Philly

Sunday

~ thedailydish ~ 6 Comments

Yesterday, early afternoon. We left the house to go pick up our older daughter from a friend’s, then proceed downtown to check out the Philly Home Show. My husband is crazy about home improvement stuff. So we left our house, drove 6 blocks to our friends’ place, got our daughter, drove another 1/2 block to the service station for some oil, turned around and drove another 12 blocks to go get on the expressway, when we hear this loud scraping noise. WHAT WAS THAT?! My husband stops the car. He hops out to discover

his favorite coffee cup’s been hitching a ride on the roof all this time. The coffee was still in the cup, and from what he said, tasted as good as it did when we left the house. Now if that isn’t a testament to my husband’s impeccable driving, I don’t know what it.

So we get downtown, park, and we’re walking through Chinatown to the convention center. I love Chinatown. It’s so neat. Where else would people sell chicken feet out of a box located right on the sidewalk? Now THAT’s convenience. My older daughter was thinking there isn’t a whole lot of meat on a chicken’s foot. Silly! These look plenty meaty. Yum-YUM.

We were so happy to finally reach the convention center because it was REALLY REALLY COLD outside. BBBBRRRRR!!! But unfortunately when we got to the convention center, and went through the door that said ENTRANCE and were just about to walk over to the booth for our tickets, we were stopped by a security guard who told us that we had to go back outside and around to the other end of the building and use the OFFICIAL ENTRANCE DOOR FOR THE HOME SHOW. We pointed out that the ticket booth was a stone’s throw away, and there were lots of other people standing around but apparently at the PA Convention Center you must use THE PROPERLY LICENSED DOOR. So we had to go back outside into the freezing cold and walk around to the other end of the building to wind up exactly where we’d just been. b/c THAT’S HOW IT WORKS HERE IN PHILLY and don’t you forget it.

We finally bought our tickets, paid another $6 to check our coats, then spent the next 20 minutes at the restroom. You see, when you have children and you are THE MOM, you spend a lot of time in bathrooms. I have seen the inside of so many of them that I have my own personal Potty System™.  I am a patient woman. That works in my favor. I ask my kids once, twice, sometimes three times, DO YOU HAVE TO GO? I rarely listen to the answer because sometimes they lie.  So instead I say, YOU WILL GO NOW BECAUSE THIS IS YOUR CHANCE. My older daughter is very good, she is older and listens to me. My younger daughter is a crap-shoot (no pun intended). Like yesterday. We were all tightly squeezed into the stall and she adamantly denied having to go.  Then we get outside and 5 minutes later she’s hopping up and down. This is the norm. So I spend a lot of time in bathrooms. I critique them silently while my child/ren are doing their business. I award mental points for cleanliness, stock-age and overall aesthetic appeal. Bonus points are given to places w/pull-down plastic changing tables.  My kids may be out of diapers, but no one should have to change their baby on a cold & often filthy floor. Restrooms with sanitary product dispensing machines with ACTUAL PADS AND TAMPONS get extra bonus points. The convention center bathrooms are new and fairly clean.  They have multicolor tile patterns on the wall above the toilets, placed to interest mothers just like me. They have soap dispensers with the foamy type of soap I prefer. The bathrooms at the Franklin Institute (where we went Saturday) are nice. They are very clean. In fact, I noted seeing the same cleaning attendant in three of their bathrooms as we made our way through the building. She was very diligently sweeping up stray bits of TP.  A+

The home show itself was okay. We went last year, and it was exactly the same this year. Aisle after aisle of people trying to sell you stuff. Flooring, kitchens, bathrooms, home security. Saunas and spas. HOT TUBS!! My older daughter helpfully pointed out that several of the large tubs have built-in places for your WINE. WOW. There were a few people set up with those head-mics, yelling at you to buy their knives, or wonder towels, or amazing dirt sucking up mops. I saw one guy actually toting his purchased mop around the place and couldn’t help thinking a GUY WHO MOPS!! WOW. We even saw GM selling cars, though i don’t know many people rich enough to have a car inside their house. As I told my husband, we have been there 2 years in a row, do not ask me to come a third. Fortunately, we are in complete agreement. I found out on the last aisle, the only reason he wanted to come was to buy more stained glass for our house. Unfortunately, he forgot that he bought the stained glass at last year’s FLOWER SHOW. Oh well. We’ll be back to the convention center for that in March. I will try to remember to use the right door.

ATLANTA, or why I love Target Brand Box Riesling.

~ thedailydish ~ 11 Comments

When my sister moved to Atlanta for graduate school, I was happy for her. The separation was sad, but she was making a success of her life, and it wasn’t forever. I understood.

But when my parents decided to join her down south in Atlanta, well…..
that was just a bit too much. I felt slightly.. abandoned. Hey I know I’m way out of diapers, but I STILL WANT MY MOMMY. Atlanta is far. Far enough to make a one-day drive with 2 kids nearly intolerable, and other than freshman year of college I’d never lived more than an hour away from my folks my whole life. So when they made the move – to ATLANTA of all places, I was more than peeved. I was hurt. And angry. And not a little bit PISSED OFF, especially AT ATLANTA. What was so freaking great about Atlanta?

