate what we do know about the Dube, hoping that a people’s history might sway both sides into preserving part of what makes The Blue Danube unique, instead of letting a cloudy and contentious transition turn into an excuse to sabotage or abandon what folks love most.

Gaye Spetka’s story stretches back to the early years, when her parents first got together following WWII. “It was more posh back then when my parents had their first date there. My father went to OSU after the war, and my mother was shocked when he ordered a beer,” she laughed. Spetka became a regular herself in the ‘70s. She was thankful for the chance to pass on the legacy before it may be lost. “It was a treat to take my niece and her now husband there to share the story of how her grandparents met. But so much of what I remember of the campus area isn’t the same; it’s ticky-tacky steel and glass structures and asphalt parking lots.”

Colin Dearth is among four generations of faithful patrons, marking family milestones at the Dube for decades. “My grandfather was an Army medic who came to Ohio State and met my grandmother. My parents were both juniors at OSU in the ’60s when I was born and lived right around the corner,” he recalled. Dearth grew up to serve in the 82nd Airborne and Special Forces, but didn’t forget simpler times as a teenager spent scarfing down fries smothered in chicken gravy with friends. “I’d come home and spend 20 minutes going over the menu, but still ordered the steak and eggs every time for like 10 years. And PBR pints for a buck-fifty? They may as well have filled up my trunk.” Now a father of three, he orders the vegetarian chef’s salad and hasn’t had a beer in years. “I’ve celebrated too many birthdays there to count. All of my daughters sat in highchairs at the Dube.”

Natalie Thomson was a waitress there in the ’80s, when the Margetis family previously ran the place. “My father played saxophone and we’d walk from Dick’s Den down to the Dube for a bite to eat afterward. I started working there when I was 17. Some nights, I was the only waitress working as we got closer to close,” she revealed. An anachronism in the age of the smartphone, Thomson also remembers when tenants from the adjacent apartments used the payphone as their personal phone number, and waitresses would run next door to let folks know when they had a call. The experience was a far cry from her eventual occupation as a chef, though formative and unforgettable. “I’ve worked in fine dining restaurants, but I still love a greasy spoon.”

Rico Sullivan also discovered the Dube in the ’80s as a teen, when he and his brother used to sell hot dogs during game days at OSU. “After the game, we’d all go to the video arcade, then The Blue Danube and try to act all hip like the college students we saw there. I fell in love with the fish platter back then,” he recalled. “We loved the atmosphere of the place.” Sullivan went on to teach martial arts and took his students there as well. His wife is originally from Pakistan and still considers it her first true taste of America. “My wife and I eat there and always get nostalgic about our first date. It was heartbreaking to find out they are closing. I have a lot of great memories invested in The Blue Danube.”

Dawn Chapman used to sneak into bars and clubs with her fake ID, but actually came to the Dube when she wanted to be alone. “Sometimes, you just need to escape everyone. I was very shy, so I’d go there to write, smoke cigarettes, and drink coffee. It’s also the first place I ever had a gyro,” she recalled. But it proved difficult to be alone for long at The Blue Danube, forging friendships that endure to this day — and others just for the night. “I always hoped to paint a ceiling tile. ‘Paint a tile and we’ll add it to the pile,’ they said, but I never got around to it. I used to make jewelry, and a few of my designs were inspired by certain ceiling tiles. Tile 32 is still my favorite.”

Mike Cavender found something strangely familiar at The Blue Danube since moving to Columbus in the late ’90s. “There are so many places where we used to go that are gone now. Places like North Campus Video and the Dube weren’t homogenized and still seemed a little rougher around the edges. That’s how I felt back then — rougher around the edges,” he explained. Though a “committed carnivore,” Cavender admitted their black bean burger was his first, and a pleasant surprise. His wife was already familiar with the Dube, particularly its infamous jukebox, when they met. But he’d long considered it a litmus test for whether a date was the right fit. “If you go there on a first date and are both into that kind of place, it’s probably going to work out.”

