ForTasteSake

As (relatively) young, single, working professional women in a city of roughly 1.5 million people (over 200,000 of which are aged 25-34), it seems as though it shouldn’t be quite so difficult to find relatively interesting men to pass some time with (and maybe share some meals with). We’ve both realized that over the 30+ years that we’ve spent stumbling through the urban dating jungle (oh yes, it IS a jungle out there!), we’ve learned our fair share and thought it only made sense for us to spread our warped dating perspectives and experiences to the masses.  (We’re all about helping others, you know.)

Kellie: Dating has never been high up on my list of priorities.  I’m completely okay with not being in a relationship, and, frankly, I’m unsure at this point that I even have the patience for sustained interaction with one person over a substantial length of time.  Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy people and spending time with others, but I also really enjoy being by myself and doing things alone.  Basically, I realize that I’m difficult to get along with at times, and I find others difficult as well.

Stephanie: And I’ve quickly learned to get over my parents’ frequent referral of my cat, Daphne, as their grand-daughter (in fact, I think it kind-of sweet now) or the awkward family gatherings in which my single-dom is an inevitable topic of conversation (nope, haven’t met anyone “special” since our last awkward family gathering two months ago).

Kellie: Recently, I went on a date (for real – the dress and heels kind), and when I mentioned it to my mom, her response was, “I thought you’d given up on humanity.”  I think that perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’m unconcerned with dating either way – whether I do it or not doesn’t really matter to me.  If I found someone that could tolerate my independence, sarcasm, workaholism and addiction to text messaging, while having good taste in music, a dry wit, similar political and social justice views and a steady career, I’d consider “dating” him (or at least getting to know him).  Otherwise, I have friends, family, and undateable men I already hang out with, so I’m all set.

Stephanie: Similarly, I laughed when I first read in “The Rules” the following:  men are the adversary, especially on the first date (caveat:   I did not purchase this book of my own accord… I knew Kellie and I would be doing a dating post so I was trying to do some research.  As a self-respecting, intelligent, single gal, I had to put that out there).  However, as time goes on, I think there is some truth to approaching dating from this position.  At it’s overly-simplistic core, this gem is telling you that you have to be prepared, can’t let your guard down, and make sure that you are armed with the appropriate amount of  artillery to deflect any BS that is bound to head your way from the opposite sex from time-to-time.  Above all else, you can’t let yourself get hurt and, while vulnerability can be the hallmark of a great Audrey Hepburn movie, it can also be the hallmark of your dating downfall.

Kellie: A few weeks ago, Stephanie sent me this article from New York Magazine about “the fadeaway,” which is when a person just sort of disappears from your romantic life, with no explanation and no further contact.  Now, while the merits (or lack of merit) of this approach can be debated, I have my own personal opinion (surprise!), which may or may not be biased based on my own past actions: the fadeaway is perfectly acceptable if you’ve been out with someone less than three times.  If that’s all the time you’ve spent together, you don’t owe them anything, nor do they owe you.  Sorry, folks.  I know we all generally claim that we want closure or an explanation, but, sometimes, it’s just not necessary.

(Also, to be clear, when I say “been out,” I mean official, intentional, I-made-a-conscious-decision-to-spend-time-with-you dates.  Whether you actually decide call them dates is your own choice.  None of that we-ran-into-each-other-at-bar/party/restaurant/coffee shop-and-spent-some-time-talking business.)

Stephanie: And speaking of the fadeaway….as someone who does not necessarily buy into spiritual, other-wordly pursuits, I have been thinking more and more that my dating karma has turned ugly and the dating gods have forsaken me because of my past indiscretions.  I’ve wondered, did the fadeaway just get pulled on me because of the fadeaway I pulled in 2003? And maybe kissing my ex’s bff at sorority formal was a baaad idea (I blame the massive amounts of white zin for that one.  Yeah, so what, I drank white zin in college.  I was trying to be “classy”).  Is it possible that my proverbial dating hens have come home to roost?  I mean, who knows, but I’ve taken to burning sage just in case….

This is not to say that all is bad or that I’m going to give up and start playing for the other team (I still haven’t completely convinced myself that this isn’t a partial motivation for some men to be complete douche lords:  the hope that their idiocy will force a woman into the arms of another woman – hot).  However, it is to say that we have to be prepared for what we will be faced with when we are out there traversing what can sometimes be a very barren landscape and to do unto others as you would have others do unto you (as much as possible).

So what can be learned from Kellie and my somewhat unintentionally constructed dating frameworks?  We’re not sure.  But it sure has been cathartic for us to write about it and, while Kellie and I certainly don’t have the answers to it all, we are hoping that this blog can be a forum for us to not only share what turns us on when it comes to good food but also what turns us on when it comes to good men (and vice-versa, of course).

