MarketStEl

interesting! i thought it was referring to bronson pinchot. You are kidding, aren't you, James? James? unfortunately yuengling stopped making their best beer (chesterfield ale) available on tap, which is a real loss for those of us who don't like our beer as sweet as the lager is. on the bright side they still make it in cans, so you can find it in my fridge at any given time... ← I'll have to try a Lord Chesterfield Ale sometime--it's the only one of Yuengling's brews I haven't had yet. (Well, that and the Light Lager.) But after your comment and Arnie's this afternoon about the pumpkin ale, I've decided that I must like my beer on the sweet side. I think this must have originated with my first taste of Dock Street, Philadelphia's original* microbrew, which has been relaunched this year--the brand's new owners are opening a brewpub at 50th and Baltimore in West Philadelphia, a location where I don't think a brewpub could have even been proposed five years ago. *Edited to add: But it was not the original microbrewery in the city. It was contract brewed by a company in Utica, New York.

Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I'm free at last! Seriously, though, serving as foreperson of the jury in this armed robbery trial has been quite an experience--at times frustrating, at times enlightening, a bit of a challenge and ultimately ennobling. We were 12 people of varied backgrounds, eight black, four white, evenly split between men and women (both across the board and within the racial groups). We spent two days wrestling with all the legal notions you hear about in civics class but don't really experience unless you go through something like this. You may think someone is guilty, and there's plenty of evidence that points that way, but did the Commonwealth prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt? The answer to that question is not as simple as it might seem, and after having to wrestle with this question along with 11 other people all intent on doing justice but not quite seeing eye-to-eye on how that should be done, I'd like to suggest that the next time you hear about a jury verdict that sets an obviously guilty person free, you take a deep breath and count to 100 before blasting the jury. (FWIW, in our case, we ended up convicting our defendant on some counts and acquitting him on others.) Despite our differences, we ended up with a great deal of respect and even affection for one another, and some new friendships were made in the process--over lunch as well as during downtimes in deliberations. As jurors are sequestered for deliberation, the court takes our lunch orders and has them delivered (at no cost to us). As I can't show you what we ate--cameras are forbidden in the Criminal Justice Center--I'll just have to describe it for you. (An aside: I realize I'm out of chronological sequence here. I'll get to Monday dinner presently. My breakfast routine has changed since my last foodblog, but since it still doesn't vary much from day to day, I'll clue you in to the change on Wednesday.) Both yesterday and today started with a cup of coffee and a piece of apple-spice cake courtesy of the Salad Express eatery in the Reading Terminal Market, which has a counter set up in the jury assembly room. Monday our lunches came from a place called Lunch to You, which none of us had ever heard of. We picked items from a mix-and-match menu that had a confusing section about "platters" when everything being offered was either sandwich fixin's or salads. I ordered a chef's salad and got an unimpressive mixture of a heap of iceberg lettuce, four tomato wedges, strips of ham, turkey and Swiss cheese, and a small tub of "French" dressing that looked more like "Thousand Island" than French. ("More mayonnaise than ketchup," quipped one of my fellow jurors.) Along with this came a small bag of chips, a can of soda and a small cup of pasta salad--small shells in a nondescript sauce, just like what came with the sandwiches everyone else ordered when they couldn't figure out what made something a platter. I think that were this place on trial, we would have voted to convict them of indecent assault on innocent lunchmeat. Today's lunch was much better, catered in from a South Philly sandwich shop called Johnny M's (or something like that; I forgot to take notes). This place had Italian hoagies, steaks, roast beef, corned beef, wraps, meatball sandwiches and even pizza. I ordered meatballs with Provolone cheese (I'm waiting for the right moment to work the hoagie and cheesesteak in this week). I had the meatball sandwich with provolone, served on a cute little torpedo roll. Wraps were the majority choice of the rest of the jury. The ingredients were fresher and the food better prepared than yesterday. After we delivered our verdict, three of us--who had been eating lunch together regularly since the trial started the previous Wednesday (we went to the RTM on the first three days, when we were free to leave the building for lunch; jurors get 10 percent off their purchases there if they show their juror badges)--went off to celebrate with a drink and a bite to eat. I suggested we try Vintage, the wine bar on 13th Street not far from where I live. Unfortunately, it was 3:30 p.m., and Vintage opens at 4. So Arnie Rosemoff, who lives in the far Northeast, suggested the one place he knew in the immediate area. Unbeknownst to him, Arnie played right into the theme of my foodblog with this suggestion. Established in 1860, McGillin's Old Ale House is the oldest continuously operating restaurant in the city. The two-story building on Drury Street (a half-block long street between Chestnut and Sansom off 13th), built around 1900, used to have three stories before a fire in the late 1940s destroyed the top floor. (It survives in the menu cover illustration.) The bottom two have that old-time pub feel. The three of us ate on the main floor. That's Arnie on the left. On the right is Charles Fitzpatrick, a recent Penn JD/MBA grad who is launching a music distribution business from his West Philly home while at the same time looking to join a local practice in intellectual property law. While the beer list is thoroughly up-to-date: McGillin's house ale and lager are brewed for the bar by Stoudt's Brewery in Adamstown. the rest of the place is bursting with nostalgia, though the current owner has spruced it up a bit. One wall is a tribute to vanished Philadelphiana. I'll wager that many of you who have ever spent time in this place will recognize all the names and logos in this picture: From left to right: A Lit Brothers sign salvaged from 8th and Market subway station, J.E. Caldwell Co., John Wanamaker, CoreStates Bank (beneath the Wanamaker signature) and Strawbridge & Clothier's "Seal of Confidence" trademark (partly obscured by flag), depicting William Penn's "never written, never broken" treaty with the Lenape Indians. as well as this name more commonly associated with New York: Gimbel Brothers' original store was also at 8th and Market, cater-corner from Lit Brothers. I decided to start off with a Philly seafood-house favority, snapper soup. McGillin's was perfectly respectable--nice and thick with large chunks of real turtle meat. I followed that with this sandwich, one of the day's specials. Called the "smothered mother," it had roast beef, onions, roasted peppers and mushrooms, all topped with melted provolone cheese and served with cole slaw and roasted potatoes with Cheddar cheese on the side. (Have any of you noticed yet that I cheese?) This was hearty and satisfying, and would have gone better with Arnie's Victory Hop Devil than it did with the Dogfish Head Pumpkin Ale that I ordered. Prices are very reasonable, and the food is solid and dependable. From here, Charles met up with a couple of friends of his, and the four of us (Arnie left to catch his train back up to Somerton) finally did make it to Vintage. This wine bar and bistro on 13th below Sansom has caught on in the six or so months since it opened. The narrow space doesn't feel claustrophobic, thanks to a high ceiling and full-height front window. The centerpiece of the bar is a large chandelier made from empty wine bottles: We all tried varieties we had never had from Vintage's extensive wine list. I'll have to ask Charles next time I see him if he remembers the name of the wine he had, which blew me away with a finish that tasted of blueberries. From Vintage, I headed home, where I fixed Gary--and ultimately Chris--Hamburger Helper and a side of veggies, then sat down to write another resume and work on catching up on this blog. As it's now after midnight, I'm going to respond to a few comments I missed and then turn in so I can wake up feeling something like refreshed.