Despite the brisk bump in business, as the days slipped toward the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next, the Dube’s most recent incarnation just couldn’t hold on any longer. In fact, the Friday after the initial announcement, they had to close early because the kitchen ran out of food and had to restock — perhaps a hint in hindsight foreshadowing the final week. As for the iconic neon inside and out, that Grilled Cheese and Dom Pérignon special, and the fate of those famous ceiling tiles, no one seems to know for sure what will stay or go. When asked prior to the unexpected last call, a bartender simply replied, “Bob’s got a lot on his plate.” ▩

June 1, 2018

Blue Eyed Blues

Originally published in the June 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

When Garrett Dutton was eight years old, it was the Beatles who prompted him to take up the guitar. After learning to fingerpick Blackbird and adding a harmonica to the mix, by fifteen he was writing his own songs. But it wasn’t until he asked the owner of his local record store who else besides Bob Dylan and Neil Young played solo acoustic guitar and blew the harp that he was handed his first John Hammond album.

Though his stage name and notoriety were still years away, that was the moment Garrett became G. Love.

“When I heard his rendition of Statesboro Blues, my whole world changed,” G. Love recalled. “I was used to people strumming the guitar, and this was an entirely different sound — holding the bass, playing riffs, playing melodies, all at the same time. That sound guided me toward Delta blues.”

Faithful execution of traditional blues standards probably would have been enough to make a white kid from Philadelphia stand out amid aging hair bands, the grunge craze, or waning days of power pop. Free style rap was becoming as much a part of the emerging Philly music scene as Hall and Oates had by repurposing R&B in the 70s and 80s, or the defining influence of the Delfonics decades earlier. G. Love turned something old into something entirely new, a nod to the past with the pulse on the present.“

The hip hop side of what I do was just part of growing up in our generation and the music we listened to with our friends,” he explained. “I never really thought of myself as a rapper until one night when I was still a street musician, I finished one of my tunes and started singing Eric B. and Rakim’s ‘Paid in Full’ lyrics over the blues riff I was playing and it was like a light shown down on me. It was something no one else was doing.”

That reference to “our generation” wasn’t just a generalization. G. Love and I have some shared history, though our paths had never formally or formerly crossed. We’re the same age, and despite being unapologetically the product of urban, East Coast upbringings, our formative musical influences run a remarkably similar range from the Beastie Boys and Run DMC to Big Bill Broonzy and Robert Johnson. Just as his genre-defying debut album released, I happened to be the blues producer at a tiny public radio station that either didn’t mind (or didn’t know) how often I brought in milk crates of my own vinyl and patched the board into the only studio left that still had a working turntable. That’s when I first dropped the needle on “Cold Beverage” and the sound was unlike anything else on the air.

What easily could have been another catchy one-hit-wonder seemed to stick. Back before Spotify and SiriusXM, the way most musicians found new audiences was through independent radio and the small club circuit. That’s where G. Love and his Boston-born band, Special Sauce, won fans and defied critics. Though it’s been his enthusiasm to collaborate that continues to find new followings with albums and appearances from Ben Harper and Lucinda Williams to Keb’ Mo’ and Citizen Cope constantly redefining his raconteur style.

“Collaboration should be natural and sincere, but you don’t have to be best friends to cut a song together,” he noted. “Most musicians love to get that call to work on an album together. I know I do.”

One such call came from the Avett Brothers, who produced “Fixin’ to Die”, as well as backing G. Love with enough layered harmonies and bright banjo licks to create a credible Appalachian-inspired album of back porch blues.

“The Avett Brothers were huge fans when they were in high school. Seth had a broken cassette deck in his car that had my album ‘Yeah, It’s That Easy’ stuck in it, playing for a year,” he laughed. “They were already big when they took time out to do my album.”

Despite these seemingly unlikely musical alliances, his most well-known and enduring collaboration is probably with Jack Johnson. The two were introduced by a mutual friend and fellow surfer while G. Love was in L.A. working on an album.

“We came back to my little hotel room and traded songs after surfing all afternoon,” he revealed. “Basically every song he played went his first album, Brushfire Fairytales.”