Part of the impetus for Kellie and I to get our acts together and start this food blog was to share with the world the greatness that is Philadelphia.  We’ve lived here most of our adult lives and while every so often we may engage in a brief affair with another city, when it comes right down to it, we love this place.

We love its underdog status; its eclectic neighborhoods and the eateries that define them; the rich history; the diversity of people and opinions; the Skeletor karaoke at the Troc.

Yep, Skeletor karaoke at the Troc or “Trocadero” (1003 Arch St.) for those of you not familiar, which I now am, having spent a night taking in what has become somewhat of an institution right here in our great city.  Let me break it down for you all because it’s real simple:  man dressed in Skeletor costume leads karaoke for the drunk masses crowded in the Troc’s balcony, uses a gong to alert the unknowing participants of his displeasure with their performance (think Rex Reed from the “Gong Show”), all the while, taunting the “fools” who dare compete with the power of Gray Skull and trumpeting K-Ci and JoJo as the best R&B duo of all time.

Skeletor Singing and Drinking his PBR

I wasn’t really sure what I was getting myself into when I made the decision to check it out after attending Lucha VaVoom (Mexican Masked Wrestling and Burlesque) earlier that evening, but I thought, “Hey, it couldn’t possibly get any weirder than this, right?”  Wrong.  It was weird in the most fantastical, hysterical and nonsensical way possible.  While Kellie and I didn’t sing ourselves, we stayed most of the night watching one courageous songster after another brave the stage and endure the Skeletor antics that would surely accompany their performance.  The highlight of the night for me?  Skeletor leading the male contingent in a heartfelt rendition of K-Ci and JoJo’s “All My Life” and the “punching solo” that accompanied the instrumental interludes.

After attending Lucha VaVoom, I didn’t think there would be much that could top watching masked luchadores, mini-estrellas and buxoticas doing their thing for two hours (and with luchador names like “Dirty Sanchez” and “Chocolate Caliente” who would fathom anything could be more delightfully offensive); however, Skeletor karaoke was added to my social calendar almost immediately upon hearing Skeletor’s diabolical, hyena-like voice belt out the first song of the night – Danzig’s “Mother” (in honor of Mother’s Day, of course).

Posing with some Luchadores

I encourage you to check it out at least once – you will not regret it.  And who knows, maybe you will be there the night Kellie and I unveil our choreographed routine to Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now.” Gong that back to Eternia, Skeletor!

I know, I know, I know….it is a completely cheeserific title but how else could I properly express the splendor that is Bomb Bomb:  Bar-B-Q Grill and Italian Restaurant (1026 Wolf Street)?  I know that the thought of Italian and BBQ is as implausible a combination as Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney or Lisa Marie Presley and Michael Jackson but you get my point — it somehow, in a weird, twisted alternate universe, makes sense.  Bomb Bomb’s eclectic combination of yin and yang may be born from its colorful history — bombs on the front steps and warring “business” factions in 1930’s South Philadelphia (Yes, it’s true and just one more reason why this place is great) — but it’s a combination that works.

Outside Bomb Bomb's. Don't let the neon bombs scare you.

Although Kellie and I were hoping to also snag a South Philly sugar daddy on our trip to Bomb Bomb, an endeavor completely emboldened by our reading for the evening (“Why Men Love Bitches” and “The Rules”…research for a forthcoming post! Do you think we would seriously buy either of these books for personal use!?), we instead snagged a half-rack of ribs and the house special lasagna.  Perhaps our affinity for food over men is the cause of our singleness?  Hmmm….something to definitely explore in a future post.  But I digress….

Before delving into our main courses, we started things off with the fried calamari. While a somewhat predictable selection, the delivery was anything but.  The calamari was fried to complete perfection – not too breaded or greasy – and paired with spicy marinara-like cocktail sauce, which was both spicy and sweet.

Bomb Bomb Calamari

The homemade Italian dressing that donned our salads (we were attempting to throw something healthy in there) was a little too tart for me but I appreciated a gesture that left me feeling like I just stepped into my grandmom’s kitchen for Sunday dinner.  Since we were at a BBQ and Italian restaurant, we decided to throw caution to the wind and try both.  I’m so glad we did.  The ribs were slathered with the house-made BBQ sauce and were scrumptious.  The meat literally fell from the bone.

Mmmm....ribs....

