Shady Maple Smorgasbord

"All this extra body fat makes me hot."

- a Shady Maple patron, upon exiting

Assumptions

Before a proper review can begin, this writer finds it necessary to establish a few assumptions. Let us first assume, for example, that Shady Maple is not a restaurant, or even an eating establishment. No, it is in fact, a Compound (as in Branch Dividian).

Let us also assume that while within the perimeter of the Compound, there is a powerful time-suck ratio in play, whereby 1 hour within Shady Maple actually works out to approximately 2.5-3 hours of regular time using official US time standards, a fact that's often lost on the visitor until the border is crossed upon exit. 

With these assumptions in mind, you are now hereby invited to enter the deep cavernous world of Shady Maple.

Welcome

The Shady Maple Compound appears to its visitors like a mega church; a beacon on the hill, beckoning all to their beloved home-cooked trough of goodies. As the details of the sprawling estate come into view, the scale becomes more and more astonishing; bus lanes, buggy parking, massive signs directing pedestrian traffic, even general announcements over a PA system. A Bond villain would be envious.

For the inexperienced pilgrim, entering Shady Maple is daunting. It appears as if everyone else already knows the rules, of which there are many.

Appetizers include gluttony mixed with a snide hint at criminal activity.

By this point, the conditioning is already underway. Once past the gates, a sea of tables and booths stretches out into infinity, each numbered like a parking lot zone. (One improvement here would be to outfit each table with a flashing siren, and give the corresponding party a buzzer to activate it when in search of their spot.)

Before heading off in search of food, its customary to take in not only the surroundings, but one's fellow patrons as well. Who is the Shady Maple diner? A pie chart would show heavily favored sweat attire, especially anything with a drawstring for flexible expansion. It's all about having the right tools for the job ahead.
  
Time for Scavenging

There was initially a quaint, otherwise sane idea to survey the offerings before making decisions. As the situation quickly dictated, this idea had to be scrapped in favor of foraging. No one here was selecting their breakfast; they were hoarding the current sustenance offered.

One either had the chance to customize their edible hoard (pancakes with chocolate chips or blueberries or both, to name a few of the thousands of options) or take to the endless rows of heat-lamped standards that were kept loaded by Shady Maple's crack staff.

Either way the tension was palpable - it was 5am at a Black Friday sale, and the bacon had to go. Would you be left empty-handed?


"Gift Shop"

Let this be made clear. Shady Maple's Gift Shop is not a Gift Shop in the traditional sense. Yes, there are mugs and t-shirts and the like, but what Shady Maple wields is better described as a hoard factory, where every conceivable and totally unnecessary physical item known to man is available for purchase. Candles, wind chimes, more candles, more wind chimes, car mats, Elvis statues, Thomas Kinkade paintings, ANOTHER RESTAURANT, greeting cards, furniture, arts&crafts, and so on and so forth and so on and so forth, until a giant meteor brings about the end of the world and blasts us all into oblivion.

It would indeed be possible to both get lost in and never return from the Shady Maple Gift Shop.

Follow the giant arrows down into the 10th level of Hell.

Oh, and The Food

How was it? There was something labeled 'mush.' There were good standard breakfast items. There were even Icee machines, if ever in the mood for a sugary lift in the morning.

Overall it was good, but it was nothing special.

What is clearly more special are the garnishes surrounding Shady Maple; the Compound, the rules, the Gastric ByPass Discount. All of these things add up to an experience that trumps the mush.

We've Been Here Way Too Long

One visitor was overheard to have said, "No. I don't want to go in there [the gift shop]. We've been in here way too long." Clearly this individual was becoming aware of the previously mentioned time-suck ratio.

So then, pilgrim, prepare thyself - Shady Maple has its sights set on your inner hoarder, and it won't let go until your plate, your stomach, your house, and your soul overfloweth.

Hometown Family Restaurant

http://www.yourhometownfamilyrestaurant.com/

On Hometown Family Restaurant's website (which has an entirely too-long url), they state that "Our goal is to provide delicious food and great service in a clean, family-friendly atmosphere."  I decided to test this statement by dining there in the evening.  Immediately I was a bit disappointed by their hours, since they are only open until 8pm.  For a late-night person like me, this is a let-down; however, given their target crowd, I can understand this decision.

The restaurant was not full, but there were enough patrons about such that it didn't feel deserted.  We were there a bit on the late side though, and I would be interested to know if the place is more crowded around the popular dinner time of 4pm. 

We were greeted warmly by our server.  Their menu had much to offer, but I decided to try their dinner buffet in order to experience a wider range of their offerings.  The buffet was one of the smaller ones I had ever seen.  The selection was not terrible, but it left me wishing I had more choices.  One particular stand-out was their delicious ham balls.  On the other end of the spectrum, their pizza did not look inviting at all, and despite being a pizza lover, I did not even waste time or precious stomach space tasting it.  There was a table with a selection of pies for dessert, which was simple but nice.

