ringing in thirty with style

December 10, 2010
by kellie

Is there anything better than downing a can of Schlitz at 7am on a Monday?  Well, yes, probably lots of things because chugging a Schlitz is pretty darn disgusting, but it was still the best way I could have ever celebrated my birthday in this city.  On a chilly Monday morning, one day after I turned 30, my twin sister Kim picked me up and we drove on over to Ray’s Happy Birthday Bar at the corner of Passyunk and Federal.  Ray’s opens at 7am Monday through Saturday, and I’ve always been curious about the type of person that would go there at that time.   What better way to find out than by becoming one of them myself?

Armed with a cheesesteak from Pat’s (conveniently located only one block away), we entered Ray’s in our sweats and slippers (remember, it was 7am), followed closely by several friends looking to share in the wonder of this early morning event.

breakfast of champions

To start the day off on a fairly unbearable yet amazing note, we toasted with our cans of Schlitz and then raced to finish them, which was a highly unsuccessful endeavor.  (Jimmy put us all to shame, but I’m happy to say that I kicked his ass in round two.)

the most disgusting chug of all

As we continued to get our drink on (which included “Jager bombs” that were just glasses full of Jager and ginger ale), the owner – Ray’s son, Lou – brought us over a bottle of champagne, free t-shirts and a birthday Schlitz, which was a can dressed up with two candles taped to it.  Classy.

who needs cake?

The drinking continued, which led to dancing, which led to free drinks and more dancing.  It was a vicious, drunken cycle of awesome.

this is how we always dance

Turning 30 is a milestone that many a woman dreads.  For them, it’s a sign that they have passed their prime, no longer the partying, easy going young thing that gets picked up at the bar on a Saturday night.  30 is like the ushering in of a new era for these ladies, one in which they are ready to shrivel up and waste away with 12 cats and a basketful of yarn and knitting needles.  What they need is a drunken dose of Ray’s while playing hookey from work.  And who knows?  They may just see me there.

Bomb Bomb is da Bomb Bomb

April 19, 2010
by stephanie

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.