Our waitress recommended the lasagna, one of the night’s specials, and while I wasn’t a huge fan of the big hunks of sausage, the marinara was perfecto and had just the right amount of ricotta.  I could have probably ate the whole thing had I not known about and planned to devour their infamous dessert – the Ice Box Cake.  If you’ve never had it, I highly recommend it.  Named for the “oven” in which the “cake” is “baked” (Get it?  It “cooks” in the ice box.  The quotes were supposed to help you figure that out), it is chocolate and vanilla pudding layered between crushed graham crackers, topped with whipped cream, and served in a sundae glass. The perfect out-of-sync end to our mishmash main course. Yum!

Bomb Bomb's Famous Ice Box Cake

While Kellie and I may have left this corner taproom sans sugar daddies, in the end, the Bomb Bomb experience inspired us to appreciate the other unlikely but completely complimentary pairings that abound in our world – Ebony and Ivory, anyone?

**I have to personally thank my colleagues and lunch buddies, David and Nicole, for pointing me in the direction of Bomb Bomb.  They did not steer me wrong.

Inspired by our recent purchase of matching Three Wolves Howling at the Moon t-shirts, Kellie and I embarked on an anthropological exploration of sorts – to study hipsters in their natural habitat – and, hopefully, re-connect with our younger, hipper counterparts via the shared cultural experience of good food and drink.

Modeling my Three Wolves Howling at the Moon T-Shirt

Of course, I allowed Kellie to be the lead investigator and cultural broker for this experiment, given her familiarity with the study site (South Philly) and her clear-cut uber-coolness, as evidenced by her hot-orange, vintage hunting jacket and low-top Chuck Taylors.

For those of you who don’t know, parts of South Philly have been undergoing a “hipster” renaissance of sorts.  Gone are the old-world days of green awnings, fake flowers, and Virgin Mary statues (well, that’s not completely true, as Kellie and I discovered during our brief walk through the neighborhood).

Neoclassical Architecture in the Heart of South Philly

Nowadays, you are more likely to experience its uncomfortable juxtaposition with skinny jeans, coffee shops, and post-modernist thought than the Mafioso that made South Philly notorious.  East Passyunk Ave. is the ultimate example of this renaissance and was the site for at least half of our jaunt into the somewhat unknown.

Kellie and I started out at 1601 at 10^th and Tasker – a cozy local pub offering updated versions of various comfort food classics.  I, of course, choose a PBR pounder as my drink of choice (I was trying to fit in with the locals, after all)

Pabst Blue Ribbon: Hipster Water

and went with the fish tacos, which were pretty disappointing and bland.  (note from Kellie – I’ve had the fish tacos twice before, and they’re usually quite tasty.)  Kellie tried to enjoy her Bacon, Lettuce, Avocado and Fried Tomato (BLAT) sandwich sans mayo; however, it came out with mayo and had to be sent back.  The delicious Parmesan pomme frittes and free stout for the mayo mix-up more than made up for these small missteps, though.  While Kellie and I dined, drank, and discussed socialism (again, we didn’t want to stick out too conspicuously), we studied the sociological mashing of old and new:  the weathered old man donning Nike and playing Megatouch; two hipsters waxing philosophical over “the nostalgia of analog recordings” (a direct quote); and, Nick Drake playing faintly in the background while March Madness dominated the flat screens over the bar.  As our own conversation devolved into more tawdry subjects (not to be shared here) as did the conversations of the natives (did I really hear je ne sais quoi and the f-bomb in the same sentence?)   Seeing all there was to see, we decided to take our study to the next level and travel down the street to the what many would deem hipster Mecca right here in Philadelphia – Pub on Passyunk East aka “Pope.”  I learned quickly, though, never, ever to actually call it by its real name as that is as sure a social death as leprosy.

I was intimidated and nervous as we entered into the lair –  would I be fingered as an imposter?  A sell-out working for “the man” who is as removed from my “activist” days as Sarah Palin is from reality?  With Kellie by my side sipping on her “WTF” porter (even the beer names had the air of cool superiority) and a “G&T” in hand  (Gin and Tonic, folks…a required hipster drink), we settled into a dark corner and tried to blend into our surroundings.  Thankfully, those surroundings included a jukebox, which I was sure would be my redemption (one thing I know is good music) but even I was sad to learn that my musical lexicon was not nearly as eclectic as the jukebox offerings.  The best we could collectively muster was Metallica’s “Fade to Black”, some Al Green, Gang of Four, the Beach Boys and The Pixies, among others. (note from Kellie – the jukebox was a bit too sparse and indie, a dangerous combination.)