G. Love championed Johnson’s music, even including an early bluesy release of “Rodeo Clowns” as a duet on that album, Philadelphonic. By the time Johnson was coming into his own, G. Love’s label was cutting smaller bands. Brushfire Records picked up G. Love, where his loyalties and royalties remain to this day.

It’s been a winding road, but not a weary one for G. Love and Special Sauce, celebrating the 25th anniversary of the release of their self-titled album this year with a tour of venues and cities large and small. But it’s those cities in the middle where he expects to keep finding ways to stay new and true to the music he admires and aspires.

“Twenty-five years later, I’m still finding new ways to do the same old thing. I used to get chased off the corner as a street musician, but now Philadelphia is exploding because New York has priced people out,” he explained. “Musicians, artists, and actors are going to thrive where they can afford to live, and get a little steam going. Places like Philly, Baltimore, and Columbus are where I think we’re going to see a wave of creatives over the next ten years, cities with scenes small enough to stand out, but still big enough to make an impact.” ▩

G. Love and Special Sauce will perform at the Columbus Arts Festival on June 9th. For more, visit columbusartsfestival.org

June 1, 2018

Aidan 5

Originally published in the June 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

Bryan Michael Block wasn’t surprised when the phone rang, but it wasn’t the call he was expecting. The conversation was short, but sufficient. He opened the door to his closet and grabbed a gray-striped tie and weathered leather jacket to make sure he looked the part of a police detective. There was a serial killer, it was his job to stop him, and the clock was ticking. But this wasn’t any ordinary case. The murder he was called to solve was his own.

Block has an unsettling stature when the situation requires it. Imagine the disheveled understatement of Harrison Ford in Blade Runner amplified by the ominous presence of Vincent D’Onofrio on a bad day. That grim and gritty look is the reason he was originally cast as the lead actor in the ambitious and acclaimed science-fiction series Aidan 5, which recently returned with its long-awaited second season after starting as a short nearly a decade ago.

“We didn’t know what genre was going to get pulled out of that hat. It could have been a western or a romance. With the 48-Hour Film Project it could have been anything,” recalled Block, whose impulsive and intuitive wardrobe selection set the tone for the lead character. “When they pulled sci-fi, that’s when they decided to make a futuristic film noir.”

Professional and lifelong friendships often intersect with the 48-Hour Film Project, an international competition where local teams squeeze the entire motion picture production process into just two days.

“After the acting was done against a green screen, the backgrounds were drawn and scanned in,” Block explained. “It was really just pen and pencil on a sketch pad, cut up in Photoshop, and dropped into a timeline.”

The finished film was low tech, but high concept — a composite comic book look more akin to Sin City than an A-ha music video. Audiences and the industry took notice, making the rounds online and at larger festivals, eventually making it all the way to Cannes. Even William Shatner tweeted his approval of its innovative techniques and technology with the envious interrogative, “Why aren’t I in it?”

“Ben Bays, who is also a producer here in town, approached us after the 48 about turning it into a web series, how we needed to take this world and expand it,” he explained. “That’s when we started to explore the details and fill in the blanks on the future we’d created.”

The original series opens in 2064 with Detective James Aidan standing over his own corpse, one of several clones with which Block appears on screen simultaneously, stitched together digitally in post-production. A world where cloning is commonplace was a crucial creative device and plot point that propels the now 30-episode series. The entire production was created and executed in Columbus essentially as a community film project, with a cast and crew too numerous to name.

“Season One was shot for no money and was cobbled together. But we had a lot of help between favors, friends, and filmmakers willing to show up for several Saturdays,” Block noted. “Season Two is three and a half hours. Add that to the three hours of Season One and we have four feature films worth of finished content.”

The new season is still set in the same dystopian future, and also employed the signature green screen meets black box theater approach. But unlike the original short or the first series that followed, Season Two took several years to complete, funded through Kickstarter to build interest and cover incidentals.

Filming took place in Columbus as well, minus one notable cameo that was almost too good to be true — Richard Hatch, best known for roles in both the original and reimagined reboot of Battlestar Galactica, but also a passionate supporter of streaming series, podcasts, and similar emerging storytelling platforms.

