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A Slice of the Slow Life: Beiler’s Heritage Deli & Market Opens in Linglestown

Written by Dennis Regling in Amish Market

By: Mark Davison | Central PA Food & Culture

LINGLESTOWN, PA — Linglestown Road is known for many things: the historic village square, the endless march of commuters heading toward Harrisburg, and the distinct lack of parking during rush hour. But as of four weeks ago, Route 39 has become known for something else entirely: the intoxicating aroma of fresh-baked yeast rolls and smoked meats wafting from what used to be an abandoned hardware storefront.

Welcome to Beiler’s Heritage Deli & Market, located at 5901 Linglestown Road, just east of the square.

In a world increasingly dominated by app-based ordering and drive-thru chains, the arrival of an authentic Amish deli in the heart of suburban Linglestown feels less like a new business opening and more like a cultural event. There is no neon signage here, no digital menu boards, and certainly no Wi-Fi. Instead, there is the gentle hum of gas-powered refrigeration, the rich smell of aged cheddar, and a line of customers that frequently spills out onto the sidewalk before 11:00 AM.

Bringing the Farm to the Village

The deli is owned and operated by Abram and Sarah Beiler, who, along with their four oldest children, make the daily commute from their farm near Leola in Lancaster County. For Abram, opening a market in Linglestown was a deliberate choice to bridge the gap between producer and consumer.

“We have many customers who drive an hour or more to visit us at the markets in Lancaster,” Abram says, slicing a massive block of Cooper Sharp cheese with practiced, rhythmic precision. “We thought, the good people of Linglestown appreciate honest food, too. Why not bring the farm a little closer to them? It saves them the gas money, and we enjoy meeting new neighbors.”

The transformation of the space is striking. The interior is minimalist and spotless, defined by natural wood shelving and large glass display cases that serve as the room’s centerpiece. Natural light floods the space, highlighting the textures of the rustic breads and the vibrant colors of the produce. It is quiet, save for the murmurs of appreciative customers and the distinct clack-clack of the manual credit card imprinter—a nod to modern necessity, though cash is heavily preferred.

The Menu: Simplicity Mastered

The offerings at Beiler’s Heritage Deli are vast, yet refreshingly simple. The focus is squarely on quality ingredients that need very little embellishment.

The deli counter is the main draw. Here, you won’t find highly processed, water-added turkey loaves. Instead, you find delicacies unique to Pennsylvania Dutch Country. The star of the show is the Sweet Bologna, a tangy, smoky, semi-soft sausage that tastes faintly of molasses and hickory. It’s a regional obsession that the Beilers source from a cousin’s smokehouse.

Then there is the cheese. While they stock standard provolone and Swiss, the must-have is the Amish Butter Cheese. Creamy, mild, and incredibly rich, it melts on the tongue almost instantly.

“I’ve lived in Central PA my whole life, and I thought I knew what good Lebanon bologna tasted like,” says Dale Hess, a retired mechanic from nearby Colonial Park, waiting for his weekly pound of meat. “I was wrong. What Abram has here, the spices, the smoke—it’s on another level. You don’t need mustard on this. It’s a sin to cover up that flavor.”

For lunch, the deli offers made-to-order sandwiches on rolls baked that morning. The local favorite has quickly become “The Route 39 Barnraiser.” It is a daunting culinary challenge: a footlong sub roll piled high with roast beef (cooked rare in-house), sweet bologna, Amish butter cheese, house-made coleslaw, and a splash of spicy brown mustard. It is messy, massive, and deeply satisfying.

For those looking for something hot, the Sausage and Cheese Stuffed Pretzel is phenomenal. A thick, savory pork sausage link is wrapped in their signature soft pretzel dough, stuffed with sharp cheddar, baked until golden, and brushed with real butter. It has become the breakfast of choice for the landscaping crews that frequent the area.

The Route 39 Barnraiser

The Bakery and Market

If you manage to escape the deli counter without buying five pounds of meat, the bakery section will inevitably snare you.

Sarah Beiler runs this side of the operation. The shelves are laden with items that seem almost engineered to provide comfort. The Sticky Buns are legendary—dense, yeasty spirals drenched in a caramel-pecan glaze that requires a knife and fork to eat properly. There are, of course, Whoopie Pies the size of saucers, available in classic chocolate/vanilla, pumpkin, and a surprising oatmeal cream variety that puts the boxed version to shame.

But the sleeper hit of the bakery is the Shoofly Pie. A divisive dessert even among locals, Sarah’s version is a “wet-bottom” style with a perfectly flaky crust and a rich, molasses-heavy filling that avoids being cloyingly sweet.

shoofly pie

“I come in here for a loaf of white bread, and I end up leaving with two shoofly pies and a bag of snickerdoodles,” admits Maria Rodriguez, a busy mother of three living in Linglestown. “It smells too good in here to resist. It feels like my grandmother’s kitchen used to smell. It’s dangerous, but in the best way possible.”

Beyond prepared foods, the market section serves as an essential pantry restock for those who know how to cook. The shelves are lined with jars of chow-chow (a tangy pickled vegetable relish), spiced peaches, beet eggs, and an array of bulk spices and baking supplies at prices that undercut the big-box grocery stores down the road.