With our social experiment nearing it’s end and both of us still starving, Kellie and I decided to venture to the bright lights of cheesesteak row at 9^th and Passyunk.  Being Pat’s girls through and through (Geno’s is so 2000 and late), we chowed down on a “Wiz Wit,” Lady and the Tramp style, while enjoying the early-90’s musical stylings coming from the nearby South Philly Bar and Grill (Rhythm is totally a dancer!)

A Wiz Wit: Heaven and a Heart-attack on a Roll

Ultimately, my quest to understand this often misunderstood species and enjoy some good food along the way re-awakened that little voice deep, down inside that whispers ”Damn, the Man!” and yearns for the day that little yuppy boys and girls can coexist peacefully with their hipster brethren.  Can I get an amen?!

After the trauma of my annual visit to the women’s doc, where I was reminded, in a one hour time span, of my “un-marriedness” (Receptionist: Is this under your husband’s insurance or yours?), my “singleness” (Gyno:  Is there no one special in your life right now?), and my “lack of children-ness” (Gyno: That uterus of yours is just begging to be used!), I was more than happy to spend a Friday night being reminded of my “fabulousness” with friends and drink at APO (formerly Apothecary). With no hint of irony, I happily chose the Blushing Bride (Henrick’s gin, rose syrup, grapefruit juice, lemon juice, and barrel aged bitters) as my first drink of the night and began to soak in the atmosphere:  vest-clad “barkeeps” who are lively, extol the merits of the movie “Junior“, exclaim at your good drink picks, and place bets on whether you can drink through the entire menu (I’m still not sure if Kellie was successful in that endeavor); the stark white brick wall screaming for patrons to do their handy-work (which, of course, we did…see Exhibit A); and, the great soul classics playing in the background (who doesn’t love a little Marvin Gaye, Bill Withers and Barry White?)

Exhibit A: We were one of the first tags on APO's wall

APO’s specialties are its creative, hand-made drinks, which are both time-consuming to construct and wallet-busters but worth the wait and the money, nonetheless.  Kellie, at the great recommendation of our barkeep (who, by the way, were named 2008’s Best Bartenders by Citysearch and it was easy to see why), started off with the Drury Flip – a play on classic egg nog, combining stout, rum, orange marmalade, nutmeg and egg (um, delicious!) – and it went on (and on, and on) from there.  By the end of the night (or around 10 – we started drinking early), we had plowed through most of the noteworthy drinks on the menu: the Booty Collins (green tea infused gin, passion fruit, agave nectar, lemon juice, cayenne, yohimbe, valerian root, house made seltzer and brandied cherries);

The Booty Collins

the Moroccan Fashion (bourbon, Fernet, mint tea, chocolate, and barrel aged bitters);

The Moroccan Fashion

and, the Roaring Inverno (cachaca, amaretto, Cynar, kumquats, lime, brown sugar, cinnamon).

Our great barkeep putting the finishing touches on the Roaring Inverno...not to be confused with the Roaring Inferno...my bad!

The well-stocked bar was even able to support one of my favorite drinks, a Pimm’s Cup, which helped elucidate the fact that Kellie actually is the other half of my brain when we both exclaimed in unison, “The Pimm’s Cup is to Wimbledon like the Mint Julep is to the Kentucky Derby!!” My favorite drink of the night was the Immunity Idol (gin, elderflower liqueur, champagne, pineapple and orange juices, orange bitters, echinacea, hawthorn root and liniment) with its “inebriated berries,” giving us a great Halloween costume idea for next year (getting drunk in a strawberry costume).  Kellie ended the night with the Desert Rose (anejo tequila, Aperol, Italian red vermouth, rose-water, bitters) – a painfully strong drink, even after the dulling that 6 other drinks brings to the palate.  In all, we consumed 13 different drinks (with no hang over to speak of in the morning), spent over $200,

Proof of the damage

and, had it not been for the complimentary soft pretzel crosses, would probably have been carried out of the place.  Unfortunately, food is not on the menu (supposedly it’s coming soon) so caution to all considering a trip to APO:  you will have to eat something beforehand unless you plan on taking the lush-honors, which on this night, Kellie and I were more than happy to do.

After it had been determined that we blew our entire bi-weekly food budget on drinks (all in the name of research, people!), we ventured down the block to what we thought, at the time, was heaven (or its closest approximate):  the open-late, $9.99 Indian buffet, New Samosa.   Now, we quickly determined that this was by no means the best Indian food either of us had ever had but the warm naan, greasy chana masala, and tender tandoori chicken was enough to get us through our late-night, drunken munchies and send us on our merry ways.

The Aftermath

Overall, our night out to APO was just the right cure for my post-gyno distress and it certainly merits another visit on another pay day — at the very least so Kellie and I can win that bet!

