The dish: Alumni restaurateurs from around the country discuss their inspirations, paths, and working in the pandemic.



Scaling Up

The steak au poivre — a French dish with peppercorns, cognac, and heavy cream — was so divine that Mac Hay ’96 stood up from his table at the Hamilton Inn, strode into the kitchen, and asked the chef for a job. “It blew my mind how good it was,” Hay remembers from his sophomore year at Colgate.

Hay’s area of expertise, then and now, is actually seafood, but this story is indicative of how driven he’s been to learn everything he can about cuisine from around the world. Today, he brings the knowledge he’s gleaned to his five restaurants. 

In addition to the restaurants, he owns six retail seafood markets and a wholesale company, under the umbrella of Mac’s Seafood.

And it all started when he was only 20 years old.   

Mac Hay ’96 is the owner and president of Mac’s Seafood, a chain of restaurants on Cape Cod. Photo: Mark DiOrio

That was a momentous year for the philosophy major in a couple of ways. The chef at the inn told Hay that the only open position was for a dishwasher. “Whatever it takes to get in this kitchen, I’ll take the job,” Hay responded. Although scrubbing dishes wasn’t what he’d hoped for, it was an entrée into the kitchen where Hay learned the techniques of French cooking and fine dining. “He showed me the classic dishes and the basics. It was like a real class at Colgate, but it was on my own terms, and at the will of this chef who recognized that I was really interested in it.”

Then, just before the summer, Hay’s boss back in his hometown of Truro, Mass., on Cape Cod asked if he’d take over her fish market and manage the attached fried clam shack. He’d been working for Carol Larsen for a couple of years at that point, so she trusted him and recognized his skills.

“I knew how to filet fish, and that was unusual for a person of such a young age,” he says. “Once you know how to cut fish, you have to know how to handle fish, because exposure to the product can make it spoil in an hour sitting at room temperature.”

That firsthand experience actually started at a much younger age. As early as 8 years old, Hay was casting for bluefish and striped bass off the side of his grandpa’s boat. His grandfather, whom he called “Humpa,” would pull his little fishing boat up on the beach in front of his weathered gray cottage in Truro so Hay and his brother, Alex, could hop in. Other times, Humpa would show them the best holes on the beach to dig for sea clams and quahogs. To complete their meal preparations, they’d gather potatoes, onions, lettuce, and asparagus from Humpa’s little garden. “It was amazing what he could get out of there.”

By the time Hay was 20, it had been deeply instilled in him the value of “making a meal from everything that was right there on the property.” He’d also begun to learn how to cook professionally, first through preparing New England classics at a fried food and lobster pound on the Cape, and then shadowing the chef at the Hamilton Inn.

That first summer running Larsen’s operation in Wellfleet was a success, and she was looking toward retirement, so she proposed, “Why don’t you just buy the whole business off of me?” Thus, Mac’s on the Pier set sail.

“The fact that I could cook my own food, sell my own food, and hopefully make my own money from doing that — it felt very empowering,” he remembers.

Larsen acted as the bank for part of the purchase, and for the rest, Hay borrowed $500 from 10 people. “Looking back, I don’t know how I did it on so little.”

The business’ seasonal schedule made it possible for him to return to Colgate for his junior year. Having spent the summer working 14-hour days, Hay welcomed being a college student again and catching his breath. “I have to work mentally now, and focus on my studies,” he told himself. “And I really enjoyed that,” he recalls.

After graduation, the seasonal schedule meant he could add to his repertoire by working in high-end seafood restaurants in places like New York City, Boston, and the Virgin Islands. He also spent time with family on the West Coast, eating all kinds of Mexican food, ranging from authentic to “the polished, corporate American version,” he says. “I took the best of everything I saw there.”

All of this contributed to Hay’s ultimate goal of offering more than just fried clams and lobster rolls. “Cape Cod is known for its seafood, and that’s something I felt a tremendous amount of pride in: acquiring local, fresh products and then serving them to customers,” Hay says. But “the food scene was tired.”