A Welcome Pause

What Beiler’s Heritage Deli offers Linglestown is more than just calories. In a busy Harrisburg suburb, it offers a pause. The transaction isn’t rushed. You are encouraged to sample a slice of cheese before you buy a pound. You are forced to slow down, look at the food, and interact with the people making it.

“We need this,” says local real estate agent Karen Philips, grabbing a quick lunch between showings. “Everything moves so fast on Linglestown Road. Everyone is angry in traffic. You walk in here, and the blood pressure just drops. It’s just good food and kind people. It reminds you of what PA is really about.”

As the lunchtime rush begins to wane, Abram wipes down the gleaming meat slicer. He nods to a regular customer heading out the door with a brown paper bag stained slightly with butter from a fresh loaf of bread.

“We are grateful,” Abram says quietly. “Good food speaks a universal language. We are happy Linglestown is listening.”

Beiler’s Heritage Deli & Market, Linglestown Road, Linglestown, PA Hours: Monday – Friday 8:00 AM – 6:00 PM; Saturday 8:00 AM – 4:00 PM. Closed Sundays.

Buggies on Bull Island: Why Poquoson’s Newest Restaurant Has a Line Down Wythe Creek Road

Written by Dennis Regling in Amish Restaurants

Miller’s Marshside Kitchen: Where the Buggy Meets the Bay

By: Jason Tidewater | Coastal Virginia Dining

POQUOSON, VA — For generations, the rhythm of Poquoson—affectionately known to locals as “Bull Island”—has been dictated by the tides of the Chesapeake Bay. It is a town built on workboats, crab pots, and the steady hum of outboard motors navigating the marshes. But recently, a new sound has joined the chorus along Wythe Creek Road: the rhythmic clop-clop-clop of horses’ hooves.

In what might be the most unexpected culinary arrival in Hampton Roads this decade, an Amish family has set up shop right in the heart of seafood country.

Miller’s Marshside Kitchen, located at 412 Wythe Creek Road, Poquoson, VA 23662, has only been open for six weeks, but it has already achieved legendary status among locals. The restaurant occupies a renovated building that once stored marine equipment, now transformed into a warm, gas-lit haven of oak tables and mouth-watering aromas.

It is a striking juxtaposition. On one side of the road, you have trailered center-consoles heading for the marina; on the other, a black buggy parked next to a hitching post. Yet, somehow, in Poquoson’s tight-knit community, it fits perfectly.

A Long Journey to the Water

The establishment is run by Caleb and Sarah Miller, who moved their family of eight from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, looking for a change of pace and a new challenge.

“We heard stories of the watermen,” Caleb explains, his voice soft but carrying easily across the busy dining room. He wears the traditional suspenders and straw hat, a stark contrast to the Guy Harvey t-shirts worn by half his customers. “We are people of the land, mostly. But we wanted to see if our way of cooking could shake hands with the bounty of the sea. The people of Poquoson, they value hard work and family. We felt at home right away.”

That “handshake” between Amish tradition and Poquoson seafood culture is exactly what makes Miller’s Marshside Kitchen unique. You won’t find a menu like this anywhere else in Virginia.

The Menu: The Best of Both Worlds

The menu is a fascinating hybrid. It features the heavy hitters of Pennsylvania Dutch comfort food, but with a distinct saltwater twist.

The headliner is arguably the Chesapeake Chicken Pot Pie. It uses the traditional Amish thick noodle dough—dense and chewy—but the filling is a rich, creamy velouté loaded with chunks of roasted chicken and generous lumps of local blue crab meat. It is seasoned with Old Bay, a concession to the region that Caleb admits took some getting used to.

Chesapeake Chicken Pot Pie.

Chesapeake Chicken Pot Pie

“At first, the spice was strange to us,” Sarah Miller laughs, pouring iced tea from a stainless steel pitcher. “But the neighbors insisted. Now, we put it in the breading for the fried oysters, too.”

Speaking of oysters, the Cornmeal-Dusted Fried Oysters are a revelation. Unlike the heavily battered versions often found in beach bars, these are lightly dusted and flash-fried in peanut oil. They are served alongside Amish Coleslaw, which is sweeter and vinegar-heavy, cutting through the richness of the seafood perfectly.

Of course, the traditionalists are well taken care of. The Broasted Chicken is present and accounted for—pressure-fried to golden perfection, locking in juices that standard frying often loses. It is served with Brown Butter Mashed Potatoes and Dried Corn, a sweet, caramelized side dish that tastes like concentrated summer sunshine.

Another standout unique to this location is the “Bull Island” Pretzel. It is a massive, soft, hand-rolled Amish soft pretzel, but instead of just salt, it is topped with a crab dip glaze and cheddar cheese, then baked until bubbly. It has become the de facto appetizer for every table.

The Bakery: A Sweet Anchor

No Amish restaurant is complete without a bakery, and Miller’s has dedicated nearly a third of their floor space to it. The smell hits you the moment you open the door—yeast, cinnamon, and molasses.