Basking in a post-Valentine’s Day glow, I began to reminisce on the good, the bad, and the ugly of past relationships and the food that defined them (talk about emotional eating). In my 30 years, I’ve had some pretty great men come through my life and have had the misfortune of crossing paths with a few that left me shaking my head and wondering how I could have ever wasted my time. Interestingly, many parallels can be drawn between my “love life” and my “food life”. I’ve spent many great nights in the throws of food ecstasy; have had a handful of meaningful, fulfilling relationships with a couple great restaurants; and, unfortunately, have walked away (more times than I like to admit) feeling completely and utterly unsatisfied….but I don’t like to dwell on the bad or the ugly. I want to instead pay homage to some of my favorite food loves (in no particular order): those fooderies, foods, and drinks (or some combination of the three) that have defined my food life, that I have loved and love still, and feel misty nostalgia over whenever I think back on the time I spent with them.

1. Cookums Café

Cookums! We had a brief but fiery affair and oh, how I miss you. Formerly at an unassuming location at 15th and Arch, Cookums may have had some of the best crab cakes, mac and cheese, yams, and greens I’ve ever had. Now, granted, my knowledge of soul food may be limited but I know a good thing when it hits me. Having grown up eating the delectable southern dishes conjured up by my Raleigh-born grandfather (Poppy), Cookums filled me with the same warm satisfaction that his meals did as a child. A frequent lunchtime haunt for many municipal employees housed in the nearby Municipal Services Building (including me), you could guarantee a line out the door any payday Friday. But it was always worth the wait – the smothered pork chops alone made me want to slap somebody! So, I was very sad to learn of its closing and that my indulgent lunchtime rendezvous were no more. I’ve heard rumors that the cooks have moved on to other locations but I’ve yet to find them again. Sniffle sniffle.

2. The Flaming Volcano

My pre-requisites for a great drink: 1.) comes in a large ornate bowl; 2.) has an umbrella; 3.) is on fire; and, 4.) has two straws. Well, not necessarily all of these are required but to find them in one drink is just amazing. Served at one of my favorite spots, Vietnam Restaurant, the Flaming Volcano is an excellent date drink so long as you can handle your alcohol. WARNING: there is probably enough liquor in there to knock out a gorilla but it is a wonderfully fun drink, a great conversation-starter, and makes me feel warm and happy (for obvious reasons) every time I have it. Pair it with some yummy Pho and you have the start of a great night.

Flame on!

3. Lazaros Pizza

Lazaros Pizza has everything going on: Sweet savory sauce, a perfect cheese to sauce ratio, thin crispy crust, and HUGE-ass portions. Located in the Grad Hospital neighborhood, Lazaros is by far the best take out pizza I’ve had in the City. New Yawk transplants may have found their pizza home at Lazaros and it has yet to disappoint me as a Philadelphian (except when I made the mistake of ordering toppings –the pizza is far too flimsy to hold the weight of more than one topping). Lazaros has been a constant through many relationships and I’m fairly convinced that there is some type of addictive additive in their sauce because I can almost never get enough of their pizza. This is probably why they offer an “extra-large” option…why this can’t be an option in other situations, I don’t know. (Sigh.) I once ordered pizza from this place three different times over a 2 day period and ate it all with the help of a friend. Lazaros will always hold a cherished place close to my heart even after inducing more than one food coma.

My friend happily about to destroy an XL cheese pizza from Lazaros

4. El Azteca

While not the best Mexican in the city, El Azteca defined a particular point in my life and for that reason will always be a special place to me. I’ve celebrated birthdays, friends, first dates, and anniversaries at El Azteca, which speaks to its charm and fun atmosphere (where else can you get flashing disco lights, fried ice cream AND happy birthday all at once?) El Azteca is a BYOT (although that has changed as of late) and offers solid, home-cooked Mexican at an affordable price. And if the food and drink weren’t enough to bring you closer to your food companions while there, the two person women’s bathroom definitely will (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you must check it out next time you are there).

My birthday at El Azteca (mmmm....fried ice cream...)

5. The Banana Bread Pudding at August

I’m a sucker for a quaint, romantic, BYO (and thank God I live in Philly, where you are all but guaranteed to find at least one in your neighborhood) but when that BYO also offers an amazing dessert that can be shared with another…well, that’s just the cherry on top. The Banana Bread Pudding at August – an understated, Italian BYO in South Philly – is truly heaven on earth. The Italian bread is blended with banana and chocolate, warmed to perfection, and paired with yummy vanilla ice cream. Bread pudding is an art and I make a point of trying it at any restaurant that offers it. The bread pudding at August is a true masterpiece especially when coupled with great company and conversation.