“We reached out to him, but knew it was a long shot. Even though his scene was small, it was pivotal. We sent him the script and he said he really liked the series and the part,” revealed Bays, showrunner and executive producer of Aidan 5. “He specifically mentioned one of the reasons he was doing it was because he was so impressed with the production and performances in Season One and liked working on projects with up-and-coming talent.”

Schedules didn’t align to shoot Hatch’s scene here. But a green screen can be anywhere, so you’d never know Hatch was in L.A. while Bays directed remotely.

“I just Skyped in and directed over a laptop,” Bays added. “There is even a cast photo of everyone in the studio with Richard and someone is holding up a laptop with my face on the other end.”

Aside from consistent studio space, the second season also piqued the interest of local talent, with more than 40 speaking parts and dozens of extras populating their imaginary world. Even the late John Kuhn, artistic director of the Actors’ Theatre of Columbus read for a role.

“It was the first time we’d ever met him and his voice captivated us. He had such gravitas we decided to create a villain around it,” recalled Block, whose contributions also included casting and helping to create the series backstory. “His performance and reputation gave Aidan 5 a lot of legitimacy in the local the theater community, and the episodic nature allowed us to feature local actors in scenes where everyone felt like a guest star.”

As for the final fate of James Aidan and his clones, Bays confirmed the series was always intended to be a trilogy — but we may have to wait a while before the next installment of episodes, just so everyone can catch their collective breath.

“One of the things about Aidan 5 that we love most is that it is so collaborative. It really is a group of friends working together with the local acting community to create something greater than any of us could do on our own,” explained Bays. “Whether it’s someone like Richard Hatch from L.A. or someone local like John Kuhn, the series creates an outlet for filmmakers, writers, and actors to be a part of something that puts Columbus on the map.” ▩

Both seasons are available now at aidan5.com

April 1, 2018

Industry Outlier

Originally published in the April 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

As counterintuitive as it sounds, the greatest challenge any city has breaking into the film business isn’t film anymore—it’s bandwidth.

Motion pictures, as they’re less commonly called these days, are no longer a succession of still images deceiving the eyes at 24 frames per second. They’re a stream of encrypted elections protected like state secrets. The online release of an early edit of X-Men Origins: Wolverine (minus most visual effects) not only hurt the theatrical release, but was a warning shot felt throughout the industry. Hugh Jackman’s cigar-chomping alter ego may be bulletproof, but his box office appeal remains very mortal in the age of file sharing. Television isn’t immune either. A couple of years earlier, one of the best pilots never to make it into production was Global Frequency. Based on the comic book series of the same name, Warner Brothers execs were so perturbed by its leak through then-new torrenting technology, they put a swift end to the show before it even started.

That’s why Ohio Film Group is very particular about their post-production. Their local studios offer unmatched speed and security through their own secret internet of sorts, easily integrating studio quality capabilities into productions often thousands of miles away — all in an instant.

“We’re a hub on Sohonet, which is a private internet media-based company that allows us to move dense, heavy data from our facility all over the world securely and quickly,” explained Leonard Hartman, president of Ohio Film Group. “We can move a feature length film — hundreds of terabytes — to New York, L.A., or Paris as fast as walking it across the hall.”

Ohio State football fans may recognize that name. The former offensive lineman turned educator and coach launched his second act in Los Angeles at the American Film Institute, eventually establishing himself as a screenwriter and producer. But after starting a family, the practical challenges of life in L.A. and frequent trips back to Ohio to visit extended family made moving back here and occasionally flying there a better option. It’s a long commute, but one that keeps getting shorter thanks to technology that helps him to be there, even when he’s not.

“It allows us to stay connected to a community of creatives in a way they trust. It’s best in class, and we’re part of the network,” Hartman explained. “It allows us to stay connected with decision-makers in New York and L.A. in a way we couldn’t even a few years ago. It makes us relevant.”

