When I was growing up, I never went on exotic vacations to far-away islands. We never flew anywhere, we always drove. Every five years it was Florida, the other times it was upstate New York to Lake George or to my favorite spot—down to the Jersey Shore. And it was always with a large group of friends and relatives—family style 100%. Every trip was great.

That salty air you can almost taste, the seagulls, the seashells, the sun (the real sun, not a tanning bed), the blue ocean, it’s all just beautiful to me. Someday, I hope to own a bungalow down the shore. My parents had one in Belmar for a couple of years and I loved it. Those bungalows with their screened-in porches, blue and white awnings, nautical decor (usually including a giant anchor on the front lawn and rocks in the driveway) have a cozy kitschness that is unmatched. Things overall are just charmingly unique down the shore…

There’s the WindMill (an extremely popular area hot dog joint) and the Wawa (an equally popular 24-hour convenience store at every other gas station), the roadside tomato markets, the bridges that open up for the sailboats to pass (and also hold up traffic for us eager to get the Caddies and Mustangs parked and get the day started), those tiny low-flying planes with their aerial banners (“GET YOUR SOFT-SHELL CRABS AT ZELBE’S!”) Man, there is so much you can only experience to understand. The cugine is never more prominent and comfortable than in our element that is the Jersey Shore, where we dominate the area—at least for three months out of the calendar. Some of the shore locals claim to dislike us northern visitors (even calling us “Bennies”). Yeah, we may bring traffic, but we aren’t tourists—this is our home too. There’s so much more than what’s seen on TV. Last week, for the first time ever, I traveled to exit 82 as a married man with two kids in tow for our first “Meatball Family Vacation.”

The true cugine embodies food, vino, espresso, cigars, a certain style, vernacular, a have fun (without being over the top) attitude, that devotedness to old-school movies, music and pop culture, our cars, a dedication to Catholic practices, our sports teams and of course, always a great passion for all things Jersey Italian—especially in the company of friends and family who also embody all of the above. Being seen and being defined by these characteristics is what it’s all about. This may sound somewhat simplistic (even silly to some) and it’s often all very misunderstood. Bottom line is, we are in our habitat at the place that every true Jersey-lifer like myself considers the primo destination down the Parkway (hence, “down the shore”). Whether it’s Point Pleasant, Seaside, Wildwood or somewhere in between, the boardwalk contains all of the paisan’s favorite things and it’s where we all can proudly strut our stuff in our guinea tees. And the sandy beaches provide our escape from the hustle and bustle of the northern part of the Garden State.

See, it’s just not about renting a summer share with a crazy crew, drunken club-hopping or random hooking-up for me. It’s about swimming and boogie-boarding, Frisbee, fishing, pumping quarters into the arcades, shopping at the jewelry stores, clothing stores, novelty and souvenir booths…plus all the games, exhibits, attractions, amusements and rides, and of course the bars and eateries filled with distinct cuisine. Not to mention, miniature golf, bumper cars, cigar stands, coffee and cold cocktails—fresh lemonade for the little ones and tropical drinks for the grown-ups…Plus the talented (and no so talented) magicians, musicians and performers, fortune tellers, and lots of other characters across the pier for your entertainment. You may even bump into Uncle Floyd.


Just like at a giant Church feast or flea market, you can buy (or win) current and classic tapes or CDs (plenty from Bruce and The Boss!), cugine chotskies and goomba gifts (maybe a satin Italia jacket, perhaps a keychain shaped like the Garden State), arts and crafts, hats, soccer jerseys, gold chains and religious ornaments, fancy purses and accessories and so much more—including endless racks of Armani shades (careful of the fugazies mixed in), leopard-print bathing suits, flip-flops and coconut oil. Guys and girls, young and old, everything in between, there’s something for everyone. Mangia the cheesesteaks, sausage & peppers, Taylor ham (FYI: they call it pork roll in South Jersey), steamed clams with garlic butter, vanilla and orange custard cones from Kohr’s, crispy fries with malt vinegar, pizza, salt water taffy and fudge. It may not be gourmet fare, but it’s what I grew up with and what my kids will grow up with.


