MarketStEl

There have been a couple of times when, as I opened up the sample tray at the Super Fresh to help myself to the deli meat and cheese of the day*, one of the deli counter staff would ask if I wanted anything. Once I mumbled off the request, the second time the guilt-trip worked. Both of those times were on weekday afternoons when almost no one is in the store. Here's another take on this subject. On my refrigerator door I have posted this Sunday panel from Aaron McGruder's sharp-elbowed comic strip "The Boondocks": For those of you who haven't seen the strip, a little background: The main character in this installment is Riley Freeman, the thug-wannabe little brother of the strip's main character, Huey. That's Huey as in Newton; the older brother is a straight-up black radical and champion of the dispossesed. The pair live with their grandfather in an unidentified suburb where both feel somewhat displaced. The action above is vintage Riley, who once renamed the streets in their subdivision (Weeping Deer Lane, Babbling Brook Terrace...) for gangsta rappers (Notorious B.I.G Drive...). Edited to add: Whoops! Hit the Submit button before I put in the footnote: *The sample tray at the Super Fresh deli counter is a relatively recent addition to the store, making its first appearance about six months after Whole Foods opened its South Street store right next door. One of the nicer things about shopping at Whole Paycheck is that they are promiscuous with their sample offerings, especially at the cheese counter.

I never outgrew it. But I have modified it a bit. As often as not, the crackers will be Ritz, Club, Stoned Wheat Thins or Triscuits. I also vary the cheese. Sometimes it's Swiss, sometimes Muenster. The peanut butter is a constant, though. And it's usually a late-night snack for me.

We've also been named one of the friendliest cities in America by Condé Nast Traveler. Go figure. Certainly the response you've gotten here reflects the latter attitude more than the former--but then again, you weren't asking us, "How about them Iggles?" Most of those places, however, have a certain, um, preciousness about them; some of them even stray into the category "purveyors of food porn." Others of them seem mainly to sell food to customers who buy it because of the status it confers on them rather than because it's good. And, as you point out, many, even most, of these are of relatively recent provenance. The Reading Terminal Market is none of the above. People shop there for the same reasons they've been coming there since 1893 (and prior to then, to the vendor stalls that gave Philadelphia's Market Street its name): because they know they can get real food from real people who know what they're selling (and in some cases grow it themselves). No pretense, no trendiness (well, precious little trendiness)--just honest value on good meats, produce and specialty items.

Be sure to invite Zippy the Pinhead over the next time you pick up an order.

As a piece of me will always be a Heartlander in spirit, nothing quite satisfies like beef (meatloaf, burgers, steak, you name it), but there are a bunch of other "alien" foods ("alien" in quotes because when it comes to food, an "alien" dish is simply one you haven't yet tried) that rank right up there with it. First among them is sushi. Love it, love it, love it! Actually, I suspect one of the reasons I love it is because I get a healthy dose of wasabi along with it. Does wonders for my sinuses. Then there's jambalaya, but I'm not sure it really qualifies as "alien," because I've been told there's a lost branch of my family somewhere in Louisiana. Jamaican meat patties are also on my list as a great comfort snack. Too bad I can't get them more often (I had one with lunch--jerk chicken, from a Jamaican takeout in downtown Wilmington--today.) Italian wedding soup also rates. As do bagels and lox--which my mother occasionally served when she threw big Sunday brunches. It was at those where I first tasted kielbasa as well, and it too is on my list of comfort snacks.

Ah, but the story reveals a deeper, darker secret: Green Bean Casserole is actually a press fabrication! In fact, the story celebrating its semi-centennial is self-promotional: (FWIW, the story was probably reported out of the AP Philadelphia bureau. All the people quoted in it live in the South Jersey 'burbs.) Wonder if it's served at AP bureau holiday parties?