Ohio Film Group’s start was as cinematic as Field of Dreams. It may have seemed like a crazy idea to build a production facility in Ohio, especially to studio executives who probably presume Columbus isn’t far from that fabled cornfield. “Build it, and they will come” wasn’t their strategy, but that’s exactly what happened. Projects that easily, if not surely, would have gone elsewhere landed here—including Aftermath, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. The speed and security of Ohio Film Group’s “big pipe” made a big difference in the decision to shoot here and stay here.

“We had 20 producers watching the dailies all over the world, watching what was happening here—giving notes, giving feedback—involved in the process from afar,” recalled Hartman. “They could watch the film being made and interact with the team on the ground. That’s just how it’s done now. If you can’t do that, you’re not part of the game.”

That’s not hype or hyperbole. Hollywood has quickly become a shell of its former self, much like the fake city streets and storefront facades that are all plywood and paint, but empty inside. Even those have become ghost towns as actual production has all but left California for tax credits elsewhere. It’s a gold rush in reverse.

“I was at Paramount not too long ago working on a film talking to one of the producers there who said they had a film shooting on the lot for the first time in five years,” noted Hartman. “They’d had a couple TV shows, but they hadn’t shot a movie on the backlot at Paramount for five years? That’s telling. Tax credits are entry-level. If you don’t have them, you’re not in the business. Canada started it years ago, and Georgia has figured it out for sure. Ohio has them, but the way they are structured could use some work.”

The trick with tax credits for film projects is that they are intended to create jobs, but often those jobs don’t last. They tend to be turn-and-burn positions instead of the ongoing ground-level gigs that are the foundation of a persistent film industry.

“If you’re looking at how you develop an entertainment community, it has to be more than productions that fly in for the tax credits, then fly back out. The real advantage is when those productions stay here, when people live here—buy houses, buy cars, buy groceries,” he explained. “Building facilities is how that happens. That’s a much better return on investment for Ohio taxpayers.”

That’s also why would-be film cities set their sights on television instead of just films. Having a TV series creates jobs that stick around long after the blockbusters close up shop. It may not seem as sexy, but it’s steady work.

“Hollywood isn’t just directors and actors. It’s the people who do all of the other stuff. It’s the grips and the carpenters, the set and costume designers—the worker bees. The only way you entice those people to uproot their families and move to Columbus is to have jobs that don’t go away in 30 days,” noted Hartman. “That’s what Atlanta has done; that’s what Vancouver has done—and there are people leaving L.A. everyday because there’s more work in cities that have that permanent creative class.”

Sadly, Columbus is sort of its own secret, and that’s still a challenge. Whether it’s our modest demeanor or Midwestern work ethic, we don’t brag about ourselves often enough. That’s the trouble with branding. You brand yourself, or someone else will.

“When I talk to people in the industry who have never been to Columbus, they don’t get it. They worry about whether they’ll be able to find anywhere to eat, or cows walking down the street. But if we can get them to come here, then they get it,” he explained. “When you show them the city, they’re surprised. They see the development in and around downtown, how we’re a vibrant city, a vital city. They start to see us like they used to see Portland or Austin just a few years ago. We’ve had clients in from Toronto who remark how much Columbus actually reminds them of Toronto.”

That’s why Ohio Film Group is recruiting technical talent from both coasts and abroad back to Columbus from heavy-hitters like Disney, Rhythm and Hues, and Industrial Light & Magic.

“One thing that makes Ohio more attractive is our cost of living is at least 30 percent less than New York, L.A., or even Atlanta. Every day I get a call from someone in one of those markets who says they’d love to come back to Columbus because of the quality of life and the bang they get for their dollar is so much better,” he revealed. “If we’re serious about the creative class and supporting a local film industry, it’s going to take creative thinking. You can buy all of this—the equipment, the fiber runs, all of it—but it still comes down to people. We’re always looking for the right projects, but we’re also looking for the right people.” ▩

For more about the OFG’s team and their projects, visit ofgpost.com.

March 15, 2018

Searching for Johnny Marzetti

Originally published in the Spring 2018 issue of Stock & Barrel

Philadelphia has the cheesesteak. Boston has clam “chowda.” And New York and Chicago are forever at odds over whose style of pizza is superior.

But did you know Columbus has its own signature dish?