I'm going to answer this question in that roundabout fashion of mine that sometimes drives people up a wall, but I'm doing it this way to see if you know much about Widener history. If you do know about the school's past--I did mention its previous identity in my first foodblog--you should be able to answer both questions by just looking at this photo, which I had also contemplated using as a teaser for this foodblog: Yes, that's my desktop at the office. No, I haven't used the voucher yet. It's good through the end of the month, so I'd better get cracking.

Both assumptions incorrect, I'm sorry to say, but thanks for taking years off my appearance! (Not that I think I look all that aged. In general, I think that African-American men who take care of themselves even a little bit age very well and look younger than their years well into their old age. You can judge whether I've done this downthread, where I will post a photo of myself later tonight, after I've finished a resume job.) From left to right, the people in the picture are Christopher Ragsdale, James Dorn, Vincent Ancona and Brian. (I think I got his last name wrong upthread. Those who know me at all know I'm horrible with names unless my first encounter with you was memorable or I've had the chance to repeat your name many times.) I believe I said in my first narrative post on this foodblog that I would offer civic, culinary and personal history this time around. There's more to come. But for now, since you've mentioned him, you probably won't see much of Gary in this blog. We are still together after 23 years, and I know he still loves me and I him, but our relationship is not the same as it was 23 or 10 or even five years ago. I love being out and about in crowds or at large social events. It was at one such event that Gary met me back in 1983. I enjoy working the room at parties. I like performing before an audience. Except to the extent that the college students he teaches constitute an audience too, Gary can't stand any of this--he prefers things small and intimate and enjoys being the center of small-scale attention. I spent much of the first 15 years or so living according to his preferences, and I had no problem doing that as long as I got the emotional satisfaction, affection and pride of place I wanted in return. But then things changed. He found someone who gave him one thing that I was unable to (and which I was okay with him finding elsewhere) and then fell in love with him. Besides feeling that this person was my inferior in just about every way but that one, I resented his incorporating him into our life in the places I thought I belonged alone. A bout of clinical depression (my father had it too) and an 18-month stretch spent cold sober a few years ago put me in a place I hadn't been before: a few steps back from the relationship, asking whether I wanted to remain in it. One of my personality traits is a severe aversion to dramatic change. I don't like it and will put up with a lot in order to avoid having to experience it. So what has ended up happening is that I pretty much pursue my own life much the way I did when Gary met me all those years ago, only in the same space that he also occupies. He knows what is happening and why. That he hasn't chosen to go his own way says something about both of us too--but then again, he has 15 years on me age-wise, so doing so would be even harder for him emotionally than it would be for me. Okay, enough deep here-and-now personal history for now. Back to food and dining and Philly.

Yes, it is--it's part of a set called "Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe" with a Dickensian London theme, which Gary inherited from his mother. That bowl had been filled with Triscuits five minutes before I took that picture. I have to get myself ready to return to the CJC to resume jury deliberations now. I'll be back online this evening to bring you all up to speed on Monday--and maybe even get a little food history in. I realize that I am fulfilling one of the most important obligations of American citizenship, but jury service does throw a monkey wrench in one's routine.