In 2006, Hay let his culinary talent take over when he opened Mac’s Shack. Don’t be fooled by the name, the website warns; this is his cloth napkin place, serving oysters Rockefeller and Mexican street corn, Bermuda fish chowder and miso soup, swordfish curry and prosciutto-wrapped cod. Hay acted as the head chef while also running that restaurant, Mac’s on the Pier, two retail markets, and a processing facility.

“Mac’s Shack exploded with popularity,” he says. “I was able to try different things, and people responded to that very well.”

Three additional restaurants and four markets later, Mac’s Seafood is now in its 26th season, serving approximately 5,000 people daily.

Deemed essential, the businesses never closed during the pandemic but rather switched to takeout. They also saw an influx of customers at the markets as more people started cooking at home. His approach to the increased demand is “controlling the flow.” His restaurants only take as many orders as they know they can handle and, when they’re at capacity, they stop accepting orders. “We stay focused on the quality of our product,” he says.

In terms of what the future holds, Hay is ever the philosopher. “The pandemic has changed the way food service operates; it’s become different on our side of the counter. We’re recalibrating what’s important to a company like ours,” he says. “I’ve always put an emphasis on the quality-of-life aspect of what you do; that’s one of the reasons I moved to Cape Cod.”

Hay has continued the tradition of going out in a boat and catching fish for family dinner, now with his two daughters and wife Traci Harmon-Hay.

“I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to raise my kids here,” he says, “and have this dream world of natural beauty around us.”



What a Ride

You could have a flame-grilled burger or sashimi; you might hear the sounds of Billie Holiday or Bob Marley. The experience at Hi-Life Bar and Grill on New York’s Upper West Side seems eclectic, but it’s all part of a well-thought-out concept created by Earl Geer ’80.

“I saw this as a way for me to follow my passion, but also a formula for what could work in New York City,” he says.

It has worked — the restaurant celebrated its 30th anniversary this year.

That’s not to say there haven’t been bumps in the road. Surviving the city’s stiff restaurant competition is in and of itself a feat. (According to Business Insider, 80% of New York restaurants close in the first five years.) Geer has also maintained success through the 2003 blackout, the financial crisis, Hurricane Sandy, demolition, and, most recently, the pandemic.

 More on that later. First, a cocktail.

“The perfect martini is a state of mind, more so than a recipe,” Geer says of the anchor for the restaurant’s drink menu. “The martini is one of the simplest of drinks, but it has to be very cold, and the setting for the drinking of it has to be right. It should be a classic backdrop where, if Frank Sinatra were sitting on your left, you would not be surprised.”

The bar and grill transports patrons to a different time, starting with the Hi-Life Mobile parked outside — a 1936 black Lincoln Zephyr with a martini-glass neon sign atop its roof. Inside, button-tufted upholstered walls, circular booths, vintage light fixtures, and a sultry mahogany bar complete the ambience. Geer was inspired by “the great old lounges typically built in the ’30s and ’40s [that] invariably had a channel letter neon sign to announce their existence,” he says. “I became an aficionado of that kind of place, and I want the customer to have the things I loved.”

The design has proven to be timeless, Geer says, but he has modernized the restaurant through the food and music. Hi-Life was the first non-Japanese restaurant in New York City to feature an authentic sushi bar, which was a bold move in 1991, he says. “Out of context,” Geer explains, “sushi and burgers on the same menu may be puzzling, but sushi is really an extension of a raw bar, which is perfectly in place in this style of restaurant.” At Hi-Life, clams, oysters, and sushi are served alongside steaks and big-bowl pastas.

Geer has been making bold moves ever since his youth when his dad encouraged his entrepreneurial spirit. It started with a hot dog and taco truck — “long before food trucks were cool,” Geer says. “The only food truck inspiration in those days was either the Good Humor man or the slightly creepy chili dog guy lurking around.” In Geer’s hometown of Bronxville, N.Y., his dad helped him convert a 1959 laundry vehicle into Gourmet Trucking, which had a small propane stove and a slop sink attached to a bucket of cold water. “We were able to get a legitimate food vendor’s permit without, I’m sure, the scrutiny that would exist for a food truck today,” Geer acknowledges.

