Jessup's Tavern: New Castle, Delaware

A Historic Lunch at Jessop’s Tavern & Colonial Restaurant

Jessup’s Tavern is a 300-year-old building in New Castle, Delaware.  Through my 5-minute Google investigation it’s the only place open to stop in for a pint and lunch.  Let’s go!  It stands towards the end of a cobble stone street that nearly stretches to the Delaware river.  I find a prime parking spot directly at the front door.  Parallel park?  Not a problem for this kid’s amusement park go cart hero. 

I am greeted by a young girl dressed in what I would describe as a smock?  A smock with a ruffled UPS shirt beneath it?  Nope.  With further investigation I decipher all of the staff are wearing traditional colonial attire.  Yep.  Jessup’s fancy’s itself a historic establishment.  Who made the call on the uniforms? Do the staff have to buy out the uniforms or are they recycled?  Are they dry cleaned or do they stick to traditional colonial laundry methods?  Are their undergarments traditional style as well?  The questions are racking up.  Drink menu please.

The beer list is interesting.  We are dealing with guest brewers and house taps.  I’ll keep it simple and go for Jefferson’s Golden Ale.  It’s an English Strong Ale.  I believe Thomas Jefferson was a fan of the French and a wine.  I’m sure the ale would live up to his standards.  The bartender does not seem like she is in the mood to talk, I would not be either were I forced to be ridiculously dressed as Abagail Adams’ hand maiden, so I just throw in my beer order.  I’ll need a minute for the food menu.  The front and back cover tell the story of Jessup’s and apparently the entire Revolutionary War.  It’s actually an interesting read.  James Madison ate a hoagie at Jessup’s on his way home from writing the United States constitution.  (Not a real Fact) 

The actual history of Jessup’s started in 1674 as a barrel making business owned be Abraham Jessop.  It has seen many changes from residential housing to the Captain’s Log Restaurant in the 1950’s and The Green Frog Tavern in 1974.  The precursor to the taverns was “The Ordinary”.  The Ordinary was the example of the first family run microbrewery.  Beer was the normal family beverage of choice (good choice), but the families realized the value in the product and began offering it with meals to families and travelers at an “ordinary” fixed price.  (Real facts read on Jessup’s Tavern menu)

No sleepy meals at lunch.  It’s the salad section for me.  Protein must be added.  I’m simply not a vegetable only kind of man.  The spotlight shines on a steak AND ham, iceberg, romaine, olive salad, with corn?!  How could this go wrong.  My beer is delivered in a homemade style pottery mug.  It’s not great but would probably the cat’s meow in 1776.

The older couple sitting to my left at the round dining room table starts asking historic questions to their waiter that is forced to dress like a fake stable boy and has no knowledge of the time period of which he is dressed.  He is just trying to make that paper for the Hot Topic sale this weekend.

I can hear everything very clearly, because as you would expect this establishment is on the brink of being a true shot gun house.  Low ceilings, long, narrow, dimly lit, every inch is lined with old wooden planks.  From the corner of the bar, my preferred spot, I’m 2 ½ feet from this older couple.  Predictably and unfortunately, we are left with a hollow feeling as we will now never know who the 1st captain of the Kalmar Nyckel was.  Thanks for trying stable boy. 

My salad is served as a mountain of well-placed ingredients.  The peak is topped with one side of well-done steak cubes.  The other, lined with thin sliced cold ham squares.  The corn was hidden in a round corner.  Mixing was difficult without spilling off the plate and I could feel the eyes of a pair of young women sitting on the other side of my bar corner. 

“Don’t judge.  I ordered a salad!  We both know a pot pie would make you sleepy!” (My inner ear speaks to me quite often.  I call him “Little Richard” and Lil Richard for short.  He can be a real son of a bitch.)

I swim move past the raw onions and bull rush through whatever the red balls are.

(“It’s a Cherry tomato, fatty”  “Bite me! Lil Richard”) Gold!  I’ve struck gold!  A fork full of corn!  Suck it James “Hoagie” Madison!  Good call salad!  I send the plate back full of olives and cherry tomatoes with no remorse. 

I finish the house ale over a conversation with the girls sharing the bar with me.  They work at an Italian Restaurant, La Casa Pasta, in Newark, DE.  They are very proud to inform me the owners won best Italian Restaurant in Delaware last year and own another restaurant in Colonial Beach, Virginia.  I’m not familiar with the restaurant but, promise to check it out.  I am familiar with Colonial Beach, VA.  I was once kicked out of this town after a buddy decided to walk through a beach bar with nothing but an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt on.  Memories. 

Look, Delaware as a state is basically a small town.  These girls are from Newark, a town 30 minutes away, and they are talking about their restaurant the way Atticus Finch describes the local grocer.  These locals make you feel at home no matter where you are.  It’s pleasantries for a while and then they were off.  I enjoyed the conversation and look forward to La Casa Pasta.  One of the girls did come running back and handed me a business card for the restaurant group.  I respect the hustle.  #eatlocal

The restroom in this 300-year-old establishment is not what I would call “to code”.  I’m 6’2.  This bathroom felt 4’2 squared.  This particular situation, like most situations, called for me to sit down to handle thy business.  Well, I crammed in like silly putty smooshing back in the little red egg with enough space to deliver the package, but the exit strategy drastically changed.  My tried and true mummy method was an impossible feat in this freaking poo coffin!  Against my very being I was forced to scrunch.  As a virgin in this field the results were shall we say less than satisfactory.  I might as well have just saved the paper.  Pride is a delicate flower and at this hour it was wilting. 

I washed thoroughly with as a hunch back then shamefully exited the 3-century year old pub.  It was not the ending to an enjoyable lunch I was looking for.  I decided to regain composure at the banks of the Delaware.  As I sat on a park bench gazing at the very body of water our country’s father George Washington so gallantly crossed, all my mind could think of was “Why didn’t I just find a Starbucks bathroom”