Recently, I found myself driving I-80 through Ohio in the afternoon with a wonderful colleague who is a bit adventurous and willing to bend some rules for a good cause. As I neared Youngstown, one thought popped into my head: The Federal. If you’re a Bar Rescue fan like me, you’ll remember this place wasn’t always The Federal. It started as Martini Brothers Burger Bar, not to be confused with the Martini Bar down the block, until Jon transformed it. How could I resist stopping by? I mean, this was the site where Jon rescued a friendship between brothers Joey and Dan Martini and their buddy, landlord, and co-owner, Jacob Harver nine years ago and the place is still open and thriving.

This episode is memorable because Jacob was the landlord with an 8% investment in the place and driving it into the ground, all the while claiming he worked for nothing because he thought hosting art events in a burger bar was a solid business strategy. Can you hear Jon’s voice in your head? I can hear him in mine, and it’s screaming “COME ON, GUYS!! WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?!”

Let’s rewind to “S4E35: Sour Lemons and Bitter Business.” This episode had everything—finger painting (yes, you read that right) and a tambourine percussion session led by Jacob himself. Seriously, I’m not even judging, but when you’re running a bar that’s $600k in the hole, you probably don’t need a drum circle; you need drinks on the table and cash in the register. Yet, there was Jacob, banging on a tambourine like he is Lonie Walker from the Underground Wonder Bar (“S4E12:Crayons & Anger Lines,” IYKYK).

Bar Rescue is filled with owners who opened a bar to fulfill some other dream they had, like to be a DJ or a musician.  While what Jacob was doing that night seemed juvenile like in Lonie’s bar, to his credit, Jacob has a nice dream for a depressed economic area, more reminiscent of Jon and John from “S6E3: Weird Science,” two research scientists running Paladino’s as a cultural arts center instead of a bar/business. Jon’s poignant question in that episode sums it up: “Are you running a business or a charity?”

Back to Martini Brothers—Jacob’s passion for art is admirable, but, as Jon quickly points out, art isn’t going to pay the bills. Jacob seems oblivious to how his actions are impacting the business. For example, Jacob stores food-grade crickets in the walk in for a snack. Jon tries to wake Jacob up to the situation with, “Do you understand that if this winds up on somebody’s plate, do they know it’s human grade edible? What do they think?” But Jacob seems to half-heartedly listen to Jon, popping crickets like they’re popcorn and smirking the whole time. I think I recall him asking Jon if he wanted some. No kidding.

The stress test is the moment of truth, though, and Jacob, to his credit, works hard trying to be a contributor to the business in ways he hadn’t recognized were important until Jon showed up and schooled him on the error of his ways. By the end of the night, it hits Jacob: “The patrons are walking out with the money they came in with. Our ass is on the line; we’re the ones that have to make it right.” You could feel the shift starting. Everyone is finally on the same page, and Jon, ever the maestro of people’s reactions, asks Jacob how he felt about being the kind of contributor that his partners admired, making him confront what had just happened and fully recognize the power of true participation in his business.

Then, in a classic Jon move, he has Jacob paint over the ceiling mural Jacob loves so much. In Jon’s mind—and probably everyone’s at the bar besides Jacob—the mural is symbolic of the trouble the bar is in and why. If you didn’t know better, you might think Jon was twisting the knife, but I’ve been studying Jon for years, and I see it quite differently. It’s not about Jon being an asshole to Jacob, it’s about Jon knowing that Jacob has to let go of his dream to turn the bar into an art center if there’s going to be real, long-term, sustainable change inside him.

The moment was excruciating for Jacob, and if you look closely at Jon’s eyes, you can see sadness in them. It’s like Jon knows he is crushing Jacob’s artistic soul for the greater good, and as hard as it is, he does it anyway. “If you accept the business will feed your art, that the art can’t feed your business, you’ll get there,” Jon tells him, with his trademark firmness that’s half coach, half drill sergeant.

Jacob, to his credit, gets it, probably because Jon made sure Jacob felt a deep seated emotional connection to the business of the bar beforehand when he asked Jacob how it felt to be a contributor. Jacob tells Jon “You’re the boss,” in an effort to recognize his willingness to capitulate to Jon’s horrific demand on him. If you really attend to Jon’s inner workings, you can tell there is more to it than Jon just being a dick. As I’ve argued elsewhere in this blog, Jon looks like a hardass on the outside but fueling that appearance is a deeply compassionate man on a mission to use every tool at his disposal to help bar owners turn their businesses around in four long days.

Fast forward to today—nine years since Jon’s rescue. The place is still The Federal, and I had to see it for myself. Sure, the burger and cocktail menus are different now, but the spirit of that rescue still lingers. HT to my colleague who was with me and willing to support my side trip during our work trip because walking through the doors of The Federal would feel like stepping into a small piece of Jon’s legacy, and I couldn’t wait.