<rubs sand from eyes, stretches, yawns> Is it morning already? Yep, it is--it's light out... Today is Tuesday, October 24, the 297th day of 2006. There are 68 days left in the year. Today's Philadelphia forecast: Same s**t, different day, only colder. Forecast high 53F, forecast low 38f, colder in the 'burbs. On this day: In 1260, the magnificent Chartres Cathedral is dedicated in the presence of King Louis IX of France. The cathedral is a UNESCO World Heritage Site--as is Independence Hall in Philadelphia. In 1648, the Peace of Westphalia is signed, ending the Thirty Years' War. In 1795, Poland ceased to exist as Austria, Prussia and Russia divvied up the country among them. In 1861, the first transcontinental telegraph line is completed across the United States. In 1929, as Variety put it, "Wall St. Lays an Egg" as stock prices crashed on "Black Thursday," the opening act of the Great Depression. In 1939, nylon stockings first go on sale in Wilmington, Delaware, hometown of nylon's inventor, E.I. DuPont de Nemours & Co. In 1945, the United Nations came into being as 29 nations ratified its charter. In 1949, the cornerstone of its headquarters building was laid in New York City. In 1980, the Polish government legalized the independent Solidarity trade union. In 2003, the Concorde made its last commercial flight, bringing the era of supersonic passenger transport to a close--for now. In 2005, Rosa Parks, the woman who launched the Montgomery bus boycott--the first major victory for the Civil Rights Movement--by keeping her seat on a bus, died at her home in Detroit. Famous people born on this day include: Domitian, emperor of Rome, in 51 CE. Sarah Josepha Hale, poet, author of "Mary Had a Little Lamb," the first poem ever to be recorded, and the mother of Thanksgiving Day, in 1788 in Newport, New Hampshire. Moss Hart, American playwright (You Can't Take It With You, The Man Who Came to Dinner), in 1904 in New York City. Clarence M. Kelley, former Kansas City police chief and later FBI director, in 1911 in Kansas City, Missouri. Y.A. (Yelberton Abraham) Tittle, American football player, in 1926 in Marshall, Texas. Kweisi Mfume, former head of the NAACP and Democratic U.S. representative from Maryland, in 1948 in Baltimore. B.D. (Bradley Darryl) Wong, award-winning openly gay American actor (M. Butterfly, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit), in 1962 in San Francisco.

So here it is, Tuesday already, and I still haven't finished chronicling my birthday. Kinda reminds me of my previous blog. So while I take a break from working on a resume, and having cleaned up after Monday night's dinner--which will probably be posted here tomorrow night at the rate I'm going--let me get to the high point of my birthday. This is Vince Ancona, the fellow second tenor I mentioned upthread, standing in the doorway of my kitchen. He works for a direct marketing firm here in the city, but that's only a means to a paycheck. His real passions are artistic--poetry, music and preparing fabulous meals. (He was supposed to give me a URL for his personal web site so you all could sample some of his work. He forgot to leave me the URL, leaving instead the shirt he's wearing here. ) For my birthday, he gave me the gift of a simple but delicious dinner. He also brought along a mutual friend who will also join us in the PGMC next year (God willing), James Dorn: James is back in town after spending a year or two in Nashville, where he pursued a dream of making it in Christian music with only limited success. It's great to have him back here. While my partner Gary gave him a good going-over about his personal history and ours, I set out the appetizers: Vince brought down the Kaukauna Cheddar Ranch cheese ball and the mini-Camembert. You will recall that I picked up the Cantalet earlier on Sunday, and I had had the Cabot horseradish Cheddar in my fridge, waiting for no occasion in particular. Vince also made a very tasty homemade cheese spread from Neufchatel and sliced almonds with a hint of cayenne, which is in the crock in the photo below. and fed them to Vince while he got to work on dinner. He is something of a Francophile, culinarily speaking, and explained to me that the inspiration for this menu came from here: While he was making the -- what should I call these? Crostini is Italian, and "gratin," which he used to refer to them, properly refers to the topping and not the bread it tops; pain au gratin, perhaps? -- I fed him from the cheese platter. (We both liked all of the cheeses served, but he absolutely raved about the horseradish Cheddar.) For the breads, Vince brushed extra virgin olive oil over baguette slices, then topped them with slices and shreds of mozzarella and fresh ground black pepper: He then topped these with capers and chopped olives: and put them in the oven. Meanwhile, he tossed the farfalle he had cooking with more olive oil and chives: and let that mixture sit while I cooked four eggs, sunny side up. Meanwhile, he mixed the farfalle with shredded Gruyere cheese. The eggs then went on top of the pasta, and the whole affair got more chives and pepper: and finally, one last drizzle of olive oil along with the bread rounds. The dish--Vince referred to it as "farfalle Gruyere"--lived up to its advance billing: simple and delicious. The preparation took place to the sounds of Todd Rundgren (the pride of Upper Darby) and Jamiroquai (from nowhere near here, no sir) and was accompanied by margaritas before and a white Zinfandel during dinner. As we were winding down the meal, Vince's fiance Brian Hill and my good friend and roomie-for-now Chris Ragsdale--who I had attempted to awaken for dinner, but could not budge; next time, I'll have to use the thermonuclear device I keep on hand for urgent situations--joined us for more fruity concoctions made with tequila, a little more wine and a little conversation. That's Chris on the left and Brian on the right. As I previewed this post, it struck me that some might say I lead a multiethnic life. I've had one foot firmly planted in both black and white America for as long as I can remember. My mother, who sensed early on that I was unusually bright and wanted me to make the most of my gifts, had me transferred out of the neighborhood public school I would have attended before I even started school and enrolled in a smaller, all-white public school across town near the University of Missouri-Kansas City. From that day on, I would never attend a majority black school. Meantime, my father's side of the family--which, ironically enough, was more black-bourgeois than my mother's family--expressed concern that I would not be exposed enough to my heritage in "the white folks' schools" and saw to it that my education was supplemented by liberal doses of black history (I still have in my library the copy of Langston Hughes' An Illustrated History of the Negro in America that Grandma Smith gave me for my ninth birthday in 1966). And Mom's sisters, who didn't quite share her ambition to beat the high-yaller folks and Whitey at their own game, and their children--my cousins--did their best to keep me at least a little grounded in "where I came from" and leaven my book smarts with common sense (which didn't quite take for some reason). Because of all this, I sort of defy easy categorization. You could call me an Oreo, and you wouldn't be off the mark, but I'm every bit as black as the folks who don't call me that in jest. But no matter what you call me, just don't call me late for dinner.