The Whoopie Pies are the size of softballs, available in classic chocolate, pumpkin, and a new “Lemon-Blueberry” flavor that Sarah developed specifically for the Virginia palate.

But the item causing traffic jams on Wythe Creek Road is the Warm Apple Dumpling. It is a whole apple, peeled and cored, wrapped in pastry dough, baked until tender, and served swimming in a pool of cinnamon-vanilla syrup and heavy cream.

“I’ve lived in Poquoson for 60 years,” says local resident Thomas “Bubba” Diggs. “I’ve eaten at every crab shack from here to Guinea. But that apple dumpling? That’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. Don’t tell my wife I said that.”

Bakery items

Atmosphere and Experience

Entering Miller’s feels like stepping into a different century, or at least a different pace of life. There is no electricity in the dining area. During the day, the room is flooded with natural light from large bay windows that look out toward the marshes. In the evening, the restaurant is illuminated by the soft hiss of gas lamps mounted on the walls.

There are no televisions. No neon signs. No background music. The soundtrack is the clinking of silverware, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional laughter from the open kitchen where the Miller daughters are rolling out dough with mesmerizing speed.

The service is “family style” in spirit, even if you order off the menu. The servers, young women in modest dresses and prayer coverings, are attentive but unobtrusive. They don’t hover, but your water glass never goes dry.

The lack of technology forces a kind of engagement that is becoming rare. “You see people actually talking,” notes Mary Beth Higgins, a high school teacher in Poquoson. “Families put their phones down because the service is fast and the food demands your attention. It’s nice. It feels like Sunday dinner used to feel.”

The Local Verdict

When rumors first swirled that an Amish family was buying the old marine supply building, skepticism was high. Poquoson is protective of its identity. But the Millers have won over the town not just with food, but with their work ethic.

“They were out there fixing the roof themselves at 5 AM,” says a neighbor. “They didn’t hire a crew; they just swarmed it. We respect that around here.”

The reviews reflect this embrace.

“I was skeptical about Amish food near the water. But the Crab & Corn Chowder is the real deal. Thick, no filler, and huge lumps of crab. And get the Shoofly Pie. It’s dense and molasses-rich.” — Yelp Review, Captain_Dave_757

“Finally, a place in Poquoson where you can get a meal that sticks to your ribs without it being deep-fried seafood only. The Roast Beef is incredible. And the bread… I bought three loaves of the sourdough to take home.” — Google Review, Sarah P.

“The wait on Friday night was 45 minutes, and it was worth every second. We sat on the porch in the rocking chairs and just watched the sunset over the marsh. It’s the most peaceful spot in the city.” — Facebook Comment, Poquoson Eats Group

A New Tradition

Miller’s Marshside Kitchen has managed to do something difficult: it has introduced a distinctly foreign culture to a deeply traditional town, and found a common language in comfort food.

As you leave the restaurant, carrying a white box heavy with donuts and sourdough, the contrast strikes you again. You get into your car, turn on the ignition, and check your phone notifications. But for an hour, under the glow of gas lamps and the smell of brown butter and Old Bay, the world slowed down.

The buggy parked outside is hitched up now, ready for the short trot back to the farm the Millers have rented nearby. It’s a new sight for Poquoson, but one that the Bull Islanders hope is here to stay.

Miller’s Marshside Kitchen, 412 Wythe Creek Road, Poquoson, VA 23662, Hours: Mon-Sat 6:30 AM – 8:00 PM. Closed Sundays. Cash and Local Checks Only.

Poquoson, VA 23662

Yoder’s Southern Hearth: Where Pennsylvania Dutch Cooking Meets Southern Hospitality

Written by Dennis Regling in Amish Restaurants

Yoder’s Southern Hearth: A Quiet Culinary Revolution in Pontotoc

By: Sarah Jenkins | Food & Culture Reporter

PONTOTOC, MS — Turning onto Country Road 81, just a few miles outside of Pontotoc, the landscape is exactly what you expect from Northern Mississippi: rolling hills, kudzu-lined pines, and the occasional rusted tractor serving as a lawn ornament. But then, the scenery shifts. The barbed wire fences straighten up, the grass looks manicured by grazing rather than gas mowers, and a black buggy with a reflective orange triangle moves slowly along the shoulder.

You have arrived at Yoder’s Southern Hearth, the newest and perhaps most unexpected culinary destination in the state.

Located at 248 Country Road 81, Pontotoc, MS 38863, this sprawling farmhouse-turned-restaurant has been open for less than three months, yet the gravel parking lot is already overflowing by 5:00 PM on a Tuesday. There is no neon sign buzzing to announce its presence—just a hand-painted wooden placard swinging gently in the breeze.

Inside, the sensory experience is immediate and overwhelming. It doesn’t smell like a commercial kitchen; there is no scent of stale fryer grease or industrial cleaner. Instead, the air is thick with the aroma of yeast, browned butter, and slow-roasted beef. The lighting is soft and golden, provided entirely by gas lamps and large windows that catch the fading Mississippi sun. There is no background music—no country radio, no classic rock—just the low hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware against heavy ceramic plates.

