TImothy McSweeney collects fictional monologues, and in this one, everyone’s favorite legume sheds his British affectations.. Well, some of them.

As with all convoluted and convolved tales of Jersey Shore lore, there’s the real backstory and the personal demons that must be chased deep into the heart of Jersey Devil country. The personal story isn’t all that exciting: In the pre-casino days, a singular highlight of Atlantic City was the annual dental convention, where my father (a dentist) would tote the two of us along for a day of walking on the boardwalk while he checked out the exhibits. I distinctly remember running into Mr. Peanut on the boardwalk, at that time probably the body puppet version of the Planter’s mascot, and being totally freaked out. Some kids are afraid of clowns, some are afraid of Disney villains, but I was given the chills by a peanut with a monocle.

Now let’s look at the facts: Mr. Peanut was designed in 1916 in a logo contest, although the kid who drew an anthropromorphic peanut with arms and legs didn’t add foppish British fashions; those came from a Planter’s employee. Planter’s itself was started in north-central Pennsylvania, a heritage shared with my mother’s family (perhaps that explains our familial need to visit the un-suited nut on the boards?) Mr. Peanut was situated on the boardwalk outside of one of the Planters retail stores, joining a host of “only in Atlantic City” attractions like Lucy the Elephant, the diving horse on the Steel Pier, and the invention of salt water taffy. In 2008, long after Planters closed their retail outlets, Mr. Peanut re-appeared on the boardwalk in sculpted life-like form. His bench was on the Garden Pier, which has been closed as the semi-random construction on the Pinnacle hotel proceeds, forcing Mr. Peanut to seek refuge in the Atlantic City Visitor’s Center just north of Bally’s.

Seeing Mr. Peanut again with 40 years of mascot viewing experience, you’d think he wouldn’t bother me as much. You’d think. But Mr. Peanut sports a monocle, is crowned by a top hat, has spats on his shoes, carries a cane and wears gloves. Neither pants nor shirt are anywhere to be found, but gloves and a top hat?

Mr. Peanut is the British Michael Jackson of mascots. He still gives me that strange feeling that something’s not quite right.

Chef Volas has been owned and managed by the Esposito family for more than 25 years; Michael Jr. works the kitchen while Louis runs the front of the house. There is no reservation about reservations – they’ll book three to four months ahead for weekends, and weeks ahead for a weeknight in the dead of winter, when the wind really is whipping on down the boardwalk. Once you get through (which is only slightly more difficult than finding someone helpful at, say, your cable company), expect to provide references: Have you eaten there before? Where did you sit? What did you have? Don’t be put off by the gravitas of the background check, even if it does have the feel of an FBI field operation. There has to be some secrecy to the most well-known “secret restaurant” in the state.

When you’re seated, you’re presented with de rigeur menus but they’re a Tourist Turing Test. Put them to the side and listen, attentively to your waiter or waitress running through the specials. Pictured is the veal parmigiana special, comprising a double veal chop that has been butterflied, pounded thin and brought you to happily coated in sauce and mozzarella cheese. Our own Bear is shown for comparative purposes. Bar Mitzvah favor-style Chef Vola’s bag filled with to-go containers are clutched by everyone leaving the dining room for a good reason. My personal favorite is the chicken arribiata, a trio of chicken breasts prepared with sauce rich in potatoes, pepperoni and prosciutto, either spicy or regular (go for spicy). You’re allowed to refer to the menu for the house salad, a collection of greens with salami and olives that feeds 1.4 average adults per portion.

My advice: pace yourself, don’t over-rotate on the bread, and leave room for dessert. The cheese pies (cheesecake with a decidedly Esposito family touch) and rice pudding are homemade and worth the calories. You can walk on the boardwalk the next day to repent for the sins of commission, but do not commit a sin of omission by skipping dessert. Dinner is only over when you’re presented with a wooden box containing your check, to be filled with some scarole of your own. Vola’s does not take credit cards.

Some people claim that Vola’s is more attraction than authentic. If you want gourmet food with elegant presentation, exotic flavors that tease your taste buds, and sculpted artistic presentations that involve elements of high school geometry and topographic studies, you’ll be disappointed. Don’t get me wrong – I like those restaurants and appreciate scallops on an inclined plane with an ellipsoid of pea foam, when I want artistic and not authentic. Volas is authentic. It’s home cooking on a slightly larger scale, both in terms of portion size and seating area, but most definitely with that “in someone’s home” feel. This is what makes Vola’s spectacular – they aren’t trying to force a hamish feeling; it’s just the way the Espositos greet and treat their diners. Whether you’re eating on the upstairs deck, sitting in the single seat vestibule for your table, or squeezing between tables to get to the bathroom (requiring telecommunications-quality signaling protocols for collision avoidance with the non-stop armfuls of plates coming out of the kitchen), you’re part of the family for the evening.

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Sunday’s rough agenda for 12 hours of food (the equivalent to 24 hours of LeMans): some number of holes at the Links at Brigantine, Brunch at White House Subs (I’m thinking eggs and capicola), biscotti at Formica Brothers, dinner at that place. If you have no idea what or where it is, then you can’t or haven’t eaten there; if you know then you know the routine. Yeah, A Certain Rating Book decided to publish the address and phone number, but getting a reservation is still a cross between getting through the velvet ropes and an FBI background check.

Details on Monday; right now I’m in training.
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