Once an outsider from the East Coast, I thought Johnny Marzetti sounded like someone who might play shortstop for Reds or halfback for the Browns. Despite this lazy lasagna’s legendary following, the uninitiated often learn about it first from new friends and neighbors who eagerly share childhood memories of the dish and its local origin. That doesn’t mean everyone from the Wall Street Journal to Saveur hasn’t reheated the same tale of Teresa Marzetti naming the unassuming entrée of pasta, ground beef, tomato sauce, and cheese after her son-in-law, and how she served it in the family restaurant decades before the name Marzetti became synonymous with salad dressing. Even the Ohio History Connection seems to support the story.

Unfortunately, there’s very little meat to the myth. Though the restaurant was real (two of them in fact, run by two families both named Marzetti) not a single advertisement or menu from either over the better part of a century mentions the dish. Teresa was also very real, though the company that still bears her name is equally adamant that any relation to Johnny Marzetti is likely more folklore than fact.

But that doesn’t mean folks love it any less. It kind of makes it a legit urban legend. An Italian matriarch, fresh off the boat from Florence, pulls together some modest ingredients and creates a sensation so deceptively simple that more than a hundred years later petite cuisine and molecular gastronomy still can’t beat it? Who wouldn’t eat up that story, even if the details are still suspect? It sure beats calling it the long-lost cousin of Hamburger Helper.

Finding the truth behind Johnny Marzetti is nearly as tough as finding it on a menu, unless you know where to look and who to ask.

“We usually have it on Mondays. That’s how it’s been for 29 years,” recalled Kathy Pappas, whose husband, Tommy has been dishing Johnny Marzetti at his eponymous westside diner for nearly three decades. “Our specials are ready to go, for people who don’t have much time for lunch. Johnny Marzetti is perfect, so we make enough for about 50 orders and we always run out.”

At Tommy’s Diner, like most places that secretly serve Johnny Marzetti, even though it’s not on the menu, it’s not exactly off the menu either—nor is there just one recipe. Most often macaroni, rotini or bowtie also work just fine. Vegetables include onions, green pepper, and mushrooms. (Though I highly recommend throwing in some zucchini.) Choice of cheese seems to fall into three schools. Cheddar is the most popular, but mozzarella makes a strong showing as well. Tommy’s tops theirs with a generous portion of grated parm. Opinions also vary on whether it goes into the oven for a quick brown and a bubbly finish, or straight to the plate with shreds or just a sprinkle. Whether original or avant-garde, everyone seems to agree it’s not exactly a chili mac or just another name for goulash.

Nancy’s Home Cooking in Clintonville actually does have it on the menu, but only makes the comfort food classic on Tuesdays. Paul’s Fifth Avenue, India Oak Bar and Grill, and German Village Coffee Shop quietly rotate traditional, yet individual, versions through their daily specials. Kolache Republic sometimes stuffs it into their savory pastry to make it more portable, and Columbus newcomer ClusterTruck will even deliver it to your door. None of them have it on the menu. Service Bar in the Short North does, offering an upscale variation for $21. (That’s quite the price hike from the 45 cents Teresa used to charge at the restaurant back in the 1920s—maybe she did, but probably not.)

The genius and longevity of Johnny Marzetti comes from its easy and adaptable recipe. A quick Facebook query in advance of this article unleashed a flood of photos and fond recollections. People actually sent me pictures of their leftover lunch, or a casserole dish fresh from the oven, previous dinner plans scuttled and inspired by the passionate conversation and competing recipes. From grins to groans, even its detractors shared cafeteria cautionary tales and school lunch lore with a smile.

Perhaps the most telling story about the enduring popularity of Johnny Marzetti came by way of a neighbor who revealed her mother regularly makes enormous batches of it for her church, as well as gatherings at the Westgate Recreation Center.