The Migration of Flavor

The restaurant is the brainchild of Elias and Martha Yoder, who relocated their family from Holmes County, Ohio, to the quiet hills of Pontotoc late last year. While Mississippi has long been home to small Mennonite and Amish communities, a full-scale, authentic Amish buffet of this magnitude is a rarity in the Deep South.

“We found the land here to be good, and the people to be kind,” Elias says, wiping his hands on a white apron as he steps out of the kitchen. He speaks with a gentle, rhythmic cadence. “We wanted to bring our way of cooking to the table. In Ohio, we cook for the harvest. Here, we found people appreciate a heavy plate just the same.”

The fusion of cultures here is subtle but brilliant. You will find the traditional Pennsylvania Dutch staples, but they sit comfortably alongside Southern favorites. It is a place where the Mason-Dixon line seems to vanish into a bowl of gravy.

The Menu: Comfort in Every Bite

The menu at Yoder’s is not printed on laminated paper; it is written daily on a chalkboard near the entrance, though the “Family Style” dinner is the standard order.

The star of the show is, unequivocally, the Broasted Chicken. Unlike the heavy, double-battered fried chicken typical of the Delta, Yoder’s chicken is pressure-fried. The result is a skin that is impossibly thin and crisp, shattering at the first bite, revealing meat so juicy it almost defies physics. It is seasoned simply—salt, pepper, and a secret blend of herbs that Martha guards with a polite smile.

“I’ve lived in Mississippi my whole life, and I thought I knew fried chicken,” says customer Mark Davids, 54, of Tupelo. “I was wrong. I don’t know what they do to it, but it’s lighter, yet richer. I ate four pieces and didn’t feel heavy afterward.”

Sitting next to the chicken is the Roast Beef with Brown Gravy, cooked until it falls apart at the mere suggestion of a fork. It is served over a mound of Real Mashed Potatoes—not the instant flakes, but hand-mashed russets with distinct lumps, folded with heavy cream and swirls of yellow butter.

But the dish that has locals talking is the Amish Wedding Noodles. These are not pasta in the Italian sense; they are thick, doughy ribbons of egg noodle, cooked in chicken stock and tossed with browned butter and bits of shredded chicken. They are dense, chewy, and deeply savory.

“It’s like a hug in a bowl,” says Leanne Crouch, a regular who drives 45 minutes from Oxford twice a week. “It reminds me of chicken and dumplings, but drier and more flavorful. I buy a quart to take home every time I leave.”

Vegetables are treated with the same reverence as the meat. The Green Beans are slow-cooked with ham hocks, a nod to the Southern palate, while the Creamed Corn is sweet enough to be dessert, thickened with flour and butter rather than cornstarch. And, in a surprising twist for an Amish establishment, they serve Fried Okra, sliced thin and dusted in cornmeal, a concession to their new Mississippi neighbors that has paid off beautifully.

The Bakery: A Sweet Finale

If the dinner is the sermon, the bakery counter is the altar call.

You cannot leave Yoder’s Southern Hearth without walking past the glass display cases. The sheer size of the Cinnamon Rolls is comical; they are the size of dinner plates, spiraled tightly and smothered in a white vanilla glaze that is still warm.

However, the signature dessert is the Peanut Butter Cream Pie. It starts with a crumbly pastry crust, filled with a layer of sweet vanilla pudding mixed with peanut butter crumbs, and topped with a mountain of whipped cream. It is rich, salty, and sweet—a perfect balance.

Then there are the Fried Pies—apple, peach, and cherry turnovers glazed in sugar. They are flaky, stuffed to the brim with fruit filling that tastes like it was canned just yesterday (because it likely was).

“I come for the sourdough bread,” admits local pastor James Miller. “They sell it by the loaf. It’s got a crust you have to fight with a little bit, but the inside is soft as a cloud. We use it for communion sometimes. I think the Lord approves.”

cinnamon rolls

The Atmosphere and Service

The service at Yoder’s is distinct. The waitresses, dressed in modest monochromatic dresses with white coverings over their hair, move with an efficiency that borders on choreography. There is no idle chatter, but there is immense warmth. Your tea glass is never empty; your bread basket is refilled before you notice the last roll is gone.

They do not accept credit cards—cash or local check only. A sign by the register reads: “Please be patient, good food takes time. No Wi-Fi, talk to each other.”

This disconnection is part of the allure. In a world of QR code menus and Instagram-ready lighting, Yoder’s feels like a step back into a time that may never have actually existed for most of us, but feels familiar nonetheless. It is quiet. It is communal. You often end up chatting with the table next to you because there are no televisions to stare at.

What the Critics Are Saying

The reviews on local forums and travel boards are painting a picture of a restaurant that has instantly become a classic.

“I didn’t think you could find Shoofly Pie in the Magnolia State. The molasses flavor was deep and rich, not just sugary. It’s worth the drive just for the bakery.” — TripAdvisor User MS_Foodie_88

“The pot roast was tender, but the atmosphere is what gets you. It’s so peaceful. We went on a Friday night and despite the crowd, it felt calm. And the prices? You can feed a family of four for under $60 and take home leftovers.” — Yelp Review, Clara T.