I think I'm one of the few eGullet Society members who has bothered to post a capsule bio on his member profile. You'll find the answer to your geographic question there. The only connection my hometown has with the South is that slavery was legal in both, and both had legal segregation in the post-Civil War era. (The road to Brown v. Board of Education passed through the Show-Me State in the form of a case called Missouri ex rel. Gaines v. Canada, concerning a black man denied admission to the University of Missouri law school.) Actually, that's not quite true--during the Civil War, Missouri had two state governments, one pro-Union, the other pro-Confederate, and the conflict tore the state in two, with one of the war's major battles--the Battle of Westport--taking place in what is now Kansas City's silk-stocking district. One of my earliest political memories is that of a rather tumultuous 1964 municipal referendum in which voters narrowly approved a city ordinance banning racial discrimination in public accommodations. That election is said to be the point where Kansas City's black population became an important political force. Sounds like you had a great family. Nobody was turned away at Grandma's, either, though the Smith side of the family isn't that big--it's the Davises (Mom's family) that had the big gatherings. (The Davises also lacked the black-bourgeois pretensions of the Smiths. Dad was the cook growing up, but it was Mom who cooked the chitlins. My attitude towards this signature dish reflects the Smith family inheritance. ) This was one of those watershed events in black American history. I'm sure you've seen footage somewhere of Anderson's famous outdoor concert on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in the late 1930s (1939, I believe). That concert took place where it did because the Daughters of the American Revolution refused to let her perform in Constitution Hall, their auditorium in Washington that was the city's best music hall at the time, when Anderson was on a national tour. DAR member Eleanor Roosevelt publicly and loudly renounced her membership over the insult and arranged to have the concert take place outdoors, in front of an audience larger far larger than Constitution Hall could possibly hold. All this typing has made me hungry. Anyone for fried chicken and collard greens?

Very clever, you are. You would have won the bet! Yes, white trash abounds in my family tree. I think the white trash subsistance farmers had as much a right to nourish themselves as the slaves, and could actually be pretty creative when facing the delimma of feeding a houseful of field hands (who happen to be children) with an egg and whatever you could spare from the pantry until spring. Although there is an equal dose of magnolias in this same tree, and I am DAR AND UDC, through coercion, not choice! Rest assured, I have 7 "great grandfathers" freaking documented on the rebel side of the cause, and as many who dodged the draft during the war between the states. Also, thanks to the D of the A Revolution, I am the descendent of three, yes three, members of the original bunch that threw that little party. I just describe it as a LONG line of rebels! The trashiest side of my family, has a state senator to brag on. Yes, upper and lower strata intermarried in the deep south. Of course, much of that happened during the depression, or in the economic woes after the Civil War. Now, Mom was not real keen on the odor that collards perfume the house with. But Grandma, her mother? Get out of her way and don't get between her and the pot! Tobasco? Would rather have hot, pickled pepper sauce, homemade from the season before, on my greens, or most anything else. I love the bite of vinegar. Mayonnaise? Hate it on the sandwich, would rather eat one dry. Seriously. But in a salad? Miracle Whip or homemade. Now, tell me what you think, young man, of the results of your exploration. I am very curious. ← annecros that is so simultaneously hilarious and enlightening. You've already previously mentioned several of the "lucky" foods I'll be making for New Years: chitterlings (with maws of course), greens definitely with ham hocks, cornbread, potato salad (yes some Miracle Whip will be involved), and black eyed peas, again with some kind of smoky pork product. Why it will be a veritable porkathon at my house (no not that kind of porkathon; minds out of the gutter please!) However, ahem, how do I bring this up politely? Actually I can't so I'll just say it and once again ask that MarketSt.El/Sandy backs me up. It is entirely possible that your "inner Negritude" may have some genetic basis. Even though it could be downright dangerous, secret interracial unions were not uncommon even in the days of the Civil War. Of course, that's not the kind of thing that gets brought up at the dinner table, especially in a household with its DAR leanings. Now as for you Fresser and your current "condition" (as well as other things) we'll all have to put our heads together and design a very special twelve-step program just for you! And as for me, I'm having the opposite problem. Lately I've detected the unmistakable small voice of my "Inner Shvester" yearning to breath free. Oy. ← Was going to comment on this last night, but I had to do a little shopping, a little cooking and a little resume writing (other people's, not my own; I'm getting paid for this). Anyway, one of those very poorly kept secrets in the South--and possibly the reason Southern racism became so extraordinarily virulent--was the degree of illicit interracial mixing that went on. Most African-Americans would have complexions and faces closer to those of our African brothers and sisters were this not the case. (Take a look at my avatar or any picture of me posted on this site--you'll see me carrying a turkey out of my kitchen if you go over to the "Dinner!" thread in Cooking--for a case in point. I can't tell you what form the mixing took, and in my case, it may have been licit, for Grandma Smith spoke at some length about the Scots and Irish ancestry in our family. That ancestry is one reason why my dad Sandy Sr., my brother Sean and I all have first names usually given to young men of Celtic descent.) And even where there wasn't a whole lotta shtuppin' goin' on, there was certainly a lot of cross-cultural exchange. The funny thing is, individual black and white Southerners often achieved a level of intimacy rarely seen among their Northern counterparts, a fact reflected in the old saying, "In the South, they don't care how close you get, as long as you don't get too big. In the North, they don't care how big you get, as long as you don't get too close." (Ohmigawd! I just revealed the genetic basis of my own Oreoness! I'm gonna have to go hide in a closet...oh, wait, I can't do that either, having spent so much time and energy coming out of one back in the early 1980s...) BTW, Anne, I have no problem wrapping my brain around your dual white-trash/DAR heritage. It's those prissy Northerners who turned up their noses at the thought of Marian Anderson sullying their precious Constitution Hall that got my blood boiling. (Yes, that was so 1936. But some historical memories die hard.) As for mayonnaise vs. Miracle Whip: I can go either way. Except on tomatoes. Really juicy ripe tomato slices beg for Miracle Whip when they're not crying out for just a little salt.