Philadelphia is a good deal more multiethnic now than it was when I moved here from Boston nearly a quarter century ago. Blacks (about 40 percent of the city's population in 2000) and non-Hispanic whites (a bare majority) are still the two largest groups in town, but the denizens of our compact Chinatown--which I swung through in my first foodblog--have been joined by more recent waves of immigrants from Southeast Asia, especially Vietnam; from Korea; from all over the Americas, in particular Mexico and Brazil, and from Africa proper, especially North and West Africa and Ethiopia. These new Philadelphians have transformed the face of the city's Northeast, the great post-World War II Auto Age suburb, and breathed new life into struggling neighborhoods in North, West and South Philly. Given that their numbers are still relatively small--I don't have the figures handy, but I'd estimate that recent immigrants still account for no more than 10 percent of the city's population--they have had a tremendous impact on the face--and foodways--of the City of Brotherly Love. Speaking of "brotherly love," the "Gayborhood" itself--the northwest quarter of Washington Square West--is IMO not as diverse ethnically as some other parts of the city; though it attracts well-off gay men of just about all races as residents, and there is low-income housing scattered throughout the district, it is still predominantly white; however, the presence of many students in the neighborhood keeps it from being as uniformly upper-middle-class as Society Hill to its east. You may have seen others besides myself on this board use a quip of mine about how Philadelphia is really "a small town masquerading as a big city." I think the everyone-knows-everyone-else intimacy of so many of the city's neighborhoods--the Gayborhood no exception--is actually one of the things that makes this city such a pleasant place to live. Not all agree with me, though.

Boy, did I blow that prediction! We will continue our deliberations tomorrow. As I am the jury foreperson, I can't comment on the case beyond saying that we have a Twelve Angry Men-type situation. (Well, actually, it's six men and six women, eight blacks and four whites, with the races evenly balanced by gender too.) In the meantime, I have a board meeting of Forty Plus of Philadelphia to attend in five minutes, so I won't have time to post right now. I'll probably be up late tonight again, catching up on my resume work and keeping you all up to date. Right now, about two pounds of ground beef and a pound of Italian sausage are in the fridge, awaiting meatloafication. That's another thing to work on when I return.

Here's what's on my agenda for today: I have to head up to the Criminal Justice Center in a few minutes. I'm serving on a jury in a small-potatoes armed robbery case, and we begin deliberations today. This also means that I won't be able to show you some of what I eat today, for cameras are forbidden inside the courthouse. Depending on when we wrap up our deliberations--I don't anticipate this taking us more than one day--I will fill you in on last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast routine either this afternoon or this evening.

Good morning, everyone! Today is Monday, October 23d, the 296th day of 2006. There are 69 days left in the year. Today's Philadelphia forecast: Partly to mostly cloudy, breezy and cooler than normal. Forecast high 55F. Low tonight 37F. On this day... In 1086, the army of Yusuf ibn Tashfin defeated the forces of Castilian King Alfonso VI at the Battle of az-Zaqallah. In 1790, the first of what would prove to be a series of slave uprisings began in the French colony of Haiti. Though this revolt was soon suppressed, the revolts would ultimately produce the first black-ruled republic in the Western Hemisphere in 1803. In 1855, Free State forces in Kansas set up their own government and constitution in Topeka to counter the fraudulently elected pro-slavery state government under the Lecompton Constitution, thus launching the era of internal strife that gave the territory the nickname "Bleeding Kansas." In 1864, Union forces led by Gen. Samuel R. Curtis defeated Gen. Sterling Price's Confederate troops at the Battle of Westport near (now in) Kansas City. In 1915, some 30,000 women marched up Fifth Avenue in New York City to demand the right to vote. In 1956, the Hungarian people began their uprising against a decade of Soviet domination, which eventually produced a brutal Soviet invasion on November 4. The event would be commemorated in 1989 with the formal declaration of the Republic of Hungary, bringing an end to the country's years as a Soviet satellite. In 2000, young Ansche Hedgepeth was arrested and handcuffed for eating French fries on the Washington Metro. She was sentenced to perform community service and undergo counseling after being released to her mother. Famous people born on this day include: Pierre Athanase Larousse, French lexicographer, in 1817 in Toucy, France. Sarah Bernhardt, actress, in 1844 in Paris. Ned Rorem, gay American composer, in 1923 in Richmond, Indiana. Johnny Carson, late-night talk-show king, in 1925 in Corning, Iowa. Edson Arantes do Nascimento, better known as Pele, Brazilian football superstar, in 1940 in Tres Coracoes, Brazil. Very funny people of questionable fame born on this day include: Alfred Matthew "Weird Al" Yankovic, American song parodist, in 1959 in Lynwood, California.