“Don’t skip the pickled beets and eggs on the salad bar. I usually hate beets, but these were sweet and tangy. Total game changer.” — Google Review, Henry P.

The Verdict

Yoder’s Southern Hearth is more than just a novelty; it is a testament to the universal language of comfort food. It proves that whether you are raising a barn in Pennsylvania or picking cotton in Mississippi, the desire for a hot, home-cooked meal shared with family is the same.

As you step back out into the humid Mississippi night, carrying a brown paper bag heavy with cinnamon rolls and sourdough, the silence of the countryside feels a little less lonely. The gas lights of the farmhouse fade in the rearview mirror, but the taste of that butter-basted chicken lingers, promising that you will, inevitably, be back.

Yoder’s Southern Hearth, 248 Country Road 81, Pontotoc, MS 38863

Hours: Monday – Saturday, 7:00 AM – 8:00 PM. Closed Sundays. Cash or Check Only.

pie amish

No Wi-Fi, Just Whoopie Pies: Inside ‘The Hearthside Table,’ the Hudson Valley’s Newest Comfort Food Destination

Written by Dennis Regling in Amish Restaurants

The Quiet Magic of Route 52: A Supper at The Hearthside Table

WALDEN, NY — In the sprawling culinary landscape of the Hudson Valley, where foam-topped cocktails and deconstructed small plates often dominate the headlines, the most disruptive new arrival on the scene is radically simple. It has no Instagram presence. It doesn’t take reservations online. You will not find a television over the bar, because there is no bar.

What you will find at The Hearthside Table, located just outside the village limits of Walden, is a packed gravel parking lot on a Tuesday night and an aroma wafting onto Route 52 that smells intoxicatingly of savory herbs, yeast rolls, and slow-cooked meats.

Opened quietly three months ago by the Yoder family, who relocated to Orange County from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, aiming for a quieter pace of life, The Hearthside Table has quickly become an open secret among locals. It is a massive, timber-framed testament to a different way of living—and eating.

Stepping Into a Slower Zone

Address: The Hearthside Table, 1450 State Route 52, Walden, NY 12586

Entering the restaurant is an immediate sensory reset. The noise of the highway fades, replaced by the low hum of conversation from dozens of tables. The lighting is warm and golden, emanating from gas-style lamps that cast a gentle glow on the rough-hewn beams and simple wooden furniture.

There is no hostess stand with an iPad. Instead, a member of the Yoder family, dressed in traditional plain clothes, greets guests with genuine warmth, guiding them to heavy oak tables. The aesthetic is functional and spotless, designed not for aesthetics but for the serious business of feeding large groups of people.

“It takes a minute for people to adjust when they come in,” says Elias Yoder, one of the restaurant’s managers, his beard framing a ready smile. “They look at their phones, realizing they have no service inside the thick walls. Then they smell the bakery. Usually, by the time they sit down, the phone is in the pocket and they are talking to their family. That’s the point.”

The Menu: Mountainous Comfort

The food at The Hearthside Table is unabashedly hearty. It is the cuisine of hard work and long days outside, prepared with techniques handed down through generations, utilizing the bounty of the surrounding Hudson Valley farms combined with traditional Amish staples.

Hearthside Table

The portions are, frankly, staggering. This is not a place for light grazing; it is a destination for serious eating.

The Broasted Chicken: This is the dish that is already causing lines to form before the doors open at 4:00 PM. Unlike standard fried chicken, broasted chicken is cooked in a pressure fryer. The result, as perfected by the Yoders, is a skin that is impossibly thin, golden, and shatteringly crisp, giving way to meat so juicy it defies logic. It is seasoned simply with salt, pepper, and a hint of paprika, letting the quality of the bird shine.

The Roast Beef Platter: Slabs of beef are slow-roasted for twelve hours until they can be cut with a spoon. They are served swimming in a dark, rich gravy that tastes deeply of browned flour and savory drippings, usually draped over a mountain of real, butter-laden mashed potatoes.

The Sides: In the traditional style, the sides are almost the main event. The browned butter noodles—thick, hand-cut egg noodles drenched in nutty, caramelized butter—are essential. The sweet-and-sour red cabbage offers a tangy counterpoint to the rich meats, and the creamed corn tastes fresh off the cob, thickened naturally without feeling gluey.

Breakfast: The restaurant opens at 6:00 AM for a breakfast crowd that includes everyone from local contractors to commuters fueling up for the drive to the city. The signature item is the “Walden Haystack”: a buttermilk biscuit split open and piled high with home fries, scrambled eggs, sausage gravy, and melted cheddar cheese.

The Bakery: A Sweet Trap

The genius of The Hearthside Table’s layout is that to leave, you must walk past the expansive bakery counter. It is a strategic move that few resist.

Glass cases overflow with treats that look homemade because they are. There are Whoopie Pies the size of saucers in classic chocolate, pumpkin, and oatmeal flavors. There are loaves of still-warm white bread and soft pretzel braids glazed with butter.