He partnered with a friend, Jeffrey Cooney (who passed away a few years ago; his son, Nick ’17, attended Colgate). They mostly catered local parties, but in 1976, they capitalized on two enormous New York City events. Six million people gathered on the Fourth of July for the Operation Sail parade of ships on the Hudson River. Geer and Cooney parked Gourmet Trucking on a pier, where they fed the hungry crowds throughout the three-day weekend. They kept provisions at Cooney’s dad’s office nearby and slept on top of the truck at night. Then a few days later, they pulled the truck right up onto Central Park’s Great Lawn, next to the grandstand during the Jefferson Starship concert. “These days, you’d certainly be arrested if not taken out by a sniper,” Geer says, “but we had a little placard, and the complementary chili dogs for the police officers were enough to make that happen.”

At Colgate, Geer majored in sociology and economics. After graduation, he remembered his dad’s advice that “the best experience is sales experience.” Geer went on to peddle everything from encyclopedias to hot tubs. Eventually, he got into real estate in New York City and was at an age where he started going to bars. “I became fascinated with the old, soon-to-be nonexistent neon-signed lounges, bars, and nightclubs,” he says.

The real estate business in the city began fading in 1990, and Geer was ready to open Hi-Life Bar and Grill on the corner of Amsterdam and 83rd. It prospered, so Geer opened a sister location in 1993. The new spot “was among the hottest places on the planet; we were featured in press releases in Tokyo,” he says. “We had lines around the block.”

Emboldened by his accomplishments, in 1996, Geer threw his hat in the ring for a new restaurant CBS was opening in the building where The Late Show with David Letterman was being taped and the Ed Sullivan Show had been broadcast decades earlier. CBS selected Geer from 40 competing restaurateurs to head Sullivan’s Restaurant & Broadcast Lounge. He had ambitious plans, starting with recruiting Letterman’s musical director, Paul Shaffer, to curate the restaurant’s live music program. The opening party included appearances by Richie Havens, the Four Tops, and the Rascals.

Despite the initial fanfare, Sullivan’s didn’t take off as expected. Soon, the head chef gave two-weeks’ notice — which resulted in Geer hiring a pre-famous Anthony Bourdain (when he was just “Tony”). Despite Bourdain’s skills in the kitchen and Geer’s aspirations, Sullivan’s closed in 1998.

The Hi-Life menu currently includes the Bubbly Rosé Zoom cocktail: sparkling rosé, 1/2 oz of St. Germain liqueur, 1/2 oz of Grey Goose vodka, and a squeeze of fresh lemon, served in a sugar-rimmed champagne flute. Photo: Mark DiOrio

“Now, more than 20 years later, I continue to conduct a postmortem on Sullivan’s in my unconscious nearly every day: Was it the location? Was the strategy to emphasize quality rather than embracing the theme restaurant trend misguided? Did a project of this magnitude expose a weakness in my managerial and decision-making skills?” Geer wrote in a 2020 Daily Beast article. “Probably all of the above were factors, but I was no longer living the Hi-Life and it was time to learn how to survive the low life.” 

Some things, as Geer has learned, are just out of our control. In 2006, the second Hi-Life restaurant had to close due to a demolition clause; common in New York, the clause allows landlords to terminate a lease if they choose to demolish the building. Geer took the signage and many of the elements to another location on the Upper East Side. At the end of that location’s 10-year lease, a demolition clause again led to the restaurant’s demise. “That’s when I came full circle and put as much of my time and attention into running my original Hi-Life,” Geer says.

“Not surviving was not an option,” Geer adds. That resilience is what’s carried him through the pandemic. Like every other restaurant in the city, Hi-Life had to shut down indoor dining in March 2020. The restaurant, which had never closed its doors since it opened, switched to delivery. “I credit my team for risking health and their own well-being to come in and help me keep Hi-Life going.” When the weather allowed, they set up outdoor dining and had “more business than we could handle” in the summer and fall.

Still, the pandemic has been an entirely new challenge. “It was different; it was harder. It was more frightening, and at times seemed bleaker,” he says.

Geer wrote about his perseverance in an Aug. 19 Daily Beast article: “As a mindset, I’m trying to move past seeing these variants, troubling outbreaks, and business setbacks as a ‘new normal.’ Instead, I’m viewing them as simply normal. I will be ready to accept whatever lies ahead for me and my staff. Ups and downs in an industry that is both precarious and thrilling is what those of us in the restaurant business signed up for.”