A quick definition for ohmyganache of a word Katie used upthread that is probably unfamiliar to him or her: Wawa (wah' wah), n. Lenni-Lenape word meaning "the place where we get the essentials that fuel our busy lives." Seriously, it's the Lenape word for the bird we call the Canada goose, which is why you'll find one on the chain's logo. But the convenience-store chain is an integral part of everyday life for just about everyone who lives in the Philadelphia area. Unlike most convenience-store chains, Wawa is also known for the quality of its deli counter and prepared foods, especially their hoagies. (Oh, darn. Now I have to define another Philly-ism. A hoagie is a sandwich of the type variously known elsewhere as a hero or submarine. But like the New Orleans po' boy, another member of this family, the Philadelphia hoagie is a breed unto itself. The word allegedly comes from the sandwiches workers at the old Hog Island shipyards carried with them for lunch. Philadelphia International Airport now occupies most of the World War I shipyard site.)

Just curious...I checked out the site and see that that sell 3 varieties of this Trappist cheese. Which is the one that your partner's sister typically got for you? How does it taste? She usually got us the assortment that included one wedge each of mild, aged and smoked. The cheese is a semi-soft cheese from cow's milk. The mild cheese has a delicate, creamy but slightly tangy flavor, just a bit more pronounced than that of Havarti. The aged variety is stronger, needless to say, with a slightly nuttier taste. I can't really draw a parallel to a more familiar type of cheese. The smoked cheese has a pronounced smoke flavor and a bit of a bite. Wolferman's! "Good Things to Eat" since 1888. My grandparents regularly bought cakes and pastries from Wolferman's, which for many years was a chain of specialty grocery stores and bakeries in Kansas City. They had five locations in the city during my childhood. I think their grocery business began to head south not long after the Bon Vivant vichysoisse botulism incident (Wolferman's was one of the chains for which Bon Vivant made private-label soups). I thought the company had gone out of business completely until one day in the early 1980s when I heard Willard Scott pitching the English muffins on the Today Show. I've tried them; they're all that and a bag of chips--big and fluffy with lots of holes to soak up the butter.