I pull up and park in front, get to the door, and see the sign: The Federal is closed. Unexpectedly closed to me, because they’d just updated their hours on Google three weeks ago, so they were supposed to be open. The sign on the door didn’t exactly clarify whether it was closed for the day, for good, or just for a long summer’s nap. (I’ve since called, and they are open, so it was apparently just that day.) I was crushed.

Being a Jon Taffer fan has its perks, though. I’ve been trying to live my life all about solutions, not excuses. So, with The Royal Oaks from “S4E35: Blowing Royal Smoke” only four minutes away, I had my next option. A quick check on Google shows they are still open but not until 4:00 pm, and my colleague and I are on a schedule.

If you’ve been around this blog for more than a minute—or, even glanced at the tagline—you know I’m a dedicated fan of Jon’s. As such, I call it like I see it, and let me tell you, Jon never quite mentions how much thought and creativity go into being solution-oriented. Seriously, it takes mental effort—a lot of it. Sure, you get better at it over time, but here I am, getting pretty good at it, and I still don’t have another immediate solution on hand. So my colleague and I get back on the road and keep driving toward our destination. I didn’t want to accept defeat, but I also didn’t have an answer in my back pocket. We’re both starving, too, which doesn’t help our thinking, but it does help our situation because we don’t want to spend long looking for another place to eat.

About five minutes down the highway, there it is: A sign for the next exit and a place called Coney’s. I’m excited now because I’m going to grab an elevated hot dog for lunch (IYKYK) and save this trip from being a bust. My colleague isn’t into this idea like I am, but low blood sugar and no knowledge of the area resolved that issue quickly. We go to Coney’s.

Coney’s is tucked into one of those highway interchanges, with neighbors like Taco Bell, Wendy’s, and Dunkin’. It fits in well, except for one thing. Little did I know but Coney’s in Poland, Ohio, not only has elevated (and regular) hot dogs, they’ve got burgers, shakes—and, you guessed it, a bar. How serendipitous. Channeling my inner Jon, I decide to expand my plan to include recon. Time to see if Coney’s is up to snuff or if it’s just a joint serving fancy hot dogs with a side of “You’re gonna KILL somebody!!!!”

I didn’t pay much attention to the exterior because I didn’t know they had a bar until I went inside. Don’t think Jon would like that. Nothing scared me off, though, and if I was with my family on the highway, not knowing they had a bar might be a good thing. My initial impression was that it looked sterile—maybe even more sterile than McDonald’s—with its gray exterior. The inside wasn’t much warmer either with an industrial aesthetic. The signage had some color and a bit of a fun vibe to it that contrasted with the lack of warmth elsewhere.

I’m not sure what Jon would think of the concept. It wasn’t confusing like some of the bars on Bar Rescue, but it didn’t seem inviting or female-friendly, either. All regular Bar Rescue watchers should know that if you can’t bring in the women, you’re SOL. I imagine that to be particularly true near a university.

The place looked new, but I couldn’t tell if that was because it was newly built, new to me, or both. Later, Bree the bartender explained they were in a soft opening phase until they got their TVs installed, and then they’d go full-on sports bar. That explained a lot, including why it felt a little bare. I’m betting the TVs will make a world of difference.

I don’t have an ESRI report handy to tell me whether a sports bar is the perfect fit for the location, but according to Bree, they’re already pulling in students from Youngstown State and locals alike. There were about 10 customers at lunch, all middle-aged men. Bree knew them by name, spoke to them familiarly, and knew not only their current drinks but their drinking habits. Clearly, they’re already regulars—and it wasn’t hard to see why. Bree not only has it going on upstairs, she has that smile—the kind Jon always highlights on Bar Rescue—full of energy, welcoming, and completely engaging.

I watched Bree work the bar and the floor, juggling all the customers while still taking time to chat with my colleague and me because we were new to the place and had questions about the food and menu. She explained that her morning had been thrown off because the TVs were delivered and piled up in the dining room. She didn’t seem thrown off to me, and I looked around and didn’t see the TVs either, so she took care of that problem and was handling everything else like a boss. I asked if she is the manager, and she said no.

“Bar manager?” I ask next.

Nope, just a bartender. I am simultaneously impressed and saddened by this. Bree is “just a bartender,” making the cocktail menus and running the entire front of the house. I wonder what Jon would think about this as Angela from “S4E9 Spoiled Brat Party” comes to mind. Angela was the cousin Jon banked on to save the YNOT III bar from its pathetically uninterested owner, Nick DePalma.

I asked for a cocktail menu, and Bree said they didn’t have one. Secretly, I got excited—finally, some low-hanging fruit for my recon review. But no, Bree is on top of her game. “But I’m developing two,” she says. “One with more standard cocktails and one with Coney’s signature drinks.” So, there went the low hanging fruit.

