From the North Fork to Keuka Lake: Chef Jeff Monsour’s New Chapter at Main Deck

On a cool fall evening in Penn Yan, New York, I walked into Main Deck on the north end of Keuka Lake to meet the restaurant’s new executive chef, 29-year-old Jeffery Monsour (@cheffery_monsour). He is the latest arrival to the Finger Lakes dining scene, a Utica native who left Long Island’s waterfront restaurants last winter to build a life and a kitchen upstate. At Main Deck, he is pairing fusion-inflected technique with local wine country ingredients, from crab arancini to carbonara-style deviled eggs.

Getting there already felt like a prologue to his story. I flew from JFK to Rochester after a delayed flight, where Jeff’s pastry chef, Zach Estefan (@chefzacharyestefan), was waiting curbside at ROC airport’s arrival. Monsour brought Zach with him from The Halyard in Greenport and now trusts him not only with dessert menus but also with visiting writers. We drove an hour through rolling hills to Penn Yan and went straight to the restaurant, the glassy surface of Keuka Lake glowing behind it. Main Deck’s dining room and deck look over the water and lean on produce, cheese, and meat from nearby farms, a natural fit in a region known for Riesling.

That first dinner wrote its own notes. We started with warm cheddar biscuits that pulled apart in steam, followed by deviled eggs carbonara, a dish Monsour has become known for in both the North Fork and now the Finger Lakes.

Then came crisp crab arancini with curry aioli sauce on the bottom, a seasonal salad made from local fresh produce, and a 16-ounce New York strip, charred outside and rosy in the center. Dessert stayed close to New York comfort. A cheesecake infused with some seasonal fruit, a plate of chocolate prepared five ways, and a final house-made s’mores bite that tasted like a campfire cleaned up for white tablecloths.

After I checked into my hotel, I met Jeff and Zach at a pub only a few steps away. Over drinks, the conversation shifted from menu planning to family. Jeff and Zach live nearby in a cozy 3-bedroom 2-story apartment with Zachary (@squiress.official), Jeff’s younger brother, who is also his sous chef at Main Deck, and two huskies who command their own share of attention.

Later that night, I followed them back to their place and met the dogs, who greeted us at the door, tails thumping, and crashed at our feet, then kept peeking through the window as we settled at their patio while we talked about work, burnout, and what it means to start over in a new town. Kailey, Jeff’s girlfriend and the former sommelier at Main Deck, joined us along who had also sat with us during dinner earlier that night.

The next morning I woke up with the sun brimming and decided to stroll around town, grabbed coffee at Amity Coffee Co., and browsed at local stores and a vintage shop on Main Street. In the afternoon, Zach drove me through the area. We visited vineyards pouring bright Finger Lakes Riesling, hiked to a local waterfall, and followed the trail by Keuka Lake. Only then did I understand why Monsour talks about “lake life” on his days off, from jet skiing and boating in summer to winter trips that spark new ideas he brings back to the plate. Penn Yan gives him space to breathe, and that space shows in his food.

Monsour grew up in Utica, in the Mohawk Valley, where his grandmother’s Polish kitchen set the terms. “My inspiration came directly from my grandmother,” he told me. As a child he helped her make pierogies, goulash, and stuffed cabbage. She was “creating experiences, weaving love and tradition into every dish,” he said, and taught him that food is about memory as much as flavor.

By 17, he was working his first real kitchen job in a hometown bar. He was still in school, but the pull of the line was already stronger than any classroom. He kept cooking through high school and college, where professors like Victor Sommo, Sean Pehrson, and James Margiotta spotted his drive and pushed him through early doubts.