You've alluded to this yourself in succeeding posts, but I'm going to wager that your family hails from the Deep South. Yes, all the foods you love are "slave food," according to the food anthropologists, but there is significant overlap between "soul food" and "Southern cookery," and how could there not be? After all, most African-Americans either live in or can trace their ancestry back to the former slave states, and all but three of those--Delaware, Maryland and Missouri--are in the South (though you can find pockets and remnants of a more Southern way of life in even these three). In many wealthy Southern homes, the black house slaves were responsible for the cooking as well, and such skills as well-off white Southern women had in that department were as likely as not transmitted to them by the slave cooks. I will also wager, however, that your Southern ancestors, if indeed Southern they are, did not come from the upper strata of Southern society. For even though barbecue crosses all lines of class and race, some of the other dishes--especially the greens--do not. Exploring this a little further: What's your attitude towards mayonnaise and Tabasco sauce?

You've already gotten several suggestions about where to open from others on this forum, but I will also add another "where not to open" tip: Don't look to open your shop in the immediate vicinity of the Italian Market. Sarcone's has the trade all but locked up, and there are a few other traditional Italian bread bakeries in operation in the area. However: Given that gay men--the shock troops of gentrification--are settling in South Philly east of Broad in increasing (though still relatively small) numbers, you might want to explore some of the territory just a few blocks further away from 9th Street.

Okay, I'm a few days late on the promise I made over in that Green Bean Casserole discussion. But as has been custom chez Sandy for some time, I fixed Christmas dinner for the house and a few friends. I fixed it on the day after Christmas, though, because Gary and I were invited to family Christmas dinner at his nephew's house in Haddonfield. I tend not to be adventurous when it comes to this meal. Like Thanksgiving, the adherence to tradition is part and parcel of the whole experience. Of course, it wouldn't be a dinner at my place without cheese somewhere along the way. In this case, as part of the hors d'oeuvres: (Clockwise from top left) Celery and carrot sticks, Calabrese sausage, wheat crackers, onion crackers, Fontinella cheese, Cracker Barrel Aged Reserve (no longer New York State? Wassup with that?) cheddar, Hatville Farms cheese spreads: Cheddar Horseradish, Sundried Tomato, Cajun Crabmeat, buttercrisp crackers, homemade blue cheese dip. In the bottle above all this are cat treats Gary's mom bought as a Christmas present for our two cats. While everyone (including the cook) noshed on all this, I had everything organized for the final push. The nuts, seltzer, chocolate chips, tangerine and tomatoes in this picture played no role in the meal. That impossibly perfect, shiny, bright red tomato in the picture is a glass ornament, a Christmas gift from a friend. The tools in the foreground are for making the whipped potatoes; the flour and chopped-up giblets in back are for the gravy. As I'm sometimes pretty slapdash in having things ready to go, I'm rather proud of myself for now being able to get just about everything to the table at the right time without extra assistance. For Thanksgiving, I tried Alton Brown's suggested method for roasting a turkey (500F for the first half hour, then cover with foil and roast at 325F for the remainder of the cooking time, unstuffed), and the bird came out perfect, with moist meat throughout. But I missed the taste and moisture of the turkey juices in the stuffing. So despite Brown's admonishment, I decided I'd try his method with a stuffed bird this time: Note to self: Remove the upper oven rack for the first half hour next time so the turkey doesn't bump up against the top heating element. As if any of you needed proof that you don't need a big or fancy kitchen to turn out a great meal... The bird was juicy all around once again, so if you like your bird stuffed, you can still use the Alton Brown method with good results. Along with the turkey, I also fixed a spiral sliced ham with honey glaze. Completing the meal: Whipped potatoes, creamed spinach, stuffing, cranberry sauce and Pillsbury crescent rolls, served with a Sangiovese from Spain. The last of the turkey that I didn't freeze should disappear sometime today. There's a stock cooking at home in Philadelphia as I type this from the office in Wilmington.

