This time around, the occasion is for drinks and dinner with friends at this long-standing Delaware County colonial-era mainstay. The three of us, Delco natives all, used to live nearby. We’ve decided to rekindle old times; my one buddy picked the tavern as our rendezvous point. As I stride toward the front door, I spot a car parked out front bearing an orange “Funeral” sticker with black lettering, an obvious straggler from an earlier luncheon.
The proximity to the cemetery has been the Lamb Tavern’s bread-and-butter crowd for generations, with processions of families-in-mourning driving there in droves almost daily.
With such solemn and heartfelt gatherings then, you had better believe the management and staff here have a pretty big tradition to continually uphold.
The tavern’s location by dry, Blue Law-abiding Broomall also makes it the closest and most convenient bar this side of the Springfield Township border.
The old inn is a throwback for sure, historic and storied. Its many rooms and nooks are made cozy with homespun décor: oil paintings, lots of chintz and glowing lantern light. An impressive hand-painted artist’s rendition of the hamlet circa 1729 takes center stage in the bar.
Like its early American setting, Lamb Tavern’s menu is straightforward, with meat, fish, fowl, and seafood, plus sandwiches, salads and burgers. If you were suddenly dropped here with me by the bar, and you couldn’t see ESPN on the tube, you probably wouldn’t know if it was 2008 or 1968.
This is not to say the old Lamb has remained a complete restaurant fossil.
Owners Stephen Graham and Peter Crisanti have breathed some new life into the aging girl in recent years. I notice the bar has been moved to a larger and brighter area. The exterior, once faded, now has luster and appeal. The menu, though typical of this genre, is more memorable than my many times there before when hearing “Do you want the chicken or the fish?” at so many bygone luncheons.
Shellfish selections are pronounced here with oysters and clams being of good quality. And crab nachos are a tastily aquatic fun food. All the standards from its menu of “1729 Classic” are in play, from crab imperial to prime rib and meatloaf. “My hair is turning blue just looking at this menu” my buddy intones.
At the bar we watch some NCAA action while Joe, the long-time tender here, pours us three Stella drafts. We’ll wait ten minutes for a second round and another ten till the check arrives – not with well-wishes and prompt transactions like all the nearby locals receive, we notice, but no matter.
Bread and butter they are…
A handsome, well-dressed gentleman escorts us to the dining room.
Our waitress is quiet and reserved, almost shy. No upselling and little conversation occur, even when goaded on by my goofy friends, but she attends to the table well. I get the sense that service etiquette is basic here.
I don’t hear servers talk about wine suggestions or what their favorites are on the menu; they’re not serving ladies first; scads of used plates cover tables. I watch a Ranch-spattered knife and fork go away with an eaten salad at the next table.
“Oh here,” a maybe fifteen year-old bus boy then hands them back. “You’ll need these for entrée.”
The shrimp bisque comes out in a cup. The cream-finished broth is rich though muddled by the iodine-tasting flecks of chopped baby shrimp topping the small portion of soup. For $5.95, I am expecting a whole bowl. And fresher shrimp.
I find no fault to the briny liquor and plump sweetness of the North Point oysters from Prince Edward Island. It’s no surprise though that Lamb Tavern does so well with its raw bar offerings. Crisanti and Graham also have invested in the renowned Ludwig’s Inn & Oyster Bar (Route 100 in northern Chester County), which has its own strong contingent of local fans due in part to the usually excellent shellfish. The duo also runs three Casey’s pubs in the area. Quite the restaurateurs those two.
Crab cakes and a twelve-ounce blackened rib-eye follow as does my chicken Chesapeake, two boneless breasts topped with crab imperial and lobster sauce. Each entrees rings in at about $20.
The preceding salads are like the many I’ve had there during countless receptions: bland white Iceberg with a few anemic cherry tomatoes, et al.
My chicken dish is fine, the twin poultry cuts are a bit chewy, but the sauce is dense with flavor. Ditto the rib-eye. “This crab rocks,” my other friend injects between fat forkfuls.
Digging into my (real) piped mashed potatoes accompanying the chicken, I hear a server tell a broadly smiling gentleman who looks very much like he owns the joint that a party doesn’t want to be seated in the bar, though the dining room is currently full.
Graham laughs. “It’s their third time here this week. Tell them if they take that open table, dinners on me!”
And that’s the crux of what I take away from the Lamb Tavern. It is a place still held in place by time, a slow-ticking scene that could be from any year, with a menu you won’t need to second-guess. And it’s all run by a man with restaurants in his blood and a never-ending supply of bread and butter.