“What’s great about it is that it’s inexpensive. You get a lot for your money, and you can add to it or leave things out,” explained Tasha Corson. “My mom used to put just hamburger in hers, but I add sausage to mine, and sometimes some chiles, to give a little kick to it.” Corson also uses a blend of cheddar and Monterey Jack along with seasonings that lean more Southwest. “The largest batch I make feeds 30 to 40, and I make it in a big stock pot. That way people can put cheese on it if they want to, or not,” she explained. “I’ve made it in the oven too, to melt the cheese. That’s why I like it, because you can really make it your own.”

Corson was actually generous enough to invite me over for dinner, along with my editor and a photographer, eager to share her take on the dish that was part of her childhood, and in turn her children’s, with total strangers. Even if the recipe and mystery surrounding it are still uncertain, the power it has to create lifelong memories and bring people together with a familiar flavor isn’t. Whether it’s served at a lunch counter, a kitchen table, or a potluck dinner, the most important ingredients they all share are creativity and community—and that’s what makes Johnny Marzetti uniquely and unmistakably Columbus. ▩

Johnny on the Spot

These joints still serve up the city’s elusive culinary creation—but days and times vary.

· Tommy’s Diner 914 W Broad St.
· Nancy’s Home Cooking 3133 N High St.
· Paul’s Fifth Avenue 1565 W Fifth Ave.
· India Oak Bar & Grill 590 Oakland Park Ave.
· German Village Coffee Shop 193 Thurman Ave.
· Kolache Republic 730 S High St.
· ClusterTruck 342 E Long St.
· Service Bar 1230 Courtland Ave.

Teresa Marzetti’s Original Recipe
(Maybe, MAybe Not)

· 3 tablespoons olive oil
· 1 large onion, chopped
· 3⁄4 pound mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
· 2 pounds lean ground beef
· 3 1⁄2 cups tomato sauce
· 1 1⁄2 pounds cheddar cheese, shredded
· 1 pound elbow macaroni, cooked and drained

Sauté onion in oil until limp, about 3 minutes.
Add mushrooms and fry until juices are released, about 5 minutes.
Add beef and cook, stirring, breaking up clumps, until no longer red.
Remove from heat and mix in tomato sauce and all but 1 cup of cheese
Transfer to greased 9 x 13-inch baking dish and add macaroni.
Toss gently to mix.
Scatter remaining cheese on top.
Bake, uncovered, in 350-degree oven until browned and bubbling (35 to 40 minutes).
Serves 10 to 12.

A freelance writer for the Chicago Tribune liked this story so much, she practically plagiarized it, right down to the headline and adding “her own” recipe at the end. You can find it here. Compare for yourself.

March 15, 2018

Chains of Love

Originally published in the Spring 2018 issue of Stock & Barrel

Before Columbus was nationally known for its neighborhood haunts and dinky little dives, we spent decades as an incubator for fast food fads that came, cooked, and conquered.

Not all went on to become household names. Some struggled to fend off their restaurant rivals. Some were unable to adapt to changing tastes and trends. Some simply spread themselves too thin. Inevitably, their franchise empires fell.

Loyal locals have helped a few far-flung outposts of these once thriving Columbus culinary colonies survive long after the clown and the crown conspired to kill anything original about fast food — and four are still just a road trip away.

G.D. Ritzy’s

Despite a deeper menu than its contemporaries, the pop shop nostalgia was perhaps ahead of its time. Their thin, crispy-edged burgers and ice cream parlor vibe are strikingly similar to Steak ‘n Shake, founded in Illinois nearly a half century earlier. But Graydon Webb, a former Wendy’s exec, was all in on the idea of premium sandwiches and sundaes under one roof. For a while, it worked, and not just with unexpected flavors like French Quarter Praline, Amaretto Cherry, and Kentucky Fudge Pecan Pie. People Magazine once declared G.D. Ritzy’s had the best chocolate ice cream in the country.

But the early ‘80s were a fickle cultural concoction for more than just fast food, and a throwback joint that was more Frankie Valli than Flock of Seagulls was a one hit wonder with the kids. Most of the remaining G.D. Ritzy’s locations in Columbus became Rally’s, many still sporting their distinctive tin awnings. But Graydon is giving it another go in Clintonville with a new “Ritzy’s” scheduled to open this spring featuring a lot of ‘50s fare and flare.

