Picture this: You’re 5 or 6 and Dad’s just taken you to a biker bar in Syracuse sometime during the Bush Sr. administration. It’s dark and loud, there’s crazy stuff all over the walls, and the hostess is calling parties over a P.A. system like she’s calling a BINGO tournament. You eat barbeque ribs in Wango Tango sauce and crave that taste for the rest of your life.

Fast forward to now, and you’re in the same biker bar again. Only it’s not crowded with bikers anymore. Mostly families, like yours. And this time you’re the dad, and Little Travel Companion has taken your place in the booster seat.

At least the hostess is still calling parties like a BINGO tournament. And when the server welcomes you to “the O.G. Dinosaur Barbeque,” you can take comfort in perpetuating the cycle of BBQ obsession for another generation.

A toast with sangria, a margarita, and a Bluey-themed bottle of water: to re-discovering upstate New York and the towns and villages you grew up in.

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