The service was prompt and our waiter was extremely friendly.  He struck up a conversation with us, possibly because we did not quite fit the mold for the average customer at HFR.  It turns out he was not at all the usual suspect to be working in such an establishment, either.  After chatting with him for a long time, he told us about his homeland of Spain, his great travels, and his non-standard government views.  Don't get me wrong, I thought he was great and I would love to go get a beer with him sometime.  However, in this particular setting, it ended up being somewhat overwhelming and at times almost intrusive.  Although it upped the entertainment value, I feel that it distanced me from the overall local background atmosphere of HFR that I was trying to grasp. 

Unfortunately I do not feel much of a draw to HFR.  Perhaps it was the forgettable buffet.  Perhaps it's the obnoxious LED sign outside.  The snooze-worthy gift shop did not win me over, either.  If I were to return I would order something from the menu instead of the buffet, but to be honest, I will probably not return.

2/5 stars.

Heisey's Diner

When one thinks diners, one thinks the state of Pennsylvania. And when one thinks of Pennsylvania, one thinks...diners. So it's without hesitation that many famished travelers will pull into the lovingly plump arms of Heisey's Diner, on route 72 (when talking diner talk, it's always good to throw in the route on which the diner is found; diner aficionados will perk up at this level of detail).

Overall, Heisey's is the kind of place that is perfectly suited for the likes of Jessica (go ahead and click-thru, it will add the proper ambiance as you read on), though the establishment did throw several curve balls with a few selections that strayed well beyond the mid-80s. Tsk tsk.

In terms of those good-old small town feelings of alienation, Heisey's had their act together, with plenty of cold stares, and that general solid feeling of uneasiness for the non-regular. The service happened, but it happened with just a dash of trepidation. This was well received, and made the experience all the more enjoyable, for one should never be 'welcomed' in a diner; its a place where you don't belong unless you've been gorging yourself at the establishment routinely for at least 3 years. Indeed, being shunned at a diner is in fact, an expected and necessary part of the process. It's what makes us Pennsylvanians, indeed Americans.

In choosing diner cuisine, it should be noted that going with a staple or two (burgers, fries) is probably a better judge of character, as picking anything that strays from grilled or fried delicacies is really not a fair first impression. In other words, ordering a chicken parmigiana sandwich here was a low blow, and for it, this reviewer sincerely apologizes. Delight was found in the attempt however - the desire to push beyond ones borders should not be overlooked, especially when it comes to central Pennsylvania cooking.

Will I ever order that chicken parmigiana again? Heavens no, but will I go back to Heisey's? Yes indeed, for there is comfort and awkwardness to be found between the vinyl seats, stainless steel, and steely stares of Heisey's. Oh, and the pies. Forgot to mention the pies. First rate. Shoefly is on the menu; again, the aficionado knows to look for Shoefly.

- AFN

Cricket ... cricket ... distant Annville-Cleona nightime train whistle sound ... cricket ...

The Hearth Family Restaurant

On Rt. 422 in Lebanon not far from the Lebanon Valley Mall sits "The Hearth Family Restaurant", a 24-hour staple in Lebanon's culture. As I attended college in nearby Annville, I spent countless evenings there doing homework, chain smoking, chatting with friends after the bars closed. Evenings would draw not only college students, but older, slightly haggard-looking people you would never see by the light of day nor in any other location; the sort that are wrinkled beyond their years, missing a few teeth and either morbidly obese or extremely underweight. It was so busy at night you would often have to wait for a seat. A heavy cloud of smoke hung in the air at all times, despite the restaurant having a "no smoking" section. Each booth had its own jukebox, and being a creature of habit, there were artists I put in regular rotation (Fleetwood Mac, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and Patsy Cline were among the usual suspects). The Hearth meant cheap food at any hour with smoking allowed. That was enough for my friends and me.


Once we graduated and moved away, I had little desire to return to The Hearth - it was not the type of establishment you go to with your family, despite its name. But late last Saturday night I was invited to go there with a local celebrity of sorts (who will remain nameless to protect his identity) and one of his employees. He said, "Come to The Hearth with me. I want to eat an egg." Sold.


On my drive there I remembered one of the waitresses from my college days. She always knew what my order was: grilled cheese and a side of mashed potatoes with no gravy. She would say, "Do you want your usual?" I wondered if she was still there. As I walked in with my dinner companions the very first thing I saw was that waitress. Part of me felt sorry for her, but part of me loved that she was still there. Lebanon is the place where time stands still. As we were seated at our booth and I looked at the jukebox, this was reaffirmed. Nearly ALL the same CDs were there as when I left all those years ago.


The menu had changed - both in items and design - but as long as mashed potatoes and grilled cheese were there, I didn't care ... and they were. Our waitress, not the long-time waitress, sadly, brought us our drinks and took our order. I ordered mozzarella sticks as an appetizer for the three of us, and then my "usual". My diet is starch, cheese and sugar. Can you tell? The unnamed celebrity who wanted to eat "an egg" ordered not just an egg, but two eggs, bacon, toast and a side of stuffing with gravy. His employee ordered a grilled cheese and fries.


