Manayunk Memoir (Part 2)

Where did I leave off?
Ah, restaurants, a slew of them once called home. Winnie’s, Fat Lady Brewing, Zesty’s, Bar Jawn, and finally, The Goat’s Beard. At each stop, relationships were forged and lessons learned. Looking back, I see now that every place was a necessary step, each one guiding me, anchoring me, to The Goat’s Beard.

It was there that I wasn’t just reborn, I was revived. In that space, I found my dignity again. I reclaimed my strength. I remembered my worth.

After all, it’s the small moments that make the human experience so profound. A refuge like Jess (visit her at Daisy), who (without even realizing it) gave me the strength to walk away from my abusive relationship. And yes, I refuse to call it anything else. It was abuse.

A father figure like Brendan, who introduced me to Jeff Colahan, who ultimately led me to a safe place to live in Conshohocken.

And still, I’m grateful.
I’m grateful to Winnie’s, mostly because I made thousands of dollars bartending when it was still relevant—and paying its employees.
I’m grateful to Fat Lady Brewing for connecting me with lifelong friends, and for holding up a mirror that made me inspect my own choices. Let’s call it motivation.
I’m grateful to Zesty’s, where I learned about Greek culture and enjoyed some truly delicious motherfucking food. Period.
Then there’s Bar Jawn. I became very familiar with the law there. I could probably pass the bar exam. It was a chilly, expensive experience.
And The Goat’s Beard? It gave me warmth I didn’t even know I was missing.

Speaking of warm spaces, I included a few others in my book, These Words Are for Me, Not You. Places and people that will forever hold my heart.
I left some out of the book, and I regret it, so I’m adding them now. Because I can. Be on the look out for some new feats within the next few weeks for places like Pop Up Garden (closes for the season after Halloween) and the Hotel Bar, which are two MUST try hot spots, and more local spots like Cuddies, Ryan’s, and the one and only, Pitcher’s Pub.

If you learn one thing from me it should be that words are powerful.

People can hurt you. People can steal your money. People can try to ruin your reputation.

But these words are mine. My story cannot be erased, nor can I.

To be continued…

Megan McNamee 9/30/25 Megan McNamee 9/30/25

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Manayunk Memoir (Part 1)

3,854.

That’s how many photos I’ve taken in Manayunk, Pa.

The first one? December 15, 2015, at Manayunk Brewing Company. I still remember it like it was yesterday.

Back then, this small, quirky community felt like Manhattan to me—big, electric, full of promise. I was younger, wilder, and definitely drank more than I should’ve that night.

But I’ll never forget the kindness of a 31‑year‑old woman—a complete stranger at the time—who made sure I got home safely.

I’m 31 now.

I made my second trip to Manayunk on February 24, 2017, when I was still desperately hanging onto the notion that I was straight. Sigh.

In 2020, I moved to Manayunk with my then‑girlfriend, who I do not have permission to write about—so I won’t. A lot has changed since then. Clearly.

When we broke up, I was legitimately a wreck. Like, seriously—I was not well. I had what some may call a mental breakdown. I thought adopting a puppy would help, and in retrospect, it may have. After all, I’m writing a children’s book series about her (stay tuned!).

In all seriousness, though, I do not recommend doing what I did. I didn’t need a therapy dog. I needed therapy. Period.

This is what led me to EMDR therapy.

I went on a walk with an old friend, and while we walked, I felt dead inside. I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s true: I felt nothing.

I know some of you may think my writing about my family is somewhat excessive, but I cannot express enough that, had I not gone to therapy, I would not be alive to tell this tale. My mom broke my heart. Without my amazing therapist—whom I paid thousands of dollars for—I wouldn’t just have a shattered heart. I’d have an ashen one.

I want to take a moment to thank those who stuck by me during that period. I don’t even recognize myself when I look at pictures. In fact, I have deleted most of them. It’s too hard to see myself during that period. Someone else might not notice—but I can see the pain in my eyes, in my energy. I hurt a lot of people, but mostly myself. I am genuinely sorry.

As far as I know, my mom has never read any of my books. We don’t speak. I wish I could say I didn’t care, but that would be a lie. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her.

No matter what anyone says, a mother is irreplaceable.

My writing helped heal me—but this heartbreak? This one’s a lifelong battle. When I came out, it was like the rug was pulled out from under me. The person I was before... she erased her. In her eyes, I’m nothing more than that: gay.

While in therapy, I began—or I guess, continued—writing in my Notes app. I rebuilt myself there. Like before, I worked and ate in restaurants, as one does. From an employee standpoint, I had a few traumatizing experiences (IYKYK), while others led me to unexpected connections, small joys, and stories worth telling.

I hope you’ll follow along with my journey—to the places that held my becoming, the memories etched into their walls, and the road I carved back to myself. I am proud of who I am now—not in spite of being gay, but because I am so much more than the word they used to try and define me.

Megan McNamee 9/29/25 Megan McNamee 9/29/25

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(Fall) Features

If you’re new here, welcome! I’m a proud resident of Conshohocken, PA—and an unabashed lover of great restaurants. In my latest book, After the Fall, I highlight a few of my favorite local spots—places that hold some of my most cherished memories since moving to Conshy. I gave readers a brief glimpse into why these places matter so much to me in the book, but here’s the longer version—the full story, with all the flavor and entertainment you might’ve been looking for.

I’m the youngest of three siblings, with a 12-year age gap between me and my oldest. By the time I came along, my parents—especially my mom—were just about over the whole cooking thing. So, dining out became a staple of my childhood. Eating at restaurants wasn’t just a treat—it was a way of life. And as I got older, I didn’t just enjoy eating out—I started working in the industry, too.

Like many teachers, I’ve had to wear multiple hats to make ends meet. My first restaurant job was at Hymie’s, a beloved Jewish deli in Merion, PA. It was there I learned how to stand up for myself—and developed the kick-ass waitressing skills I still carry today. Turns out, I’m just as good at managing the needs of hungry adults as I am at wrangling a classroom full of kids.

Because let’s be honest: teaching doesn’t come with a luxury paycheck. If it did, I wouldn’t have worked five to six nights a week while pursuing my dream of educating young minds—and still trying to keep up with some kind of social life.

From Hymie’s, I worked my way through a who’s who of the local restaurant scene: Teca in Newtown Square, Limoncello in West Chester, Stone Harbor Burger Bar, Northend in North Wildwood, Hawthornes in Philly, and a slew of places in Manayunk (which is a memoir all on its own). Eventually, I found myself at Daisy Tavern in Conshohocken—my current home base and a true neighborhood gem.

Every restaurant I’ve worked in has left its mark—on my work ethic, my worldview, and my heart. In After the Fall, I wanted to pay tribute to the spaces and faces that shaped my story—both inside and outside the classroom.

This post is a special thank you to the restaurants that have not only fed me but have embraced my writing as warmly as I’ve embraced their food, drinks, and energy. These are places with that wow factor. That unmistakable something. That elusive it.

I highly suggest you go find their it for yourself.