You want that, head over to the Reading Terminal Market. Unfortunately, it's not convenient to Rittenhouse Square, but this is a great town to walk around, and it's not all that far a walk. Since you're on vacation, you should have the time. Salumeria, the store referenced in menton1's post, is located there. Harry G. Ochs is the best butcher in town, and Martin's two stalls down carries lots of freshly made specialty sausages. If you go on a weekend, there's also a Pennsylvania Dutch specialty meat vendor (Dutch Country Meats) open. John Yi and Golden Sea Food can take care of the fish. Downtown Cheese is almost as good as DiBruno's in the cheese department. You won't find all the unusual packaged goods you will at Zabar's, but DiBruno's has some of that territory covered.

In the giving department, I don't know whether this qualifies, but one time I donated a chicken gumbo dinner for four, prepared by me at the winner's house, and an evening at the movies as a prize in a silent auction fundraiser. (This was in the early 1980s. I think the winning bid was somewhere around $50.) I love to receive cheese and sausage baskets--but better still would be Gethsemani Trappist cheese. If I knew the recipient would use it, I'd probably give an interesting cookbook or a bottle of home-brewed "Gates' Barbecue Sauce".

Welcome to Philly! I don't know if you followed that "NY, SF, LA..." thread over in General Food Topics a few months back, but IMO, and as I posted to that thread, you are moving to a city that is now the culinary equal of at least two of those three and is a more affordable alternative to the third. (I'll leave it to you to figure out which of those cities is which. Arguably, any one of the three could fill that last role. ) It definitely is one of the most underrated food cities in the country. As far as "good food neighborhoods" are concerned, most Philly neighborhoods either have interesting restaurants or great places to shop for food, but not both. There are a number of exceptions to this blanket statement, though. Probably the best known of these exceptions is the greater Italian Market area (6th to 13th streets, South to Tasker). In this area you can find outstanding Mexican, Italian, Vietnamese, Korean, Laotian and Middle Eastern eateries, most of them very reasonably priced. Some of the city's best hoagies--traditional and Vietnamese--can be found here as well, not to mention the iconic Cheesesteak Corner, 9th and Passyunk, where Pat's and Geno's--both very good, neither of them the best--battle it out for the hearts and minds of cholesterol lovers. And the street market along 9th Street that gives this area its name is at once a bargain hunter's paradise (but be sure to inspect the produce) and home to some of the best meat, cheese, and kitchenware retailers in the city. Philly's very compact Chinatown also qualifies as an exception. Located just northeast of the Reading Terminal Market, one of America's oldest and finest fresh food emporia, this little enclave houses dozens of restaurants specializing in a number of Asian cuisines, including the local outpost of a hip Indonesian chain, a wonderful Burmese restaurant and two of the oldest and best Vietnamese restaurants in town, located right across 11th Street from each other. Interspersed among these are numerous Asian grocers, fishmongers and other food purveyors. Other parts of town you shouldn't miss: --"El Zona del Oro." The sprawling Hispanic neighborhood in West Kensington boasts several fine Central and Latin American restaurants, centered along North Fifth Street from about Girard Avenue on the south all the way up to Wyoming Avenue on the north. You should be able to locate several posts raving about Tierra Colombiana, which is in this area, on this board. You will probably encounter locals who will warn you away from this area, as it includes some of the city's rougher neighborhoods. Ignore them, but travel with friends when you go. --The area around 47th Street and Baltimore Avenue in West Philadelphia. I'll bet you won't find anything like this in SF or LA. This intersection has become the commercial heart of the city's African immigrant communities, which include Ethiopians, Ivoirians, Senegalese and several other mainly West African nationalities. The intersection is home to the city's best Ethiopian restaurant, Dahlak, and a number of other intriguing African eateries. And if you're not up for African fare, there's a very good Laotian/Southeast Asian cafe on the same block and a good Italian/Mediterranean place right around the corner on Warrington Avenue. I suspect that a few grocers may now cater to the food needs of the community, but I can't say for sure that this is the case; it certainly wasn't when I last set foot in the area about three years ago. I haven't mentioned Center City in general because I have no doubt that you will spend lots of time exploring the many excellent restaurants all over the heart of the city and sampling Old City's nightlife. (Old City is one of about eight distinct residential neighborhoods that together comprise Center City; the others are Society Hill, Washington Square West/the Gayborhood, Chinatown, Logan Circle, Rittenhouse/Fitler Square, Spring Garden and the "Art Museum Area", which comprises parts of Logan Circle and Fairmount. Others will also include the adjacent communities of Queen Village, Bella Vista, Hawthorne and "Southwest Center City," all below South Street.) The greatest concentrations of restaurants are in Old City and "Rittenhouse Row"--the area along Walnut west of Broad that extends to Rittenhouse Square--but there are good places to eat in just about every Center City neighborhood. Be prepared to wear out your walking shoes exploring Center City--it's the best way to get to know us. SEPTA can get you where your own two feet can't. (Edited to add: Take a little time to learn the SEPTA system before you arrive; it'll pay off once you get here.)