All of this was always what the Jersey Shore was all about for me. I was never into the party scene 24/7 in my teen years or in my twenties. Of course, there was prom weekend and a few more wild weekends after that, but overall, that lifestyle never defined me. My fondest memories are of bags of zeppoles, not how many “Snookies” I bagged in a sleazy motel. It was like going back in time. Like anything else, some things changed down the shore, but most of it remains the same. Hopefully it will remain intact forever as closely to how it is now, and always was. The long-running businesses have been around and established long before I was born and will no doubt continue to thrive long after I am gone.

Look, the Sea Garden Inn may not be The Ritz and Seaside may not be The Naples Bay, but for me, it’s a special place where I’ll continue to create new memories at for the next generation. The only difference now is, instead of my parents shlepping a huge bag of shovels and toys for me to build sand castles with—not to mention all the coolers of food, chairs, balls, blankets, towels, the boombox to listen to the Yankee game and whatever else—I just happen to be the parent lugging all that stuff. And it’s all good. Winning a stuffed animal on a Lucky Leo’s wheel, going on rollercoasters, watching fireworks above the Atlantic, and just spending quality time with my loved ones is what it’s all about. Don’t get me wrong, I can pound a few back with the best of them, and also tear up the dance floor, but those days are few and far between.

I can still fist-pump, but on this weekend of fun, I was fist-pumping with one hand and pushing a baby stroller in the other. My hair may still be spiked high, but I’m a family man at heart. Muscles have been traded for meatballs. The whole guido world has been discussed to death, and the excessive extremism that the cable TV variety displays is not the world according to Johnny Meatballs—not in Ocean County or Bergen County. All I can say is there’s a certain time when superficial, hedonistic obsessions become moot and one can no longer act like a kid when they have kids. Being fifty-years-old and hitting on chicks at the tiki lounge just aint cool. Those guys need to watch out for the Tramcar—please! (I apologize to anyone reading this in Wyoming, that’s a joke only my East Coast peeps will get.)

Hey, evolution comes at different times for everyone and practicing moderation and balance is a concept some take longer to master than others. I’m not here to judge or censor anyone, I’m only here to observe and compare. I said it before, if more folks (young and old) within our community did the same, we’d have less division in our heritage, but I digress. God bless all the carefree twenty-somethings who are doing their thing but my days are about everything I’ve written here—a world that so many Jersey Italian-Americans share. I’ve also said on many occasions how the world of the young TV girls and guys does not reflect me or my personal experiences, and is not synonymous with my friends or family. Just as my particular shore stories may differ from someone else’s. I wouldn’t change a thing about my life. Such a “situation” may make one feel old or past their prime, but as far as I’m concerned, my prime is just beginning.

My “Ultimate Jersey Wedding” may not have been followed by an ultimate romantic hot tub honeymoon with just me and my Jersey girl wife (who, for the record is a hell of a lot sexier and classier than any shorehouse guidette—and who definitely gets mama’s approval). But hey, it was indeed an Ultimate Jersey Family Vacation. A weekend I’ll never forget. The big question is, would my shore adventures garner equal ratings as the successful cable series if it were showcased on national television?



What’s next? Well, come out and join me and my “Meat & Greet” Team (la famiglia) next weekend, as we continue to celebrate our heritage and culture. This time, we won’t be at the boardwalk but at the 11th Annual Mercer County Italian American Festival in West Windsor, NJ. Enjoy three days of non-stop entertainment, along with hundreds of food and merchandise vendors, including a hot stand featuring “JOHNNY’S MEATBALLS IN SUNDAY GRAVY!” Sept. 24, 25, 26 at Mercer County Park (Old Trenton Road). For more info, check out: www.italianamericanfestival.com.