If you can’t wait, or just want to see how it all started, the nearest original G.D. Ritzy’s is going strong in Huntington, WV, offering the same menu of signature burgers, well-dressed hotdogs, thin-cut fries, Cincinnati-style chili, and those famous scoops that still have a faithful following. Not far from the campus of Marshall University, the kids finally figured out what their grandparents knew all along, but their parents didn’t — everything really does go better with ice cream. ▩

1335 Hal Greer Boulevard, Huntington, WV 25701

Frostop Drive-In

From American Graffiti to Dazed and Confused, the drive-in restaurant is still a cinematic experience. Though Sonic seemed to reintroduce the concept in recent years, Frostop was one of the first, founded in Springfield, Ohio in the 1920s before moving to Columbus. The checkerboard facade and neon sign define the era, but the giant rotating root beer mug on the roof remains as iconic as any golden arches.

Built around the same soda stand standards G.D. Ritzy’s echoed decades later, Frostop is the real deal. So it should come as no surprise the nearest one is also in Huntington, WV — in fact, about a hundred yards down the road. Teenagers and old-timers still flock there in hot rods and station wagons for footlongs and a frosted mug of sweet suds. Though the retail brand has been revived and expanded to include cream sodas and sarsaparilla, nothing beats grabbing a cold growler to take home from one of their few surviving root beer stands. ▩

1449 Hal Greer Blvd, Huntington, WV 25701

Rax Roast Beef

You wouldn’t expect a western-inspired, meat-themed monopoly to emerge in Ohio — much less two. But on the heels of Arby’s 1964 launch in Boardman, Jack Roschman answered with Jax Roast Beef in 1967. Several mergers later, the Rax brand was born in Columbus. Unlike Arby’s, whose phonetic name is an abbreviation for roast beef (R.B. – get it?), Rax was all over the map opening new locations and trying to find a broader appeal in a crowded fast food field.

They added baked potatoes as an alternative to fries. The salad bar didn’t seem that silly. Even Wendy’s tried that gimmick for a while. Rax also added pizza, pasta, and tacos to it, not unlike Wendy’s short-lived “SuperBar”. Both ideas met a swift and similar fate. But the redhead rebounded, and Rax never did. They refocused on their core menu at the handful that remained, though they never quite escaped the appearance, or actuality, that if you’re going to knock off an idea, you’d better to it better or not at all.

If you still get an occasional hankering for a Mushroom Melt and a little cup of cheese to dip your fries, there are still two (of the remaining eight) fairly close. ▩

800 E Main St, Lancaster, OH 43130
23923 US Route 23 South, Circleville, OH 43113

Arthur Treacher’s

A fish and chips franchise seems more like an import than an export from Ohio, but in 1969, a handful of Columbus investors (including Dave Thomas) took a hint from Bob Hope and recruited British character actor Arthur Treacher to be the face of their new seafood venture. Founded the same year as Long John Silver’s, in equally unlikely Lexington, Kentucky, Arthur Treacher’s was decidedly more London than Robert Louis Stevenson in its aesthetic. In their heyday of the late ‘70s, the restaurant was fast approaching a thousand locations. Today, there are just seven.

Though the three on Long Island are essentially Nathan’s hot dog stands that also sell fish and hush puppies, the four in suburban Cleveland are time capsules of what once was. The Garfield Heights location still has a sign with the actual Arthur Treacher, whose face and fish are even less familiar to millennials than Bob Hope. But if you’re looking for your malt vinegar fix a little closer to home, follow the familiar looking lantern to Marino’s Seafood Fish & Chips in Grandview where the tradition lives on under another name. ▩

926 E. Waterloo Rd, Akron, OH 44306
1833 State Rd, Cuyahoga Falls, OH 44223
2 Youngstown Warren Rd, Pinetree Square, Niles, OH 44223
12585 Rockside Rd, Garfield Heights, OH 44125

Johnny on the Spot

Teresa Marzetti’s Original Recipe(Maybe, MAybe Not)

Teresa Marzetti’s Original Recipe
(Maybe, MAybe Not)