But the king of the bakery is the Shoofly Pie. A polarizing dessert for the uninitiated, the Yoders’ version is a masterpiece of molasses and brown sugar, with a “wet bottom” layer that is gooey and rich, topped with a perfectly crumbly crust. It is intensely sweet, deeply flavored, and best eaten with a strong cup of black coffee.

chicken fried

The Community Verdict

The guest book by the front door is already thick with signatures and comments from around the Tri-State area. The reviews paint a picture of a community starved for connection and authentic cooking.

“I feel like I just ate at my grandmother’s house, if my grandmother cooked for 300 people,” reads one entry from Mark D., a resident of nearby Montgomery. “The pot roast is life-changing. And the quiet… it’s just nice to hear people talking.”

Sarah Jenkins, a food enthusiast who drove up from Beacon, admitted she was skeptical of the hype. “I thought, how good can chicken and noodles be? I was wrong. It’s not fancy food; it’s soul food. It reminds you that ingredients matter. And the portions! I ate leftovers for three days.”

Another local, James T., gave a succinct review as he carried two bakery boxes to his truck: “Don’t leave without the cinnamon rolls. Just don’t. You’ll regret it.”

Know Before You Go

The Hearthside Table is a unique dining experience in 2026 and there are rules of engagement.

First, they are closed on Sundays.

Second, it is cash or local check only. There is no credit card machine blinking on the counter. While there is an ATM in the vestibule, regulars know to come prepared.

Third, bring patience. They do not take reservations, and on Friday and Saturday nights, the wait can exceed an hour. However, the wide front porch, lined with rocking chairs, has become a social hub where patrons happily wait, breathing in the country air and the scent of frying chicken.

In a world sprinting toward the next technological culinary innovation, The Hearthside Table is standing still, betting that butter, salt, time, and community are the only trends that truly last. Based on the crowds on Route 52, it’s a winning bet.

shoo fly

Beyond the Biscuit: Bob Evans Partners with Amish Cooks for a Comfort Food Revolution

Written by Dennis Regling in Amish cooking

Article by Elizabeth Shueles, Independent Food Editor

DUBLIN, OH — For decades, the red gambrel roof of a Bob Evans restaurant has been a beacon on the American roadside, promising hot biscuits, savory sausage gravy, and the reliable comfort of a farmhouse breakfast. But step into the flagship location on Emerald Parkway in Dublin, Ohio, this week, and you will detect aroma profile that is subtly, yet distinctly, different.

Underneath the familiar scent of sizzling bacon, there are deeper notes of molasses, slow-cooked savory herbs, and browned butter.

In an unprecedented move for the 75-year-old chain, Bob Evans Restaurants has quietly launched a pilot program introducing twelve authentic, traditional Amish dishes to its menus at select test locations across Ohio and Pennsylvania. Dubbed the “Dutch Country Kitchen Initiative,” this isn’t just a marketing spin on existing items. It is a culinary deep-dive born from a unique partnership between the corporate giant and regional Amish culinary artisans.

The result is a menu that bridges the gap between commercial consistency and the soulful, labor-intensive cooking usually found only in gas-lit farmhouse kitchens or community bake sales.

A Partnership Rooted in the Soil

The initiative began over two years ago, according to Sarah Miller, Senior Vice President of Culinary Development for Bob Evans.

“We have always prided ourselves on ‘farm-fresh,'” Miller said, sitting in a booth at the Dublin location, a sampler platter of fry pies in front of her. “But we realized that just down the road from our headquarters here in Ohio, there is a community that has been defining ‘farm-fresh’ for centuries. We didn’t want to copy them; we wanted to learn from them.”

The company reportedly spent months cultivating relationships with Amish communities in Holmes County, Ohio, and Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. They weren’t just buying recipes; they were consulting on techniques. The challenge was immense: how do you scale recipes that rely on “a pinch of this” and “cook until it looks right” for a high-volume restaurant environment?

The breakthrough came when Bob Evans agreed to source key components directly from Amish producers. The thick, saffron-yellow egg noodles used in several dishes are not dried in a factory; they are made fresh by a collective of Amish families and delivered weekly. The scrapple, a polarizing but essential Pennsylvania Dutch staple, is sourced from a remote butcher shop that still uses wood-fired kettles.

The “Dutch Country Kitchen” Menu Highlights

The twelve new items are woven throughout the day’s offerings, from breakfast to dessert. The most immediate hit at the test location has been the Amish Breakfast Haystack.

A staple of Amish community gatherings, the Haystack is a study in satisfying layers. Bob Evans’ version starts with a base of their signature home fries, topped with a buttermilk biscuit split open, followed by fluffy scrambled eggs, crumbled house-made sausage, a generous ladle of a new, pepper-flecked cream gravy, and finished with melted cheddar cheese. It is massive, chaotic, and deeply comforting.

Bob Evans

“I ordered the Haystack thinking I’d eat half and take the rest home,” said Mark Henderson, a Dublin resident dining on Tuesday morning. “I ate the whole thing. It’s the best gravy I’ve ever had in a restaurant. It tastes like Sunday morning at my grandmother’s.”