I asked if I could try one of her signature drinks just to see, but she said since they were still in development, she didn’t have the ingredients yet—just the concepts, which she excitedly shared with me: Apple cider Moscow mule, boozy milkshakes… Boozy milkshakes? Mamma Mia Mastroianni, I’m going to need to plan another business trip to Youngstown in a couple of months because The Federal also had boozy milkshakes, thanks to Mia.

Bree knew the menu inside and out. She took both my and my colleague’s orders by memory—impressive, considering how much food we ordered “for business purposes,” of course. I watched her mix a Bahama Mama (her recommendation for lunchtime and my baby taste buds that prefer fruit and sugar) and counted her pours—spot on.

Then I noticed a guy with a headset coming out from the kitchen, helping a customer. Friendly, professional, and with the same big smile and genuine vibe of hospitality as Bree. Turns out he is the manager. Watching him interact with people made me realize something Jon says all the time: Hire for traits, not skills. Skills can be taught, traits cannot. The owners of Coney’s hired for both.

The food? Elevated bar food for sure. Vic Vegas would approve. The prices were perfect for an economically depressed area like Youngstown, and the food was made for football nights. In the slideshow above, you can see pics from the visit. My colleague and I ordered a Coney’s Signature, small fry with chili and shredded cheese, a Chicago dog, chili dog, triple cheeseburger, small gyro fry, a Blue Moon, Bahama Mama, and two milkshakes—cake batter and Cinnamon Toast Crunch—for $58.80.

I was a little worried about the chili because, as I’ve mentioned before here and in other posts, my tastebuds are, shall we say, “tender”—Heinz Ketchup is spicy to me—but I was pleasantly surprised. The chili was flavorful without overwhelming me. Don’t get me wrong, the spice was at my upper limit, which most people I know can’t even taste, but it was tolerable for me, especially with a milkshake at the end. My favorite was the gyro fries, but they were a little soggy. Maybe rinsing them and par cooking them, like Michael Ferraro tells the Martini brothers in the episode about The Federal would help? My colleague loved everything, no complaints or suggestions, but they have normal tastebuds and don’t watch Bar Rescue except on business trips and for eight hours a day at the office.

The place was clean, the beer cold, the food tasty, and the service was amazing. Bree made me feel like I was the only one there, all while seamlessly juggling the other customers and everything else happening in the bar. She knew exactly what was going on in the whole place while still able to fully attend to me, then the second we finished talking, she’d move on to help others without missing a beat. It was impressive—I imagined she was seeing her bar how Jon sees any bar after 40 years of consulting. No wonder I think he’s illustrious.

My experience was bringing to life many of Jon’s Bar Rescue teachings. By the end of my visit, I understood what Jon means when he talks about causing a reaction in the customer by creating an experience that makes them want to come back. Coney’s was nice, but Bree is what elevated it to the next level. Maybe the whole experience can’t cut it, but if just one thing (or person) can, that’s enough? Aiming to make that happen across the entire bar/business ecosystem is what Jon does and then he oils that machine once he has it running. Need I say it again? No wonder I think he’s illustrious.

So I tell Bree the story of why I’m there and about my blog, and she lights up even more (didn’t think that was possible). We chat about that for a little bit; she poses for pictures. How wonderful this little detour has become, and I recall Jon saying to be open to things like this in his book, Don’t Bullsh*t Yourself! My favorite moment, though, was when I teased Bree about being a Cleveland Browns fan because of her shirt. She laughed and said, “I’m a fan of whatever team makes me the most money that day.” On the outside, I kept my cool, but inside I was beaming with pride—that could be a quote straight from the notebook I keep of advice that Jon gives on Bar Rescue.

So, while my original plan for a Bar Rescue field trip didn’t go as expected, keeping my Jon Taffer mindset paid off. I learned a lot, especially from Bree. She’s the kind of person Jon would see as a gold star employee—the type he’s always trying to get other folks to emulate. My colleague even spontaneously commented, “She’s exceptional,” and I couldn’t have agreed more.

Honestly, I think if Jon saw her, he’d pluck her right out of that place like he did Ashley Clark and put her on a much bigger path—unless, of course, she’s deeply rooted in the area. And, to be frank, Youngstown can’t afford to lose talent like Bree. But here’s the point: Bree’s special, and it doesn’t take repeatedly watching every episode of Bar Rescue, reading Raise the Bar, and writing a blog about Jon to see that.

Illustriousness is a concept rooted in the idea of an inner light—a brilliance that shines through, illuminating a person’s character and accomplishments for all to see. Apparently, Jon may not corner the market on it because Bree’s got some real potential. Keep letting that light shine, Bree, and who knows—we might just see you hosting Bar Rescue in ten to twenty years.