Man, I really hated that town. They did it right, burning it down like that. What did Atlanta think it was, luring my family away from me?

And so, for many months, I resented Atlanta like no other place in the world. It didn’t help that my family were constantly singing the praises of their new and glamorous city like fevered zealots. “ATLANTA this, and ATLANTA that.” “Wait till you see blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

SCREW COKE WORLD, I thought. At least here we have drinking water and can flush our toilets. I am NEVER going to set foot in effing Atlanta. NEVER!
That’ll show ’em!

But like sands through the hour glass….after a few months of not seeing my parents, and speaking to them less and less frequently, I caved like a sinkhole. Time apart from my loved ones had made me think differently. If Atlanta had taken them, I would just have to see why.

And so, this summer, we visited twice. And Hey Mikey! I liked it. Sure it wasn’t dirty dangerous Philly, but it had appeal. It wasn’t interesting in that old historic way, but it was BLING!BLING! like a newly-minted penny. My parents have a gorgeous home. They are happy there, except for missing us. So.. it’s different than we’re used to, but things down there are nice. AND CLEAN. And the People are pleasant. They let you in in traffic. They don’t try to run you over when you’re crossing the street. You can walk the hell out in front of their cars in a parking lot, and they STOP AND SMILE and wave you on. WOW. I DO still hate the fact that you have to drive absolutely everywhere in Atlanta, and it is hot as b*lls in the summer, but summers here in Philly are humid and disgusting too. And my parents have central air and A POOL.

So, yes, I have officially come around. And being the way I am, when I “come around” I REALLY come around. The place I once hated, now I can’t wait to visit again. And not just for my family. But for the STUFF. Atlanta has stuff we don’t have here. STUFF THAT I LIKE. On our visit during the holidays, I came to appreciate even more the charm of the place – or maybe just the charm of the shopping. It’s everywhere. Miles and miles of stores. Sure, they’re mostly the same stores we have here, but they’re like our stores on STEROIDS. The brand new Target here is like their SUPER TARGET’S shrimpy homely cousin. Their Trader Joe’s is awesome and it SELLS WINE AND BEER!!! No wonder people there are so nice. CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT SORT OF CHEAP CONVENIENCE?!

I must have gone to the Super Target by my parents house 3 times in 4 days. I just never wanted to leave. I wanted to LIVE THERE. And I am not joking. I felt like some poor deprived third-worlder having stumbled upon paradise. AND I AM NOT THAT INTO SHOPPING, PEOPLE! It’s just THAT GOOD. During one of the Target shopping trips, I came upon something which stopped me in my tracks. You know how great Target is? How every single thing they make is just so irresistably cute/cool/hip and unbelievably inexpensive, that you think surely this corporation has sold its soul to the devil? Well, you will then understand what I have to say. You see, I like wine. I love wine. If I didn’t have kids, I would probably be a full-fledged wino. Well. ATLANTA TARGETS SELL THEIR OWN BRAND OF BOX WINE – but they are CUTE!! AND COLORFUL!! AND FILLED WITH WINE!! AND WHY AM I STILL LIVING HERE IN PHILLY???!! I don’t even like box wine, but now I do because it’s like everything else at Target. IRRESISTIBLE.

I bought the above box of Riesling as a souvenir to bring home, and I don’t even like Riesling. Not even a little. But I thought I WILL LIKE TARGET BRAND BOX RIESLING, I just know it! So we stuck it in the fridge when we got home, and didn’t open it all last week b/c I was so sick, but night before last we each poured a glass and I thought YES! TARGET BRAND BOX RIESLING! DELICIOUSNESS ITSELF!! But then I drank it and thought NO! DEAR LORD, NO!!!

You see, Target branding cannot make up for the fact that I hate the cloying sweetness of Riesling wine. HOWEVER, just because I hate the taste of this wine, DOES NOT MEAN I HATE TARGET BRAND BOX RIESLING> oh Contraire! SIMPLY BECAUSE I hate its taste, it means I will drink less of it. And that’s a good thing, right? After the first glass, the second goes down easy. And who can bear wasting wine, after all?

One mixed-up omelette.

~ thedailydish ~ 4 Comments

Sunday morning we went to have breakfast at our favorite diner. For sake of anonymity, I’ll just say it’s a place here in Philly where we usually eat once a week, sometimes more if I’m too sick to cook. Anyway, over the past year we have become well-known fixtures at this diner and are greeted like family whenever we walk though the door. We’ve gotten to know many of the wait staff personally, and whenever we’re there, many of them come by our table to say hi, check in on us and chat. One waitress has even so befriended us that she often buys presents for our daughters.