For dinner, the standout is the traditional Chicken Pot Pie. Unlike the flaky-crust pot pies most Americans know, this version is a hearty stew. It features succulent chunks of slow-roasted chicken and tender root vegetables, but the star is the broth—thickened naturally by the starch of the handmade, thick-cut egg noodles that swim within it. It is served over mashed potatoes for a “carb-on-carb” experience that is unapologetically hearty.

Other dinner additions include Slow-Roasted Beef with “Wedding Gravy,” a dark, rich sauce traditionally served at Amish weddings, and side dishes like tangy Sweet and Sour Red Cabbage and Browned Butter Noodles topped with toasted breadcrumbs.

Sweet Endings and Real Reactions

Perhaps the biggest gamble for Bob Evans was introducing desserts that can be unfamiliar to the modern palate.

The menu features classic Whoopie Pies—two soft, cake-like chocolate cookies sandwiching a fluffy marshmallow creme filling—which have been flying off the shelves as carry-out items.

But the true test of authenticity is the Shoofly Pie. A molasses-based “wet-bottom” pie with a crumb topping, it is intensely sweet, slightly bitter, and dense. It’s a flavor profile that doesn’t usually play well in the world of ultra-sugary chain desserts.

“We were nervous about the Shoofly Pie,” admitted Miller. “It’s an acquired taste for some. But we decided if we were going to do this, we had to do it right. We serve it warm with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream to cut the richness.”

The gamble seems to be paying off. The authenticity of the items is resonating with customers tired of sterilized, focus-grouped food.

“It’s the real deal,” said Esther Yoder, a woman who grew up in an Amish community in Pennsylvania and now lives in Columbus, after trying the new menu at the Emerald Parkway location. “Often when ‘English’ restaurants try to make our food, they make it too fancy or they take shortcuts. The noodles here have the right chew. The red cabbage has the right vinegar bite. It surprised me, honestly. It’s good food.”

Online reviews for the test location have been buzzing with mentions of the new items. One Yelp reviewer wrote: “I don’t know what they are doing back in that kitchen, but the new Roast Beef tastes like it was cooked for 12 hours. This isn’t fast food. It’s incredible.”

Another Google review praised the change of pace: “Bob Evans had gotten a little stale for me. This new Amish menu is exactly what they needed. Get the Fry Pie—it’s like a glazed handheld pocket of fruit heaven.”

Amish menu

The Future of the Initiative

Currently, the twelve Amish menu items are available exclusively at five test locations, with the primary launch hub located at:

Bob Evans, 6095 Emerald Pkwy, Dublin, OH 43016

Company executives are tight-lipped about a nationwide rollout, stating they are closely monitoring customer feedback and supply chain viability. Sourcing enough authentic noodles and scrapple for 400+ locations presents a significant logistical hurdle.

However, judging by the packed parking lot at the Dublin location on a rainy Wednesday night, Bob Evans has tapped into something powerful. In an era of culinary noise, the quiet, simple, enduring power of authentic comfort food is speaking volumes.

The Best Pot Roast in New York: Inside the Catskills’ Most Authentic New Dining Destination

Written by Dennis Regling in Amish Restaurants

The Quiet Magic of Blackberry Lane: A Supper at The Hearth & Harrow

ARKVILLE, NY — The Catskills have long been a playground for reinvention. From the Borscht Belt resorts of the mid-century to the recent wave of Brooklyn-chic boutique hotels and fermented-vegetable eateries, the region is constantly shifting its identity. But if you turn off State Route 28 near Arkville, winding your way up a gravel incline known as Blackberry Lane, you will find a place that isn’t trying to be new, trendy, or “curated.”

You will find a place that is timeless.

It is called The Hearth & Harrow, and since quietly opening its heavy cedar doors three months ago, it has become the most unlikely culinary hotspot in the mountains.

There is no website. You cannot book a table on Resy. There isn’t even a landline to call. Yet, on a rainy Tuesday evening—a time when most local establishments are dormant—the gravel lot is packed with a mix of mud-caked Subaru Outbacks and gleaming luxury SUVs.

Owned by the Yoder family, who relocated to a quiet plot of farmland in Delaware County from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, The Hearth & Harrow is an Amish-run market and restaurant that feels less like a business and more like a sanctuary.

Step Inside the Timber Frame

Address: The Hearth & Harrow, 442 Blackberry Lane, Arkville, NY 12406

The building itself is a marvel of traditional craftsmanship. Constructed over the course of last spring by the Yoders and a team of neighbors who traveled up by bus to assist, it is a soaring timber-frame barn held together not by nails, but by wooden pegs and complex joinery.

When you step inside, the first thing you notice is the sound. Or rather, the lack of it. There is no humming refrigerator motor (the cooling is done via ice house and gas absorption). There is no piped-in playlist of indie folk music. The air is filled only with the murmur of conversation, the clinking of silverware, and the rhythmic whoosh of the gas lamps that provide the dining room’s warm, flickering amber light.