One recent positive turn is Geer was able to renegotiate the original Hi-Life’s building lease, signing on for a longer term. So, for the foreseeable future, he can sit back and sip that chilled martini.



Location, Location, Location

Halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles, the coastal town of Cayucos has become an escape for city dwellers. From the deck of the beachfront restaurant Schooners, owned by Brendan Fritzsche ’00, visitors can watch dolphins playing in the Pacific and sometimes see whales breaching. It’s also the only spot where one can get both a meal and a drink in the town of 2,500. “[Cayucos is] not extremely populated… [but] it’s getting more popular, especially in the pandemic times because people are getting away from crowded cities and areas,” Fritzsche says. “It’s a place where people walk the beaches and look at wildlife, hang out, surf.”  

Cayucos, Calif.

It’s also a town known for amazing fish tacos, he adds. Schooners offers halibut, salmon, shrimp, and ahi, each topped with avocado-jalapeno sauce and chipotle aioli.

A short distance inland, there’s the agricultural region of Central Valley, which produces 40% of the nation’s food. “Pretty much all of the vegetables we get [at Schooners] come from within 100 miles or less,” Fritzsche says.

Avocados make an appearance in several spots on the menu; tomatoes and other fresh ingredients supply the pico de gallo; and produce like lettuce, onions, and citrus fruits play supporting roles. The farmers and ranchers themselves go to Schooners to cool down on the coast, Fritzsche says.

Brendan Fritzsche ’00 at Schooners in Cayucos, Calif. Photo: Mikaela Hamilton

He moved to the area to be closer to family after spending four years running a restaurant in Hawaii. Lulu’s Waikiki is still there but under different management. Fritzsche was overseeing it remotely for a couple of years when he moved back to the mainland, but then Schooners became available.

Lulu’s was a significant professional step for Fritzsche, who was given the opportunity by his boss at the Chicago bar where he was working. After graduating from Colgate, he’d been enjoying the life of a twentysomething. He was bartending and working at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater, rekindling an interest he’d had as an English major studying with Margaret Maurer, William Henry Crawshaw Professor of literature. Outside of work, Fritzsche was playing in an indie band with his brother; they toured the Midwest and released an album (titled Gardens & Armies).

Today, at Schooners, Fritzsche hires bands for the Sunday live music series and hosts a weekly open mic night. 

The restaurant experienced explosive sales growth last fall. “The weather in September is better than the weather in July here,” Fritzsche explains. “Also, as the COVID-19 numbers began to rise, we were fortunate to have an outdoor venue that appealed to people getting away from the crowded areas to our north and south.”

The location aids the business in that respect, as well as providing a stunning backdrop. “It’s a lot easier for us to [serve] people who want to be eating outside or food to go because we’re on a beach that’s 7 miles long,” he says. “You couldn’t run into somebody unless you tried.”



A Real Gem

When the Casco Bay ferry pulls into tree-lined Diamond Cove, couples, families, and groups of friends disembark to stroll onto the island. It’s only a 30-minute boat ride from Portland, Maine, but it feels like a secret only a select group knows.

 Upon entering the third brick building on the left, diners are officially on island time. Technically, it’s Great Diamond Island, but inside the Crown Jewel restaurant, it could be any island — that’s the point.

The Crown Jewel. Photo: Courtney Theberge of Courtney Elizabeth Media

“Our decor is supposed to be reminiscent of an island in a very universal sense, not a Maine sense,” says owner Alexandra Collins ’04 Wight. Flamingos, rather than lobsters, are the emblematic creatures. Pinks and turquoises are the hues of choice, not navy and white. “It’s pulling from places like Havana, Miami, Palm Beach, and Palm Springs,” she explains.

On this summer’s seasonal menu, lobster yakitori and miso steamed mussels took the place of traditional Maine fare. Other dishes like pickled mango, grilled octopus with chard and coconut, and scallop crudo further elevated the seafood-based creative cuisine.

“We aim to create a space and a menu that make people feel transported,” Wight says.