Hey, Bryan, instead of those green beans, you could have served Green Bean Casserole! My condolences on your grandmother's condition. May God be with you.

A box of Godiva chocolates and a dozen Ferero Rocher candies, so far. Confidential to FistFullaRoux: You will forever thank yourself for having spent your gift money on that knife. My Wusthof was a Christmas present two years ago (partner and I went Christmas shopping together and I picked it out); it was--and is still--worth every penny of the $98 Gary paid for it. Speaking of gift money: I've held on to the $100 cash partner gave me this year (feeling pressed for time). I decided I'd wait until the after Christmas sales to buy my gifts. I haven't decided if there will be anything food-related yet; I think the food processor will have to wait, but there might be a little something edible I could put on the list. Actually, I miss the Gethsemani Trappist cheese my partner's sister used to give us every Christmas and might buy some of that. I will in all likelihood order something from Cabot Cheese as well. It's the only way I can get their powdered cheddar, which is great on popcorn.

Thank you for an eloquent defense of Green Bean Casserole. Certainly there are many others like you for whom it conjures up images of happy times; it does fall in the category of "comfort food" for many. I did find it interesting, though, that there seemed to be a racial split in my informal survey. This discussion suggests that it may be regional as much as racial, but I still have yet to encounter a black friend or acquaintance for whom it is part of their culinary heritage. Until tonight, that is. A black couple whom I see often dropped by our belated Christmas dinner towards the end, and when I asked The Question, both of them said they had eaten the dish. The older half of the couple said that not only does he eat it fairly often, he absolutely loves it. That this person is the head security guard at Campbell Soup Company headquarters (the only remnant of the company in its birthplace of Camden, N.J.--well, that and a new minor-league ballpark bearing its name) is pure coincidence, I can assure you. But it does mean that he can get Cream of Mushroom soup cheap whenever he wants. (He's more enamored of the huge grab bags of irregular Godiva chocolates the company offers for sale to employees at super-bargain prices. I've made a mental note to approach him next Christmas and whenever a birthday approaches.) As for what I fixed for dinner tonight: Photos will be posted to the "Dinner!" thread in Cooking tomorrow. The turkey and ham have been put away. Half the pots are in the sink awaiting cleaning; I've had my fill of the kitchen for today. Creamed spinach was on the menu, but no GBC.

Damn, Man! First I hear you can barbecue (I did hear that, right?), now this. We all know that every last European on the planet can ultimately trace his or her ancestry to some black woman in the vicinity of modern-day Kenya. Your African ancestors must have taken the genetic bypass between there and Central Europe. Unfortunately, there are no Brown's Fried Chicken outlets anywhere in the Greater Philadelphia region, though there are at least two Golden Krust Caribbean Bakery & Grill outlets where I can indulge my hidden Caribbean roots (Mom's side of the family, allegedly). I can, however, stroll over to the Penn Center concourse for some Church's fried chicken and fried okra.