“It’s a different kind of tired you feel when you leave here,” says Elias Yoder, the eldest son who manages the front of the house, his beard trimmed neatly, his demeanor calm amidst the dinner rush. “It’s a good tired. The kind that comes from a full belly and a quiet mind.”

The Menu: Mountain Hearty

The food at The Hearth & Harrow is designed for the climate. This is mountain food—hearty, warming, and caloric. It is the cuisine of people who spend their days working the rocky soil of the Catskills.

While the menu changes based on what is coming out of the garden out back, there are staples that have already garnered a cult following.

The “Barn-Raising” Pot Roast: This is the dish that locals are whispering about in the aisles of the Margaretville supermarket. Slabs of beef are slow-roasted for twelve hours with carrots, onions, and celery until the meat collapses at the mere suggestion of a fork. It is served atop a mound of mashed potatoes that are roughly 40% butter by volume, creating a volcanic crater for the rich, dark gravy.

Catskill Trout with Browned Butter: In a nod to their new home near the Esopus Creek, the Yoders offer fresh trout, pan-fried in cast iron until the skin is like glass, topped with toasted almonds and a lemon-parsley butter sauce.

The Sides: Dining here is often done family-style. Giant bowls of “Amish Wedding Noodles” (thick, saffron-yellow egg noodles), creamed corn that tastes like pure summer sunshine, and sweet-and-sour red cabbage are passed between tables, blurring the lines between strangers.

Breakfast: If you manage to arrive between 6:00 AM and 10:00 AM, you must order the “Lumberjack’s Stack.” It involves three sourdough pancakes the size of hubcaps, served with house-cured bacon and maple syrup tapped from the trees visible through the dining room windows.

Lumberjack’s Stack

The Bakery: A Sweet Trap

The genius of the layout is that to leave the restaurant, you must walk through the bakery and market. It is a test of willpower that everyone fails.

The air here is thick with cinnamon and yeast. Wooden shelves are lined with jars of pickled ramps, dilly beans, and peach butter. But the glass case is the main attraction.

The Maple Walnut Cream Pie is rapidly becoming a local legend. It utilizes the deep, caramelized flavor of local dark amber syrup, whipped into a frenzy with heavy cream and set in a lard crust that flakes if you look at it wrong.

Then there are the Cider Donuts. Unlike the dense, cakey donuts found at many orchards, these are yeast-raised, fluffy, and glazed with a boiled cider icing that provides a tart punch to cut the sweetness.

“I came in for a coffee and left with three pies and a quilt,” laughs Sarah Jennings, a weekend resident from Kingston. “I don’t even need a quilt. But you look at the hand-stitching, and you smell the bread, and you just want to take a piece of this life home with you.”

The Reviews: A Study in Contrast

The guest book, resting on a podium made of a reclaimed cider press near the door, tells the story of the restaurant’s diverse appeal.

“I forgot what food tasted like without preservatives,” reads one entry signed by a ‘J.D.’ from Manhattan. “The chicken pot pie actually made me emotional. Is that normal?”

Another entry, scrawled in the shaky handwriting of a local farmer, reads simply: “Good honest food. Fair price. The coffee is strong enough to float a horseshoe. Will be back Tuesday.”

We spoke to Mark Henderson, a hiking guide who brings his clients here after trekking Slide Mountain. “The Catskills are getting fancy,” Mark says, cutting into a massive slice of meatloaf. “And that’s fine. But sometimes you don’t want ‘deconstructed foam.’ You want meatloaf. You want bread that was kneaded by a human hand this morning. That’s what this is. It’s real.”

The Experience: Unplugged

Perhaps the most defining feature of The Hearth & Harrow is the strict “no technology” policy in the dining room. There are small signs on the tables politely requesting that phones be kept in pockets.

At first, the withdrawal is palpable. You see diners instinctively reach for their devices to photograph the photogenic spread of food, only to catch themselves. But then, something shifts. Shoulders drop. Eye contact is made. The volume of laughter rises.

“We aren’t against technology,” Elias tells us, lighting a fresh taper in a wall sconce. “But we are for connection. It is hard to taste your food when you are looking at a screen. It is hard to know your neighbor when you are texting a friend.”

If You Go

The Hearth & Harrow is a destination, not a stopover. The drive up Blackberry Lane is steep and can be muddy after a rain, so leave the sports car at home.

Important Details:

  • Payment: Cash or check only. There is no credit card machine, and the nearest ATM is a fifteen-minute drive back into town.
  • Hours: Tuesday through Saturday, 6:00 AM – 8:00 PM. Closed Sundays and Mondays.
  • Wait Times: On Friday and Saturday nights, the wait can exceed an hour. However, the front porch, lined with rocking chairs and overlooking the mist-covered valley, is a perfectly fine place to wait.

As I drove back down the mountain, the gas lamps of The Hearth & Harrow fading in the rearview mirror like fireflies, the modern world rushed back in. My phone buzzed with notifications; the radio found a signal. But on the passenger seat, wrapped in brown butcher paper, a still-warm loaf of sourdough bread sat as a reminder that, even if just for an hour, you can still find a quiet corner of the world where the butter is churned by hand and the only light comes from a flame.