Actually, Janet, Miss Bernhardt and I don't share birthdays--check the upcoming almanac entry for today. But I did want to say "Thank You" to everyone for the birthday wishes before officially kicking off Day 2 of the blog. If I haven't responded to your PM yet, be patient--I'll get to it. And without further ado...

Glad to grab the baton and run with it, and trust me, I feel your pain. Foodblogging is FUN, but it's a little like trying to do both the running and bicycling segments of the triathlon at the same time, as it takes place against the backdrop of your own busy life. I enjoyed exploring Chicago with you, though I was a bit surprised that nobody had anything to say about Ann Sathers until someone posted a comment to my foodblog. It won't be the same without Jim Mulqueeny (Harvard '80) to talk transit with, but I'm way overdue for a visit, and I've yet to ride the new Orange Line (I've been over just about all the rest of the CTA 'L' system, the South Side lines (Red and Green) excepted). Maybe I can arrange an extended layover the next time I fly Southwest, since getting just about anywhere from PHL on SWA requires changing planes at Midway. May you continue to collect pleasant experiences as you learn more about the Windy City and environs.

Actually, I've never been a big fan of quiche. I've had some good ones, but I tend to prefer my sweet or savory additives wrapped inside my cooked eggs rather than mixed together into a custard with the eggs and baked in a pie crust.

