Chime In How Living in a Student Co-op Launched My Restaurant Career Stories You May Like In the Wake of War, Alum Works to Ensure There’s ‘No One Left Behind’ Alum’s Big Red Memorabilia Collection Captures a Bygone Era Presto! Meet the Master of High-Class Hocus-Pocus Being a kitchen steward at Watermargin taught me lessons about nourishing—and nurturing—people that have lasted a lifetime “Chime In” comprises brief first-person essays by Cornellians. Do you have a topic in mind? Email us at cornellians@cornell.edu! By Jay Solomon ’83 Entering my junior year at the Hotel School, I was adrift. My summer internship counting beans in the accounting department of a Boston hotel convinced me I wasn’t cut out for office life. And my prior stint as a doughboy at a pizza joint wasn’t going to open any doors after graduation. To make things worse, my three college housemates had just graduated. I needed a place to live. Scanning the bulletin boards at Willard Straight, I found a room available at Watermargin, Cornell’s oldest co-op. Watermargin’s motto was (and still is) “all people are family.” Today we’d call it diverse and inclusive; back then, my father called it the “nuts-and-granola crowd.” In true egalitarian style, Watermargin required residents to share in weekly chores; members did the cooking, with pairs taking turns preparing dinners for the entire house. Within days of moving in—once word got around that I was a Hotelie—I was unanimously elected kitchen steward. Watermargin residents in the early ’80s. Every week, I collected menus from a rotating roster of cooks, scaled up the recipes, stocked the kitchen, and pre-ordered everything from Sysco, decades before Instacart existed. For inspiration, there was an assortment of dog-eared cookbooks of the era: the Moosewood Cookbook leaned against the Joy of Cooking, with a stack of New York Times recipes shoved into a beat-up manila folder. Every week, I collected menus from a rotating roster of cooks, scaled up the recipes, stocked the kitchen, and pre-ordered everything from Sysco, decades before Instacart existed. I dove into my new job with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. I worked side by side with each night’s assigned cooks, many of whom had never cooked before. Early on, every night was trial by fire: a pot of lasagna noodles turned to mush; ground beef burned to a crust; spaghetti and meatballs welded to the bottom of the saucepan. As the semester continued, tiny victories emerged and ambitious new dishes appeared: Greek moussaka, eggplant ratatouille, and Chicken Marbella, a trendy recipe from the Silver Palate Cookbook. Solomon today, with wife Emily Robin Solomon ’92, BA ’91, MS ’97, and their children. Panic was replaced with confidence. The dining room started to fill up early, and the dishwasher was often stacked with plates licked clean. In my previous kitchen stints, and in food production classes at Statler, there had always been a wall between cook and guest. Meals were prepared professionally but impersonally for often-anonymous diners. Early on, every night was trial by fire: a pot of lasagna noodles turned to mush; ground beef burned to a crust; spaghetti and meatballs welded to the bottom of the saucepan. As the semester continued, tiny victories emerged and ambitious new dishes appeared. But by overseeing dinners for 22 housemates and sitting down to share meals and conversation, that wall disappeared. I began to understand that the chatter, laughter, caring, and earnest debates were all made possible through food. That’s when I discovered that cooking was more than following a recipe or checking off a list of tasks. The role of a chef was an opportunity to nurture and nourish, to spread goodwill as well as good food. My real culinary skills—learning to make a sauce that wows your palate, roasting a fish that tastes of the ocean, and harnessing flavor, fire, and texture in the frenetic cauldron of a professional kitchen—would come later. Stories You May Like In the Wake of War, Alum Works to Ensure There’s ‘No One Left Behind’ Alum’s Big Red Memorabilia Collection Captures a Bygone Era In the kitchen at his Downtown Ithaca eatery, Jay's Clinton Hall Café, in the ’80s. But the sense of purpose that had been missing in my