She hired an interior design firm to execute her vision, but Wight also has experience in aesthetics, having worked for Elle Décor and Vogue after graduating from Colgate with a major in religion and minor in international relations.

Contributing to “island time,” the internet is unreliable; in fact, they can’t give out their WiFi password because it crashes their systems. “The beautiful thing about that is it really forces people to be present,” Wight says. And although the ferry schedule states it will deliver customers in half an hour, it sometimes takes longer. “[You have to] kind of give yourself over to these variables you can’t control,” she says. People can also reach the island through water taxis (which are faster) or private boats (slip and mooring reservations are available on their website).

From the chef’s counter, customers can watch the kitchen staff work their magic in a Zenlike trance. Waiters dance out of the kitchen lip syncing to pop music playing over the speakers. Lending to its intimate atmosphere, Crown Jewel only seats 35. At a small bar in the back, a bartender serves drinks as well as pints of ice cream to tourists wandering in for dessert.

Wight’s previous endeavor was Flanagan’s Table, a dinner series featuring rotating guest chefs. A long harvest table inside a barn in Buxton, Maine, sat 50 for a five-course dinner each month. Originally planned to be just an eight-part series, it developed a cult following, earned rave reviews from the press, and turned into a four-year venture.

Owning Flanagan’s Table, Wight began to seriously consider opening her own restaurant. That wasn’t the career she previously envisioned, though. In her first magazine jobs, Wight yearned to work for a food publication. “But the movement on those mastheads was practically stagnant,” she explains. Wight had also been pondering culinary school for a while. Her mom told her, “Either go and stop talking about it, or don’t go, but stop talking about it.” Wight attended the Institute of Culinary Education, after which she was hired to do recipe testing and development for Martha Stewart Living, Saveur magazine, the Food Network, and independent food stylists. A mentor who was aware of Wight’s dream of becoming a food editor advised: “Go work in a restaurant, get real experience, and come back; that will put you ahead of the pack.”

Alexandra Collins ’04 Wight. Illustration: Mercedes deBellard

She went on to cook for French chef/restaurant owner Daniel Boulud in New York City; a three-star Michelin gastronomic wonder outside of San Sebastian, Spain; and a couple of boutique restaurants in New York. “That was when I really started daydreaming about owning my own restaurant,” says Wight, adding that she knew she didn’t want to work in the kitchen as a long-time career.

As Flanagan’s Table was flourishing, Wight was pregnant, so her family with husband Oliver Wight ’04 became an important factor in planning their future. She decided that a seasonal business would allow her to balance out her parental duties with her career goals. She also identified Maine as a promising location for a restaurant, primarily because her mother lives in Portland, so she and Oliver were already spending summers there. “Crown Jewel [which opened in 2018] checks a lot of boxes,” Alexandra says.

Oliver, meanwhile, is able to work remotely for Morgan Stanley during the summers. “He’s a great support system,” she says. “He’ll come out [to the restaurant] and wash dishes, or he’ll bartend, he’ll help serve; but he also ends up taking on the bulk of childcare during the weekends, because I’m largely gone.”

After Alexandra gets their three children situated in the morning, she heads off to Great Diamond Island to oversee the business, from handling payroll to ordering everything that keeps the restaurant running. Their serviceware, for example, includes dishes from Japan that are compostable and mimic fine China. “The soils on this side of our island can’t support septic, and there’s a wastewater issue,” she explains. “So to minimize our wastewater output, we have a disposable service, and we made a commitment to the city that we would be 95% compostable.” 

During the pandemic, Wight came up with the idea to offer boatside delivery because the majority of their business is from those who come to the island. She hired two teenagers to take a small motorized inflatable to deliver dinner and drinks to boaters in the cove. “It was a different spin on takeout.”

Now in the off season, the Wights are back in Brooklyn. While their kids are in school, Alexandra designs new merchandise, assesses the restaurant’s financials, and prepares for the next summer. “It’s exciting to be able to scrap the menu at the end of every season and start fresh,” she says.