Now that you mention it, I think they do, especially choral singing. You blend ingredients to produce a single whole that is greater than the sum of its parts in both cases. As for on-key renditions of the birthday song, it's a PGMC tradition for chorus members to serenade the birthday boys in the week (Wednesday-Tuesday) when their birthday falls, so I--along with baritone James Sharp--got a four-part rendition last Wednesday. Today, all birthday wishes were spoken, not sung, starting with brunch at the Midtown II Restaurant and Bar: This 24-hour diner two blocks from my building--and right across the street from Thomas Jefferson University Hospital--is a popular post-closing-time hangout for the club crowd. "Midtown" Philadelphia is apparently a very expansive place, for there are--or were--four diners with this name. The Midtown III is on 18th Street just below Market; the Midtown IV, in the 2000 block of Chestnut; I've never seen any evidence of the existence of a Midtown I--maybe a Philly old-timer can verify whether there was ever one in the past. None of these are commonly owned, but all of them are owned by Greek families (or the "Greek Mafia," as one wag dubbed them to me once). It's bright and busy on the diner side: and darker and a little more intimate on the bar side-- which is where I met Marlon (left below) and his partner Thomas Hill. (Confidential to coquus: Yes, his parents did name him after the actor.) I also got my first birthday present--a nice leather wallet and a holder for my TrailPass that I can wear around my neck, thus saving me the need to dig into my pocket when the conductor checks tickets on the train--and a very appropriate birthday card. This is one of those places where you have to work at it to spend more than $20 a head on a single visit, but I think I came close with two Virgin Marys and an order of steak and eggs: The Midtown has very good home fries--lightly browned and tender--and good eggs (I ordered mine sunny side up for a change so I could have something to dip my toast in). The steak is also very good for a diner, but they seem to have some trouble serving their steaks on the rare side. I ordered mine medium rare, as I usually do, and it came out medium, as it usually does here. But I don't raise a fuss on this, because the staff is friendly--as I came in, Marlon was advising our waitress about good clubs for lesbians in the gayborhood (you'll see one of his recommendations later in this blog)--and the service is generally pretty efficient. After leaving the Midtown, I went up to do something I haven't been able to do in almost a year: Shop at the Reading Terminal Market on a Sunday. This is the second year in a row that the RTM has kept Sunday hours as the holidays approach. Some merchants--the Iovine brothers especially--have been gung-ho about Sunday hours for quite a while, and General Manager Paul Steinke has been consistently supportive of the idea, but not all the merchants are on board. The Amish vendors in particular never will be, but some of the others haven't jumped on the bandwagon either. For instance, the lights were on at O.K. Lee Produce, but nobody was home: Nice renovation job, no? O.K. Lee spiffed up their stand over the summer, joining a general trend among RTM merchants of upgrading their appearance. But whatever business the Lees didn't want, the Iovines were glad to grab--and there was a good deal of it--lighter than Saturday but heavier than a weekday. I grabbed a package of sliced mushrooms for this week's salads and then scoped out the Market's newest merchant, Giunta's Prime Shop, a new butcher shop operated by an old 9th Street family right across from Iovine's. Giunta's at the RTM (their former 9th Street location is now a restaurant, the Butcher's Cafe) specializes in all-natural meats, with plans to add organic, strictly grass-fed meats down the road. Their beef and pork come from Van de Rose Farms in Iowa: and their chicken from Bell & Evans right here in Pennsylvania. Lamb and veal have yet to make an appearance. Their prices are as appealing as their product--very reasonable for this level of quality, cheaper than Whole Foods and not that much more than I'd pay for drugged-up USDA Select at my local supermarket. The proprietor tells me that this is by design. As I have a 15% off introductory coupon, I'll be back when it's time to restock my freezer. But for now, my next stop was DiBruno's to get some cheese for the evening's dinner. Before I went there, though, I strolled over to the 1925 Chestnut Street Wine & Spirits Premium Collection store to pick up some booze and show you what I was talking about in my initial post. This location has reproductions of three vintage Philadelphia Inquirer front pages on the wall right by the entrance. One is from 1919, announcing the start of Prohibition: But the proof that someone at the PLCB has a sense of humor is found in the other two front pages--this one from the eve of repeal, after the General Assembly passed legislation giving the state a wholesale and retail liquor monopoly that remains to this day: As you can see from the subhead, this is not the only state where the government maintains a liquor monopoly. Those in Utah, Ohio, Virginia, Iowa, about seven other states and Montgomery County, Maryland, also remain to this day; of those, only New Hampshire's is geared towards selling as much of the stuff as possible at prices as low as possible in order to suck revenue from neighboring Massachusetts. However, current Pennsylvania management, as I mentioned in my first foodblog, has gotten a little religion on this issue--but they can only go so low when they have to include in the retail price a bunch of taxes for various special purposes, such as cleaning up the damage caused by the Johnstown Flood of 1937. and this one that demonstrates that the PLCB has been a creature of politics from its creation: "Pinchot" in the headline refers to Governor Gifford Pinchot ®, who ran Pennsylvania for two non-consecutive terms in the late 1920s and early 1930s (at the time, Pennsylvania governors could not succeed themselves). The legendary conservationist was the first head of the U.S. Forest Service and greatly expanded Pennsylvania's state park system. The subheads that you can't read in this picture explain that parts of the state that supported the governor in the last election got a disproporionate share of the state liquor stores--rural Schuylkill County, for instance, got 15 and Allegheny County (Pittsburgh) 28. Delaware County (Philly's western suburbs) got a mere four, the next subhead explains, and Upper Darby--which was well on its way to its present-day population of some 80,000 even then--got passed over completely. At DiBruno's, I picked up a French cheese that I had tried earlier in the week and loved--I figured my friend Vince, a confirmed cheesehead like me, would also enjoy it: then headed home, where I realized that I still needed to go back to the newsstand where I bought the papers this morning to pick up a New York Times Magazine that was missing from our copy of the Sunday Times. This gave me an excuse to pop my head in at Key West to check out the Eagles action. These days, clumps of people hanging outside the entrances to gay bars are a common sight. These people are smoking, something they can no longer do inside since a citywide ban on smoking in public accommodations went into effect three weeks ago. Over the years I've lived here, at any given time, there is exactly one gay bar in the city that draws a predominantly black clientele. Sometimes this is by design, sometimes by default. Currently, Key West is that bar, by default, but not uniformly so: on game days especially, the crowd is quite mixed racially. When the "Iggles" are playing, the management sets out a nice buffet at halftime. Today's rendition included macaroni with tomato sauce and peppers, sloppy Joes... ...cheese cubes and pepperoni (not shown), cake (not shown), hot dogs and kielbasa... ...baked chicken with roasted peppers, potato salad and cole slaw. The "AOB" in the sign announcing the beer special stands for "America's Oldest Brewery." D.G. Yuengling and Son of Pottsville, Schuylkill County, was founded in 1829, and the Yuenglings currently running the brewery are the fifth generation of family brewers. Yuengling Lager is one of the many joys of living in eastern Pennsylvania--a beer with real body and craft-brewed character at a mass-market price. (Those who prefer the watery stuff can drink Bud Light for the same price on game days.) I had a sloppy Joe and a Yuengling and watched the Birds spring to life in the second half of the game, something they've been doing with frightening regularity this season. I say "frightening" because the results have been disappointing as often as they've been pleasing so far. Today's game goes in the "disappointing" column, as a 62-yard touchdown pass at the last second gave the game to Tampa Bay (I didn't stick around to see the heartbreak spread across the faces of the gay tribe of Iggles Nation). I'm going to take a short break to finish up a resume critique before turning my attention to dinner. I have jury deliberations in the morning, and there is a chance I may end up waiting until after I rise to post dinner pix. I will say this much by way of preview: I couldn't have asked for a nicer birthday present. Edited to add missing image.

