2005 archive

The local rag ran an article today about what universities in the Philly area are doing to introduce students from out of town to life in Philadelaphia. Apparently, two of the three indigenous foodstuffs played a big role in this: soft pretzels with mustard and cheesesteaks (the third, scrapple, was noticeably missing from the festivities).

And, indeed, one of the true pleasures of living in the greater Philadelphia Co-Prosperity Sphere is the cheesesteak sandwich. Those who have not had one have missed a unique gourmet–well, gourmand–pleasure.

If you are interested in trying one, remember this: if you are in a restaurant more than 35 miles from the statue of William Penn on Philadelphia City Hall and reading a menu that refers to a “cheesesteak,” be skeptical; if the menu says “Philadelphia cheesesteak,” be prepared to file a consumer complaint for fraud, because the odds are that it is not cheese, nor steak, nor Philadelphia.

Not long ago I was down home in Virginia in a little locally-owned sandwich shop that advertised a “Philly Cheesesteak” with Swiss cheese. Now, Pat Oliveri, who invented the cheesesteak was not Swiss. He was an Italian from South Philly. Provolone is Italian; Mozzarell’ is Italian; Swiss is–well, it’s not Italian.

The “Cheese” refers to real cheese, Italian cheese.

Oh, yeah, and sometimes you see these pseudo-cheesesteaks made with “Cheez Whiz.” Cheez Whiz is not cheese. It’s “pasteurized process cheese spread.” Whatever that is, it’s not cheese, hence it does not make the cut for cheesesteaks. And the cheese goes above the bread and below the meat, not on top of everything. (Although, when mixed with the right proportion of dry sherry, as I watched the barkeep do in the Lobby Bar at the Algonquin Hotel once, Cheez Whiz becomes quite a nice treat to spread on crackers.)

The “steak” refers to steak, thinly sliced. Ground beef is not steak. “Steak-ums” are not steak. (I searched the web and could not find any recent references to “Steak-ums”–maybe they have attained the oblivion they deserved).

And the bread–crusty Italian bread. Bread that won’t sog or leak when loaded with that succulent mixture of cheese and steak.

Canonical toppings include sauteed mushrooms or sauteed onions, but not both together. Mixing them is not canonical.

Cheesesteaks do not have spaghetti sauce on them. They may have pizza sauce, in which case they become “pizza steaks.”

They do not have fresh lettuce, tomatoes, and onions on them. That’s a Cheesesteak hoagie.

If you put catsup or mustard on them, the cook will laugh at you when you leave the steak shop.

If the Cheesesteak is properly prepared, it needs no further adornment than the basic ingredients. It is a feast by itself.

I have heard rumors of acceptable Cheesesteaks in Phoenix and Jacksonville. In both cases, the proprietors of the steak shops are said to be transplanted Philadelphians who have their bread flown in daily from the Amoroso Baking Company.

This is old news, but it’s so strange I can’t pass it by. Here’s the lead:

Springfield police got a call Sunday afternoon that sounded like crazy fiction.

It turned out to be true. According to police reports, a Springfield woman played Lucy to a neighbor’s Charlie Brown on Sunday, when she allegedly stole and destroyed a one-of-a-kind Peanuts cartoon storyboard.
And yes, police say — she was naked, in the bathroom, flushing it down the toilet.

Read more about it here.

A bar in Ocean City, Md., has a novel promotion. It’s goal is to attract women customers during the waning days of summer, so that guys will come in a drink.

So they running a contest. The winner gets breast enhancement surgery. Read more here.

I’m sure there’s some kind of deep commentary on human nature and our society here, but, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it is. Just seems like a silly and superificial incentive that’s attracting silly and superficial people who have one thing in common–an obsession (as opposed to a mere fascination) with female appendages.

This is where my son went today. The girlfriend of one of his friends really likes rats.

All I can say is, “Oh, my.”

Every working day I am puzzled by this: On my way to work, I cross a bridge, then get on a four-lane limited access highway (not quite interstate quality). After a couple of miles, this highway merges into an interstate. We come down the ramp and do not have to change lanes, because at this point the interstate goes from two lanes northbound to three lanes northbound.

Yet, every day, I see persons come down the ramp. There is no traffic in the (new) right lane. So they automatically merge to the left into the center lane and proceed to drive slower than anyone else.

Anyone who can explain this behavior is ready for a Ph. D. in psychology.

After poking at it all summer, I’ve finally got this thing working and now I don’t know what to say. But I will come up with something, never fear.

And no, the picture on the banner is not where I live; it’s where I grew up, but it is Pine View Farm and it is still in the family.