Lox, Shops, and 5-Gallon Pickle Barrels

Peter Shelsky ’01 isn’t just serving up bagels and lox. “We’re selling people nostalgia,” he says. When customers walk into Shelsky’s of Brooklyn Appetizing & Delicatessen, they smell the pickled herring, smoked salmon, and 5-gallon buckets of pickles. “And they’re like, ‘Oh my god, it smells like my grandma’s house,’” he says. “That’s such a cool memory; I love when people have that experience.”  

Peter Shelsky ’01. Illustration: Mercedes deBellard

Shelsky started the shop because he himself wanted easier access to memories of his childhood: “I was tired of schlepping into Manhattan to get the food I grew up eating on Sunday afternoons.”

At first, Shelsky’s circle thought his idea would never work. “Every year, my friends would tell me it was a crappy idea,” he says. But, in 2011 over Christmas Eve dinner, Shelsky’s family gave him the encouragement he needed. When the holiday hustle and bustle settled down, Shelsky created a business plan. He posted on Facebook, “Fingers crossed, knock on wood, wish me luck” as he was about to ask a neighbor for seed money. James Cordon ’01, who lived across the hall from Shelsky in Center Stillman during their first year, followed up with questions. Shelsky told him about the idea, presented the business plan, and Cordon and his wife invested the seed money. “That’s how Shelsky’s was born.”

Having attended the Institute of Culinary Education and then working in fine dining, Shelsky had previous restaurant experience. Additionally, he’d spent some time working in catering and doing freelancing for The Food Network. He opened the appetizing shop on those experiences, and without formal retail training. For those unfamiliar with the term “appetizing,” it “refers to the smoked fish and cream cheese — basically all the things you’d put on a bagel or bialy,” Shelsky explains. They decided to combine a delicatessen with the appetizing shop, selling all Jewish favorites like pastrami, corned beef, and chopped liver. Traditionally, appetizing shops and delicatessens were two separate entities because, due to kosher rules, meat and dairy couldn’t be sold in the same place. Shelsky decided not to be traditional, though, and to have it all in one place. “I’m a pretty lousy, nonobservant Jew,” he jokes.

Shelsky’s started on a shoestring budget and outgrew its first shop within three years. He brought on a strategic partner — a friend who had been in the fresh fish retail business for decades — and they moved to a larger space in the Cobble Hill neighborhood, which is still their current location. On most weekends in the fall, when Brooklynites have returned from their summers away, there’s a line out the door. As people wait, they schmooze with friends and neighbors while ’80s and ’90s music pipes from outdoor speakers. “On a rare occasion, if I’m working behind the counter, I’ll put on the Colgate Thirteen,” says Shelsky, who was a member of the a cappella group and majored in sociology and anthropology.

Inside, there are showcases of fish, with the biggest one displaying 12 types of salmon. In another rests whole whitefish (head and all). The third case holds various salads and schmears. The deli case is located in the back, with corned beef, tongue, chopped liver, and deli sides. “All the good, old-school stuff,” Shelsky says. (Another blast from the past on the menu: cans of Dr. Brown’s sodas.)

Opening a bagel shop in 2018 was a natural extension. “Bagels in the city took a turn for the worst over the last few decades,” he says. “They got big and puffy and soft. I wanted to bring back the dense, chewy, not-so-huge bagel.” At Shelsky’s Brooklyn Bagels in Park Slope, bagels and bialys are made on-site daily. “We do a three-day fermented sourdough bagel, and they’re pretty awesome,” he says.

The shops have done well during the pandemic because they are mostly takeout businesses. Shelsky’s grew its online ordering and nationwide shipping, “and that’s made a huge difference,” he says. This pivot makes up for the catering business they lost due to gathering restrictions. “Jews eat this stuff every stage of life,” Shelsky says. “Your baby is born, you eat lox. You have a bar mitzvah, you eat lox. You get married, you eat lox. And when you die, everyone gets around to talk about you and eat lox. It’s just how we roll.”

The pandemic also prompted Shelsky and his family to move to Paris recently. They’d already been contemplating the move to be closer to his wife’s family, but COVID-19 made them scrutinize their priorities. “We want to be able to travel and enjoy our lives,” he says. “You only live once.”

He’ll work from abroad while his partner continues handling the operations in the States. “I deal with the big-picture ideas,” Shelsky says.