It has been a happy day indeed. Pictures documenting this fact to follow. As for this glaring oversight: I will need to surf your website for the remaining six days of this blog. I trust you will not fail me. And for the sun-sign observers: I had always been under the impression that the Sun entered Scorpio on the 23d. I describe myself as "Libra, Scorpio cusp," and I possess both the diplomatic, balance-seeking characteristics of the former sign and the occasional sting of the latter. My parents were both Scorpios. They divorced when I was 13. Many years after that event, my mother sat my partner and me down in her St. Louis living room (she spent most of the later years of her life there, returning to my childhood home in Kansas City to die) and told me a tale of her marriage that began, "I knew I made a mistake the day after I married him." Coincidence? I don't think so. I've heard that Scorpios are less-than-ideal partners for other Scorpios.

Now, on to the show. As I move one year closer to the half-century mark (to be observed on this day in 2008), I thought I'd look back a bit to where I--and some of this city's food traditions--came from. I realize that in my first foodblog, I gave this city's two signature foods--the hoagie and the cheesesteak--short shrift. I aim to remedy this oversight this time around. I will also examine some of the other culinary traditions and foods for which this region is known, and I'll give you a glimpse into my own history--where I developed my fondness for certain foods, some family traditions I try to emulate, and more of my own cooking. And before the week is out, I will provide evidence that someone at the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board has a sense of humor. However, I'll also be eating out quite a bit this week, for a reason that this first post should have made obvious. One of these will be an excursion with a bunch of Philadelphia eGullet Society members ("PhillieGulleteers") to a Brazilian churrascuria in the Northeast to experience once again the joy of a meat-induced coma. Another will take me back to De' Essence of New Orleans, which didn't make my first foodblog but which I did eventually visit and write about in a post on the Pennsylvania board. And if I can manage to get my co-workers to go along, I also intend to visit the closest thing to an all-night hangout anywhere near the Widener University campus. I had planned to start my cooking with brunch. Sunday brunch was one of the few Big Occasions my mother cooked for--I associate cooking mainly with my Dad and the Smith side of the family. Mom--especially after the divorce--would produce a really big spread for friends and relatives on Sundays about once every other month. Kielbasa, bacon, sausage, eggs, bread or rolls, pancakes--just about the entire breakfast repertoire was rolled out. (But no quiche.) I try to meet the standard she set with my own Sunday brunch. And the kitchen was all ready to go: But it will sit idle this afternoon, for my friend Marlon Brandon called me while I was out getting the Sunday papers and asked me what I was doing today. When I told him, he replied, "You shouldn't be cooking on your birthday. Why don't you let Thomas and I treat you to brunch at the Midtown." So instead of slicing potatoes and onions, I spent this morning here: in the living room, drinking a cup of coffee and watching U.S. Sen. Barack Obama (D-Illinois) dance around the question of whether he will run in 2008 with Tim Russert on Meet the Press. Marlon is on his way to pick me up now. After that, I'll have some actual food to show you. In keeping with Marlon's dictum, a friend and fellow second tenor in the Philadelphia Gay Men's Chorus is coming down this afternoon to cook dinner for me. (This is a very high honor. I'm very territorial about my kitchen and don't let too many people muck around in it.) See you all again soon with more pictures and commentary. Any special requests? Ask away.

Good morning, everyone! Today is Sunday, October 22, the 295th day of 2006. There are 70 days left in the year. Today's Philadelphia forecast: Cloudy with a 30% chance of showers. High 61F. On this day: In 1721, Czar Peter the Great was named Emperor of All the Russias. In 1746, the College of New Jersey--now known as Princeton University--received its charter. In 1878, Thomas A. Edison produced the first working electric light bulb. In 1938, Chester Floyd Carlson made the first xerographic copy in Astoria, Queens, New York. In 1962, President John F. Kennedy ordered an air and naval blockade of Cuba after Soviet missile bases were discovered on the island. In 1964, Jean-Paul Sartre won--and declined--the Nobel Prize for Literature. In 1975, Technical Sergeant Leonard Matlovich of the U.S. Air Force, a decorated Vietnam War veteran, is given a general discharge after he publicly announced his homosexuality. After successfully suing the Air Force, his discharge was upgraded to honorable in 1979. In 1978, Cardinal Karol Wojtyla, archbishop of Krakow, became Pope John Paul II. Notable people born on this day include: Franz Lizst, Romantic composer, in 1811 in Raiding, Hungary. Newell Convers Wyeth, American painter, in 1882 in Needham, Massachusetts. John Reed (Harvard 1910), American journalist, Communist activist and author of Ten Days That Shook the World, in 1887 in Portland, Oregon. Robert Rauschenberg, American painter and Pop Art pioneer, in 1925 in Port Arthur, Texas. Not-so-notable people born on this day include: Sandy F. Smith Jr. (Harvard 1980), sometime essayist, reporter, public relations officer and food lover, in 1958 in Kansas City, Missouri. (Edited once more to fix the Pope's archdiocese.)

FWIW, I stopped in DiBruno's on Chestnut on Thursday. The "10-year aged gouda" they sell is from Noord Hollander. AFAICT, this cheese is imported to the US by Cheese Land, Inc., of Seattle--the Cheese Land web site address is printed on the Noord Hollander label--but there is no evidence of this cheese's existence on that web site.

Unlike some other good ideas I've seen floated on Phillyblog, though, the issues in this one are resolvable. Except for the one of whether the sports-bar function can peaceably coexist with the food-market function. Or whether we even want to see if they can. (Though this could be considered a dry run of sorts.)