As we waited for the waitress to come back with our orders, I noticed for the first time how quiet it was. I looked around the space and this was not The Hearth I remembered. I was too distracted by the waitress and jukebox being the same to notice that The Hearth had indeed changed. It was redecorated, though I'm not quite sure what exactly was different - I could only tell something was. There was no cloud of smoke hanging in the air. In fact, there was no smoking at all. And despite it being roughly 1:00am, there were only two other tables occupied in the entire place. This was not at all how I remembered it (although the table next to mine did have morbidly obese people whose pants were falling off).


Had The Hearth's best times come and gone?


The waitress brought out the mozzarella sticks first and I immediately dug in ... or tried to. They were so hard it took quite a great deal of effort to cut through one with my knife. Eating them was almost not worth the effort involved. Almost. Our meals arrived shortly thereafter, and despite my request for NO PICKLE and NO COLESLAW, they were both there on the plate, with the pickle precariously close to my grilled cheese. Ahhh! There is nothing worse than a sandwich touched by an errant pickle that forces the entire sandwich to taste like said pickle. *Sigh* I decided to not let the hard-as-rocks mozzarella sticks and pickle debacle influence my assessment of the grilled cheese and mash. Thankfully, they were just as I remembered them. Starchy. Salty. Cheesy. Delicious. Not the best, not the worst, just good enough for 1am in Lebanon.


3 Stars

Nov 26: The Filling Station

The Filling Station
320 West Main St.
Palmyra, PA 17078

• Service: speedy, slightly grumpy
  
• Location: on 422 (boo) but accessible from back alleys (yay) and has ample parking
  
• Clientele: a favorite stop for the regulars of the 422 corridor (Lebanon to Hershey)
  
• Prices: very affordable...and that's saying something, coming from a grad student
  
• Cuisine: traditional PA breakfast fare, including scrapple, of course.
  
• Ambience: 75% diner, 25% truck stop/gas station
  
• Bonus: they make over 40 kinds of donuts.
  
• Next time, I'm...ordering the Belgium waffle. And some donuts.
  

Palmyra's "The Filling Station"

Palmyra is largely considered drive-through territory by all but its residents. It is that stretch of road between point A and point B where non-resident motorists are angered by slower-than-tolerable traffic, and the only thing worth noticing is what the scary mannequins in the Cinderella Shoppe windows are wearing … or so I thought. After years of driving past/being-stuck-in-traffic-in-front-of Palmyra’s greasy spoon, The Filling Station, I decided to stop in for Black Friday brunch.

Minus the ATM machine and a few other modern touches, The Filling Station looks straight out of The Wonder Years. A long counter stretches across the front of the L-shaped diner, with a seated area to the side. Patrons seat themselves, and despite the holiday weekend there were plenty of seats available. I chose a table, opting for a better view of the clientele than the counter would offer.

Each table has several menus, so there’s no waiting for the server to bring them. As I perused, the server came by to take my drink order and I went with my standard glass of water and cup of coffee. Being a vegetarian often means having only a few options on a menu, particularly in this part of the world, but I was pleasantly surprised by the number of vegetarian-friendly choices, especially on the breakfast portion of the menu.

Because it was eleven o’clock in the morning, I was torn over whether to order breakfast or lunch. As a grilled cheese aficionada, I was tempted to order my standard diner fare to be able to compare it to the countless grilled cheese sandwiches I’ve consumed around the world, the best being those made at the now-defunct Horn & Horn Family Restaurant in Lebanon. Once I settled on breakfast, it wouldn’t take long to come to my final decision: one egg – scrambled with cheese melted on top, wheat toast, and hash browns.

The hurried and not overly-friendly server took my order and left after answering my question about the difference between hash browns and home fries, giving me time to observe my fellow diners. Minus a group of young people – undoubtedly high school students who had the day off or college kids home for Thanksgiving – it was what I’d expected: senior women in pastel polyester pants with seasonally-themed sweatshirts, senior men in plaid flannel coats wearing hats indoors, overweight people with hairstyles a decade (or two) old. Perfection.

There was no jukebox and to my recollection no music was playing, which meant the background noise was the glorious cling-clang-clatter of metal flatware on ceramic plates, spoons stirring mediocre coffee, and diner chatter, including the gentleman behind my table ordering the “Belgium” waffles, as the menu says. I never did get to see whether they come shaped like Belgium …

My food arrived in short order and was prepared just as I’d requested, although the scrambled eggs, like many things in Palmyra, seemed to be larger than expected. The wheat toast came pre-buttered on one side, which, although fine with me, could be problematic for those watching their weight/cholesterol. A quick glance around the restaurant indicated it probably wouldn’t be an issue. The scrambled eggs were perfectly salted and the cheese perfectly melted. The hash browns were a quarter-inch-thick rectangle that was clearly frozen with its other rectangular potato cousins just moments before hitting The Filling Station frying pan for my order. Delicious.

Try though I did, I was unable to finish my meal. I suppose that means The Filling Station lives up to its name. Fast (albeit not particularly friendly) service, decent menu selection and good food at cheap prices make this a worthwhile stop, so long as expectations are held in check. In short, would I come back to sample their grilled cheese? Definitely.

3 stars.