Lox and bagels aren’t as available in Paris as they are in New York, but Shelsky says he’ll still be able to find foods he enjoys. “Because I’m a Jew, obviously the things I love to eat mostly include Chinese food.” Shelsky is only half joking. One of his multiple arm tattoos is Chinese writing that says “General Tso’s chicken.”

Shelsky may just be the person to bring Jewish food to France. “I’m not making any business moves my first year there, because I don’t speak French and it’s going to take me a while to get a lay of the land,” he says. “But I definitely have some ideas. I think bagels would absolutely crush in Paris.”

Yom Kippur (Shelsky’s busiest day of the year) in 2020, they sold:

→ 300 dozen bagels
→ 900 pounds of cream cheese
→ 500 pounds of smoked salmon and lox
→ Also, hundreds of pounds of chopped liver, pickled herring, rugelach, babka, and honey cake


In 13346

SIMPLE AND SWEET

Pie, cheese, and good beer. What more is there to life?

The purveyor of these pleasures is Martha’s on Madison (MOM), which opened in downtown Hamilton in June. It’s the second village business for Brendan ’09 and Britty Buonocore ’12 O’Connor, who started Flour and Salt bakery in 2015.

Divided into two sections, MOM is a specialty food shop and fromagerie on one side, and a cozy tavern on the other.

Brendan ’09 and Britty Buonocore ’12 O’Connor at their new eatery, MOM, in Hamilton. Photo by Brenna Merritt

While taking turns bouncing baby Sloane on their hips, Brendan and Britty talk about how they’ve been able to turn their admiration of the space at 3 Madison Street into a new business in only six months — while juggling new parenthood — during the pandemic.

“We’ve been in love with this building for a long time, so when it came up for rent, we couldn’t resist the opportunity,” Britty says. “We signed the lease without a clear business plan.”

The couple determined the direction of MOM the same way they decided on Flour and Salt: creating a place where they would have wanted to go as students.

“It was important for us to also look at what gaps were in the village,” Brendan adds.

Their curated grocery offerings, like canned organic mussels from Spain and Barely Buzzed Beehive Cheese from Utah, are items that Hamiltonians can’t find without driving an hour to Syracuse — and maybe not even then.

Britty, who has become an inspiration for a generation of young Colgate bakers, makes both sweet and savory pies to sell. In addition, she prepares the daily salad, sandwich, and soup specials.

Like the shop, the tavern provides a limited number of high-quality food and drink options.

“It keeps the inventory tight so we know what we’re working with is always fresh,” Britty says. “And it eliminates decision paralysis. We’ve customized a singular sandwich and we know it’s really great. Just eat it.”

To which Brendan adds: “Keep it simple.”   

Martha’s on Madison is named after Britty’s grandmother, to whom she’s often compared. “She was a firecracker and you knew where she stood, and I am the same,” Britty says. Serendipitously, Martha is also the name of Brendan’s stepmother’s mother (“A woman who was the embodiment of kindness”), and Saint Martha is the patron saint of cooks.

‘WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS, CHUCK A WATERMELON AT IT’

After beer is brewed, you have to have something to put it in. This seems obvious, but it’s a predicament Carrie Blackmore ’08 and her crew at Good Nature Farm Brewery faced due to supply shortages starting in March 2020.

Carrie Blackmore ’08 owns Good Nature Farm Brewery in Hamilton. Photo by Mark DiOrio

“Now we have two huge trailers in our parking lot,” Blackmore says. They serve as storage for 12- and 16-ounce cans. “The only way we could get a vendor to agree to ship to us was to order a tractor-trailer load of each size,” she explains.

Even that didn’t go smoothly. They had to source the trailers separately, and the cans arrived before the trailers, so they had 18-foot-high stacks of cans throughout the brewery. “It was an adventure, and it was not how we would have chosen to do it, but we’re not going to be out of cans for a long time.”

The pandemic prompted Good Nature to get creative in other ways, too. When customers ordered takeout from the brewery, they could also purchase grocery staples from local farmers. “[They could] grab a pizza to go, grab a six pack, and then a loaf of bread, some eggs, and a chicken,” Blackmore quips.