Based on a quick swing past Giunta's after lunch today (I'm on a jury), Giunta's is going to sell only certified natural or organic beef and pork from selected suppliers. They have all-natural, grass-fed, corn-finished beef and Iowa Duroc pork, both from Van De Rose Farms of Oskaloosa, Iowa, on display in their cases now. Much to my surprise and delight, their prices are not that much more than one would pay for supermarket beef and pork. Since I got a 15% off coupon in the mail, I'm definitely going to try some soon.

I realize you're talking about the steakhouse here, but: While I stand by my prior comment about those ribs not being barbecue, I must say that I found myself saying as I heard you and the chef rattle off the prices there, "$1 microbrew? $6 slabs of ribs? Am I dreaming?"

Hear, hear! Truth be told, I don't think that too many of us in this discussion disagree radically with JohnL's comments (emphasis on "radically", for what it seems much of the argument in this topic has turned on are matters of degree, levels of nuance, and perceptions). BTW, JohnL, glad you went and read the article. FWIW, Ebony is an institution among African-American media. The nation's largest-circulating periodical aimed at African-Americans (and the biggest-circulating African-American-owned publication) is 60 years old this year. It was launched in 1946 to provide the sort of window into Negro life in America that Life (whose cover title Ebony's resembles) did for mainstream society. That Life no longer exists in its original form while Ebony keeps on keepin' on suggests that African-Americans still feel a need for such a window. The nature of American society is such that the topic of racism is bound to come up anywhere that race is a subject of discussion, and it is one by definition in an article focusing on blacks in the culinary world. True, it is mentioned only in passing, and by only one of the author's sources, but that's all that is needed for the floodgates to open. I agree that Samuelsson was not attributing to racism the relative lack of notice the black culinarians he mentioned received. As Vadouvan and others have noted, it's wrong to attribute to malice what can be explained by stupidity. But some will, and indeed one person did in the article. I doubt that this circle will be broken in our lifetimes, if ever.

Completely absurd. my thoughts. 1 Immigrants move to the United states *specifically* seeking a better life, economic wellness or flight from opression. And this gets to the heart of the problem--and the wellspring from which all the touchiness flows. There are only two racial/ethnic groups in the United States to which this statement does not apply: Native Americans (Indians, so misnamed because that's where Columbus thought he had landed), who were here first, and the descendants of slaves who now call themselves "African American." This last group is unique among all American groups for having been brought here against its will. When black Americans make claims to uniqueness in the Comparative Oppression Derby, they are based on this fact. I believe the Comparative Oppression Derby is a pointless race, but people run it all the same. I could go on for days about how black intellectuals have done us as much harm as good with stultifying notions of what constitutes "authenticity"--the source of some of the things you observe--but that would take us way off topic. However: I see enough blacks who have won fame and some celebrity in the food trade--but not in the rarefied reaches of fine cuisine--to suggest that the problem is not aversion to careers in food preparation per se (as someone else noted, you will find many blacks at all levels in institutional food service, such as the executive chef for Aramark's dining and catering operations at Widener) but rather that same disconnect from "upper class" attitudes, values and attributes that is reflected in your observation above. Your comment on the James Beard House's programming is beyond dispute. I think I referred to this same slighting of African diversity with my remark upthread about the overly vague nature of the term "African-American." But the problem, I'm afraid, is all but unsolvable in an American context, since the enslavers didn't bother with such trivialities as observing what would have been called "national" or "ethnic" differences in Europe and what Europeans called "tribal" differences among the "less civilized" peoples. I'd like to suggest that Americans in general--African- or otherwise--are still at a very early stage in their education about Africa, and as we learn more, what is likely to happen will resemble how we handle Asian nationalities, conflating them at some levels and distinguishing among them at others. Plus ca change, plus c'est la même chose.

You have great stage presence, Chris. (I watched the show this morning before heading off to jury duty. The good news: I'll enjoy 10% off on lunch at the Reading Terminal Market for the next few days. The bad news: That's because I got empaneled for a criminal trial. The other good news: It's a small-potatoes case and I won't be sequestered. The other bad news: That means I don't get a quasi-vacation in a nice Center City hotel. ) Not to mention the perfect personality and delivery for this job. Love the emphasis on off-the-beaten-path, everyday-people's-favorite places. But I do have a question about the steakhouse where you concluded your trip: Why was it so empty? The other places you visited all had decent patronage. I'd worry about a place that ran counter to that tendency, no matter how good or locally authentic your sources said it was. Beat me to the punch, moosnsqrl. Had I been the star at that segment, I'm afraid I would have never made it past the pilot stage, as I would probably have said something like, "These are great ribs, but they aren't barbecue. Here, let me show you how it's done. Got an enclosed grill, an afternoon and a case of beer?" But the chicken-fried lobster and the deep-fried Twinkies--talk about throwing it in your face!--more than made up for that lapse. I await with bated breath next Tuesday's episode. Maybe I'll have a few people over too. Cheesesteaks, of course, to celebrate Katie's and my cameo. As for the shirts: I think there's a chi-chi Best-of-Philly men's wear shop somewhere here in the gayborhood that carries them or something awfully similar.