So, Sunday morning, we go to the diner. It was super crowded (usual for the weekend) and we were seated at a table with a waitress we didn’t know (a rarity). Since I’ve been having vertigo, I made a point of asking for a vegetable omelette (low in sodium = GOOD!) and she said sure, whatever veggies you’d like. So I said okay – I’ll have tomatoes, onions, green pepper. Cheese? NO CHEEESE. And please, I can’t have any salt on the omelette or the side of potatoes. Check. They never add salt, but just to be sure – no salt. Okay, so we wait patiently – a little longer than usual, no big deal, it’s crowded bigtime.

Soooo.. finally our food arrives, we’re all hungry!! and she puts the omelette in front of me. Only, it’s not what I ordered. It’s an omelette all right, but oozing (with cheese?) and filled to the frickin brim with chopped shrimp. Now, I am normally a very docile person and would probably have eaten this without another word, but at this point the room is spinning and all I want is a meal I can eat without fear of reprisal. I have forgone even swiss cheese in an effort to keep this as low in sodium as possible, and a whole bucketful of shrimp ain’t gonna help. So I very politely tell her this is not what I ordered, and by the way I think it has cheese on it.

No big deal, right? Well, I certainly thought so. She took the plate away, presumably to set the order straight. The rest of my family begin eating, I sit there watching. My stomach’s growling, the room is spinning mildly. Not sure if I feel sicker from the dizziness or hunger. 5 minutes pass, uneventfully, I figure the food’s almost on its way, when the waitress and manager(??) appear at my side and thrust the plate in front of me. The manager (a Greek man, I’ve always found very pleasant) says to me in a deeply accented voice – What’s zee probleem??! The shremp, we must chop zem to cook zem. [Accusing stares from said waitress and manager – along with accusing/curious stares from all and sundry nearby.] AND CHEEZZE? Zere is NO CHEEZE on zis omelletteee!! [Waitress nods and “hmphs” at me accusingly].

I cannot believe 1) this is happening – I’m actually being interrogated over an omelette (and on a day when I already feel like c-r-a-p), 2) this is happening at a restaurant we’ve come to think of so highly and 3) this waitress instead of simply redoing the order that either she or the cook messed up – which just unfortunately happens to be some crazy ass (and probably expensive) omelette stuffed with shrimp that someone’s gonna have to pay for (BUT NOT ME! cuz I didn’t order no crazy ass shrimp omelette) – instead went to the manager to complain – about ME! WTF???!!! Trying to pass the buck onto the poor slob of a customer – who happens to be ME!!!??!! Let me tell ya – I may be dizzy, and at this point I might just be drooling, but I ain’t no dummy.

I probably turned 2 shades of crimson – blasted fair skin! – but I knew I had ordered clearly. I stood firm. I didn’t order shrimp. I did not order shrimp. I ordered a VEGETABLE omelette. VEGETABLES – tomatoes, onions, green pepper, no cheese.

The manager looked at me – looked at the waitress – and then, finally, he understood. This waitress had made him a patsy for her own foible and he’d just humiliated a regular over some godforsaken shrimp-filled mistake.

At this point, my husband is throwing visible daggers at the manager, I can practically see the steam shooting out his ears and he’s stopped eating in solidarity. I tell the manager to forget it – I’ll just eat the toast. He says NO! No, It’ll just be a minute. I spend the next five staring blankly out the window, around the room at no one in particular, hungry, dizzy as ever and wishing the seat would swallow me whole.

The waitress arrives again, places the plate in front of me and then adds, “they seem to have forgotten your tomatoes…” I look down, and sure enough… DAMN!! am I gettin the royal kick in the pants or what?! At that moment though, I could not have cared less. All I was thinking was screw the tomatoes, please God let no one have spit in it. I barely glanced at her, said it was just fine, and and ate the whole damn thing in 2 minutes. She seemed surprised, as though I – this perceived obstructionist, this unreasonably finicky and demanding customer – should have flung the thing back in her face with flourish.

The manager and waitress both came over to apologize before we left. I tried to be gracious. But the whole thing – well, it bothers me. WHY?? It’s all so stupid, this shrimp omelette saga I’ve been describing. I know, I know. I am being petty even thinking about it a week later. Right? RIGHT> But here’s why it’s stuck. What bothers me isn’t the event itself – but the fact that it was so completely unnecessary. The waitress could have – and should have – just redone the order. I know it was busy and accidents happen. No big deal, who cares! 5 minutes later I would have been eating. But rather than chalk the error up to experience, the waitress made it into a totally ridiculous (and completely avoidable) confrontation. And WHY? Because she was unwilling to own the mistake. Somehow, here in Philly, it just fits. I don’t know about where you live, but this city is chock full o’ people unwilling to admit anything – mistakes, weaknesses, violent propensities. We are a town mired in a state of denial.

I miss our diner friends and having a “safe” place to eat on a low-sodium diet (which trust me, isn’t easy). So should I be a donkey and not go back on principle? Of course not. But when I shrug it off and fall cozily back into my booth, am I becoming part of it all?