Good Nature faced other shortages that you’ve likely read about in the news, from ketchup packets to PPE to labor. “We’re fortunate to have a great team and we had a lot of folks come back after COVID,” Blackmore explains, “but we’re routinely operating with two to five people short.”

New brews and beverages have been one of the most positive outcomes. Summertime ushered in a line of hard seltzers and a watermelon gose called There Gose the Farm (Tag line: “When life gives you lemons, we say, chuck a watermelon at it!”). Autumn highlights include the traditional Great Chocolate Wreck as well as the Pumpkin Brown Ale.

At a new small brew house, Good Nature has been doing research and development, making “some really unique beers that we may not have taken the plunge with on the big system,” Blackmore says. Because “IPAs are all the rage still,” the brewery has been releasing a new one every four to six weeks, sometimes even faster. “There’s always something really hazy, hoppy, and experimental on tap,” she says.

 This is the fifth year the farm brewery has been open, but Blackmore and Good Nature have been a staple of the Hamilton community for more than a decade. If major supply shortages can’t keep her down, nothing can.

TOFU TRIUMPH

“You all nailed it.”

“Have to admit that I ate most of it directly off the pan.”

“Mine just arrived today on the other side of the continent! I’ve been waiting 8+ years for this day!”

“Three pounds of curry tofu were consumed last night to rave reviews from everyone including avowed tofu dislikers. The curry marinade is world famous for a good reason!”

“Just started marinating my first batch and now my kitchen smells like HWF and I ​don’t think anything could make me happier than that.”

Hamilton Whole Foods — HWF — delighted numerous customers when it made its curry tofu marinade available to be shipped in jars. There was a delay due to a bottle shortage (sound familiar?), but the release last spring ended up being well-timed with the natural foods store and vegetarian eatery’s 30th anniversary.

Heather Dockstader ’04 (left) runs Hamilton Whole Foods with owner and cofounder Monica Costa. Photo by Brenna Merritt

“The alumni responses on Instagram were just phenomenal,” says Heather Dockstader ’04, who runs HWF with owner and cofounder Monica Costa.

The curry tofu is HWF’s signature product, served in a wrap, on a salad, and by itself. Alumni buy cartons of it to bring home after a visit to Hamilton, and Costa has delivered it to an alumna who is a former HWF staff member living in New York City. “It’s always been a dream of mine to be able to share it further than in the store,” Costa says.

They make it in 4-pound batches, and the staff can’t help but eat some of it right out of the oven, even if it burns their mouths. “We frequently eat it when it’s too hot, and we’re like, ‘Darn, darn, it’s too hot,’” Dockstader says, “but then we keep eating it, saying, ‘This is so good.’”  

Costa and her partner at the time (who passed away in 2007) started HWF when there weren’t many shops and restaurants in downtown Hamilton. “So we just kept trying to fill little niches,” she says. “We sold pet food for a while, we had books and different clothes and gift items.”

From day one, sustainability has been a cornerstone of the business. HWF has almost zero food waste, a meatless menu, and an inventory of mostly natural, organic, and fair-trade products. “It’s just part of what we do; it’s part of who we are,” Costa says. She’s also been locally focused and working with area farmers long before it was trendy.

Costa has been able to keep a sustainable business — in the other sense of the word — through the relationships she’s built in the community throughout the years. Students are customers, but many have been employed there as well. And even if alumni didn’t eat at HWF as students, many return to Hamilton as adults with improved eating habits, making them new regulars during reunions.   

“The connections, her treatment of the staff and customers — that’s part of why she’s still there,” says Dockstader, who has co-run the store with Costa for more than nine years and is also her partner. Dockstader was a women’s studies program assistant when she met Costa, and then she began helping out at HWF when Carrie Blackmore ’08 left to start Good Nature. “We know people’s names years after they’ve left, and we know their orders.”   

Costa adds: “The people we work with, the students, local people, and customers over 30 years — it’s been just amazing.”

→ Costa has employed approximately 65 students in 30 years.
→ She has received 6 Torch Medals from 5 student staff members and 1 student regular customer who honored her for having a meaningful impact on their lives.
→ HWF sells approximately 2,300 pounds or 55,200 cubes of tofu per year.