Followup from the front lines: Last night, Gary and I visited a Community College colleague's home in Mt. Airy (relatively affluent, quasi-racially-integrated neighborhood in the northwest part of Philadelphia) for a "Feast of the Seven Fishes." I was the only black person in attendance (which made for some punny clues later that evening in a guess-the-word game; the word in question was "blackmail.") After the boulliabaise (mussels, clams, shrimp and cod--four of the seven in one dish; the main course contained the rest--anchovies, crab and scallops; a tin of smoked oysters was passed around as a bonus), I asked, tongue firmly in cheek, "So after this is the Green Bean Casserole, right?" to general laughter from those assembled. I then explained the little sociological experiment I had been conducting. Gary assured me and everyone else that Green Bean Casserole was indeed a staple at dinners his mother prepared, and that it would no doubt be part of the Christmas Day dinner his sister, niece-in-law and mother were all pitching in on. I just got back from Haddonfield (affluent, terminally charming Southern New Jersey community connected to Philadelphia by a subway line, where just about all of Gary's family lives now). On the menu tonight: Havarti with dill and Brie for appetizer. Roast turkey. Mashed potatoes. Peas in their pods with peppers. Cranberry sauce. Stuffing made with celery and onions. Celery and carrot sticks. Homemade coleslaw with apples. Homemade dinner rolls. Seven-layer chocolate and coconut cake. I just double-checked this list. Nope--no Green Bean Casserole to be found on it anywhere. Since I see the Mullin/Donch clan at least three times a year, and usually more often, I did not feel like causing a racial incident by accusing any of them of not upholding their cultural heritage. But I am sure that deep down inside, Gary is ashamed.

Well then, you're all set! All you need is a bonafide white guy and you too can soon be eating one of the most traditional staples for "White Folks who can't cook"! Now all you need is some canned green beans, some bacon, little onions, cream of mushroom soup, (and for the daring, pimento-but that's really pushing it) and some canned fried onions (though I reccomend Zapp's Crawtators as a sub). ← Guess what I found while picking up meats and cheeses at DiBruno Brothers on Chestnut Street on Friday! They're real crunchy and nice 'n' spicy. Yeah, they'd be much better than canned fried onions on GBC. Not that I'd go out and make any for that reason. On the other hand, the next batch of turkey tetrazzini I make would no doubt be greatly improved by their presence.

Catch-all reply: OT: Then I imagine our esteemed Cantab friend knows all about the Statue of the Three Lies. (In front of University Hall, where the Dean of the College at Harvard has his office, is a statue of a seated figure with the following inscription on its base: "JOHN HARVARD Founder 1638" The three lies, in reverse order of significance: 1) Harvard was founded in 1636, not 1638; 2) The General Court of the Massachusetts Bay Colony founded the college. John Harvard was merely its first big benefactor--the colony named the college for him after he gave it half of his library; 3) The seated figure is not John Harvard. No known likeness of him exists. The person who sat for the statue is some anonymous Harvard student of the late 1800s.) Back OT, sort of: So, Ellen--should we start a new thread singing the praises of Polynesian Meatlike Balls? The ways the Harvard Dining Services folks tried to foist tofu off on us scarred me so badly, I refused to touch the stuff for at least 15 years afterwards. Indeed, next to these creations, GBC is haute cuisine indeed. And to our Cantab friend: I'll see your GBC and raise you a can of Heinz Baked Beans. (Heinz Baked Beans are as ubiquitous in the UK as Campbell's Tomato Soup is in the US, or so I understand, but the Pittsburgh food giant barely makes a dent in the US canned bean market.)

This sounds intriguing. Since I'm not likely to be in either the Rochester or Allentown areas anytime soon, could someone describe this phenomenon to me?

Remember the buffet scene where Officer Marge Gunderson piles her tray high with steam-table goodies? Surely some green bean casserole found its way onto her plate. ← Oh, God, Fargo! My nominee for Best Coen Brothers Film Yet Made--and the Coen Brothers have yet to make a bad one, though Barton Fink was just a bit too surreal for me to handle at the time I saw it. That stoic expression on Gunderson's face as she's driving back from just having dealt with the guy who fed his ex-partner in crime into the wood chipper was too freaky for words--in its own way more chilling than tossing the guy in the wood chipper. But then, that's an Upper Midwestern thing. I wouldn't know from that down my way, where everyone's Glad To Meet You. (That aspect of Central Plains culture gives East Coast folk the creeps.)