Mentorship continued on Long Island, where chef Stephan Bogardus, a James Beard Foundation-acclaimed chef, at Greenport’s The Halyard became a major influence, and Monsour would later lead a stint in the kitchen as the executive chef at Windamere in Mattituck, a waterfront restaurant at Strong’s Water Club and Marina. And then there’s Nathan Hitchcock, the interim executive chef at The Halyard. “[He is] my best friend, my brother in every way but blood. We’ve worked side by side, lifted each other up, and shared in both challenges and triumphs. I’ve collaborated with him many times, and we continue to be an inspiration to each other,” Monsour said. Both became culinary partners, where he worked as his sous chef before moving upstate to Yates County.

Those jobs brought magazine attention, “Best of the Best” accolades, and wine-pairing dinners that blended glass and plate in the North Fork and South Fork alike. Yet Monsour insists the attention was never the point. “For me, it wasn’t about the spotlight; it was about growth,” he said. Each step, from seafood pulled straight out of the Long Island Sound to produce harvested a few miles from the stove, sharpened his respect for ingredients and taught him to “appreciate the water, the community, and the smaller things in life that often go unnoticed.”

The move to Penn Yan felt like a natural next chapter. The Finger Lakes reminded him of the North Fork, with its vineyards, small farms, and deep commitment to local sourcing. At Main Deck, he saw a place to build something longer term, to bring tableside experiences and glass-to-table wine dinners to a region that understands both food and terroir.

Upstairs, Main Deck offers refined lakeside dining. Downstairs, the Tunnel Bar works as a modern gastropub. Monsour oversees both, and he likes the contrast. “What excites me most about Main Deck is the contrast,” he said. Guests can sit upstairs for a tasting menu vibe or downstairs for wings and burgers and still “feel the same standard of excellence.” When I returned the next day to see the Tunnel Bar in action, I took advantage of a chicken wing deal, ordered a stack of onion rings plated like a small pyramid, and carried a glass of local Riesling out to the lakeside patio. The sun slipped behind the hills, the water held the last of the light, and the food felt exactly right for the moment.

Monsour’s favorite dish on the menu is still the crab arancini. It is comforting and rich, but the part he loves is “the moment of surprise” when guests take a bite of something familiar presented in a way they have never experienced before. He describes his cooking philosophy as a blend of respect for tradition and a drive to surprise. Italian food and French technique is his backbone. The goal, he said, is simple. Honor the craft, respect the ingredients and create memories guests carry long after the meal.

Inside the kitchen, he leads with calm. “A chef’s greatest strength is composure,” he told me. Monsour speaks about leadership with the same clarity. “Leadership isn’t about giving orders; it’s about leading with patience,” he said. On the busiest nights, he thinks of himself as the thermostat. If he stays grounded, the room follows. “If I stay calm, they stay calm.”

He sets the vibe, then gets out of the way so people can grow. Teammates describe him as approachable and exacting. Colleagues, he believes, would call him knowledgeable and supportive, with high standards and plenty of humility. Mistakes are part of growth. Teamwork and trust matter more than ego. He wants cooks who are reliable, disciplined, and creative people who can pitch ideas, refine systems, and build something together.

Life outside the pass shapes those choices. Monsour is on the brink of parenthood and expecting a baby boy in February, and that has shifted his priorities. He talks often about stability, about breaking cycles from his own childhood, and about making sure his child grows up with “support, love, and opportunities I never had.” His girlfriend, his brother, his friends, and the dogs help him reset after service. Family, he says, is his anchor.

When I ask what he wants people to remember, he does not mention dishes. He talks about resilience and his daily effort to be better than the day before, but more than that, he wants people to remember how he treated others. A great chef, in his view, is defined by leadership, not plates. He wants kitchens where people thrive, not burn out, and where work and life share a healthier balance.

Cooking, for Monsour, is both livelihood and language. It gives him freedom to experiment, to explore new flavor profiles, and to express himself on a plate. The most rewarding part, he said, is the exchange with a guest, “the moment they taste something I’ve created and connect with it.”

After a few days in Penn Yan, watching him move from quiet prep to full-throttle service to husky walks along the lake, that drive made sense. In a town framed by vineyards and water, Monsour is building a life and a restaurant grounded in care, composure, and a steady desire to surprise.