By Lorraine Smorol

Visiting a restaurant that employs an ACF-certified chef guarantees a level of quality and professionalism

By Mary Kiernan, CCC, PCII

Tully & Tioga St. • 422-3815 • communitysite.com/welcomeinn/

Eastern European

Wine List, Take Out, Reservations Accepted, Dinner Specials, Lunch Specials, FULL MENU BELOW

It has been 25 years since John Melnyczuk took a good thing in the Welcome Inn, 501 Tully St., and made it better—broadening the menu to include Eastern European foods 
(an eatery has been at the location since 1933), and in this town the pierogy has no greater booster. The varieties include potato and cheese, sauerkraut, farmer’s cheese, pork and onion, beef and onion and smoked chicken, but the Welcome Inn also serves borscht, cabbage rolls and kielbasa.

In 1983, the Welcome Inn held its first whole-hog pig roast, and Melnyczuk, aka Pit Master Big Papa John, has been roasting hogs for parties and catering events ever since. Also on premises, the Welcome Inn does charcuterie, a butcher shop function where pastrami, corned beef, bacon, kielbasa and chorizo sausage are made. But make sure to pay a visit to the restaurant itself, which features Ukrainian dishes and is open for lunch Mondays to Thursdays from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.; and dinner Wednesdays and Thursdays from 5 to 8 p.m., and Fridays from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. The restaurant is closed weekends for catering, but you can order the goods to go or rent out the dining room for parties. 478-9489 or 422-3815.

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Many years ago, my mom took a pilgrimage to Europe with two of her college friends. In Ireland, they walked half the day, searching for the house where my great-great-grandmother grew up. They found it, as well as its very skeptical current owners. They let my mom look through the house and offered her a shot glass of whiskey. All my mom and her friends really wanted was a glass of water, but apparently Irish hospitality calls for whiskey shots.

It's not easy dishing fine cuisine to a discriminating clientele

By Julianne Glatz

It was 4:30 a.m. and pitch-black, and a nasty, chilly drizzle was falling as I pointed my car toward the CIA. I peered through the windshield, the monotonous rhythm of the wipers luring me back to the sleep from which I had been so rudely and recently dragged. But the litany of self-doubt that had nagged me for weeks was enough to keep me awake. Could I measure up? At least not totally embarrass myself? What could I have been thinking—and at my age?