academic and work-study pursuits arrived in the bustling Watermargin dining room and kitchen. Looking back, those two years were an unexpected apprenticeship in restaurant ownership. I developed menus, paid invoices, and trained cooks. And I realized what I wanted to do with my life. Looking back, those two years were an unexpected apprenticeship in restaurant ownership. I developed menus, paid invoices, and trained cooks. And I realized what I wanted to do with my life. Ignoring my father’s advice to “learn on someone else’s dime,” I rented space in a bagel shop and started JJ’s Cookies, a wholesale bakery. Within months, I was selling 100 dozen a day to cafés at Cornell and Ithaca College. Students often mobbed me when I arrived carrying trays of chocolate chip-walnut, oatmeal raisin, and mocha chip cookies straight from the oven. JJ’s Cookies evolved into JJ’s Café, a cozy lunch spot in Cayuga Heights. A few years later, my restaurant dream came to fruition when Jay’s Clinton Hall Café opened in Downtown Ithaca. Signing some of his cookbooks at a Borders store in the mid-’90s. Inspired by my Watermargin days, the menu featured rotating themes, including Tortilla Tuesdays, Ragin’ Cajun Wednesdays, and Caribbean Weekends. In my mid-30s, my wife (Emily Robin Solomon ’92, BA ’91, MS ’97) and I moved to Denver, where I operated a string of noontime cafés and a pre-theater dining concept at the Performing Arts Center. JJ’s Cookies evolved into JJ’s Café, a cozy lunch spot in Cayuga Heights. A few years later, my restaurant dream came to fruition when Jay’s Clinton Hall Café opened in Downtown Ithaca. For the next 20-plus years, I was Denver’s gourmet soup-and-sandwich guy—still cheffing it up, but with evenings free to coach our four kids in almost every sport involving a ball. In 2016, I launched a dinner delivery business, Jays2Go, out of a commissary kitchen. Our teenage son, Noah Solomon ’24, BS ’23, built the website; the initial 25 customers were my wife's friends. The first few years felt more like Don Quixote’s impossible dream than a viable business model. Then, when the pandemic shut down every restaurant in Denver, Jays2Go was one of the only dinner-delivery outfits already up and running. The chef-owner at his eponymous Ithaca café, and salads prepped for his current to-go business in Denver. Business exploded. I delved into recipes from my Ithaca restaurants, pulled out decades’ worth of cookbooks, and created a new dinner menu every week. Leaning on everything I’d learned since my Watermargin kitchen steward days, I felt born for the moment. Today, 10 years after its modest beginning, Jays2Go continues to flourish. I’d arrived at Watermargin looking for a place to live. What I found was a sense of purpose that has guided me through my entire career. Jay Solomon ’83 is currently writing a memoir about his four decades in the restaurant business; his published cookbooks include Lean Bean Cuisine, Global Grilling, and A Taste of the Tropics. In addition to his wife and son, his Cornellian family includes daughter Bella Solomon ’24 and brother Greg Solomon ’79. (All images provided.) Published September 22, 2026 Comments Robert Cima, Class of 1983 22 Sep, 2026 Jay this is a true story and I lay witness of seeing Jay toil and make it happen at Watermargin! We always knew he had the “stuff” to be a great culinarian and a terrific leader. Not only is he a successful restauranteur & author; he has an amazing family. What Jay & Emily have built is a family founded on love and connection. Reply Eden (Rhynehart) Rose, Class of 1983 23 Sep, 2026 You worked so hard!! I’m happy that it spun into your amazing career. We were all grateful for your time and effort. Your diligence and patience kept us fed, and life-long friendships were forged over those meals. I popped in last summer to show my husband the “digs”. He teases me that it was a co-ed romp house! Hardly! Just busy students arguing about cleaning, a random dog running around, and food coming up missing! Thank you for all your hard work at Watermargin Jay. Emily’s a lucky lady and your beautiful children too! Reply Leave a Comment Cancel replyOnce your comment is approved, your email address will not be published. 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