Ahhh, Dark Star.
Had I been born ten, even five years earlier than I was, I would have used every opportunity I had to attend some of the many concerts performed by my favorite band, the Grateful Dead. Notorious for their incredible live performances, the Grateful Dead performed 30 years worth of music that remains today only in audio, occasionally in video...not in experience. Their music has brought me more joy than almost anything I can think of, and I never even got to see them play together.
But the fact remains, their music has changed my life in ways I could never have imagined; that in mind, it would be unrealistic for me not to wonder what kind of experience I can hear going on in the crowd in all of those old live recordings I've collected. I reiterate, I never had the chance, as Jerry Garcia died during the summer of my 10th year. If that's not an acceptable excuse, I don't know what is.
Since 1999, a band that began as a local act in Chicago has turned into my favorite live music act, and has done so by mimicking the surreal art form of that same band, the Grateful Dead. This group, called Dark Star Orchestra, has taken a not uncommon concept (performing live as a Grateful Dead cover band, playing only songs that the Dead played) and embellished upon this, to the point of performing not just songs by the Dead, but entire setlists from the Dead's concert history, which spans over 2,300 individual shows with none the same as the one before.
Dark Star Orchestra (DSO) plays around 130 masterful shows each year, usually recreating an old Dead setlist followed by a few filler songs. The group uses their own members to correspond with the oft-changing members of the Dead's repertoire; for Dead setlists which originally included vocalist Donna Godchaux on the bill, DSO will include singer Lisa Mackey to play Donna's mpart. But during shows that didn't include Donna, Lisa can sometimes be found working the T-shirt sales booth. Clues like this, and like the list's particular song selection, spin the concert on an entire new level for hardcore fans such as myself - offering us the opportunity to guess which year the list is from. And in the meanwhile, they are outrageously talented, as close to a carbon copy of the Dead's sound as I have ever heard.
My mom does not approve. She's very proud of my tastes in music, for which she's more responsible than anybody. I've turned her on to some awesome tunes, but she is not down with DSO. She feels that music is about creativity, which I can agree with her about to a certain degree. But music is not only about creativity, and I believe that creativity can be (and is, in every single concert) possible amid this band's kind of imitation. They do not listen to each Dead performance and recreate it note for note, only song for song. Those of us who know the Dead know that would be certifiably impossible, especially when the band plays a three-hour show every 2 1/2 days on average.
But within the boundaries of each song, DSO lets their creative spirits soar, improvising and romancing every possibly variable segment of every single song. The songs are the Dead's, and DSO shows those of us who were not fortunate enough to experience the Dead in person, just the faintest glimpse of what that experience might have looked like, felt like, smelled like. And for giving me that glimpse, they are my single favorite group to see perform.
Having amply introduced the band (love you Ma), I'll tell you about my concert experience this past weekend. I'd purchased my ticket online a couple of weeks ago, paying more than I'm used to for a Dark Star ticket, but enjoying the convenience of knowing I was getting in without a fight.
My usual concert buddies, Joey and Sarah, had not purchased tickets, as Joey had to visit his dad in Pittsburgh the night before and wasn't sure if he'd make it. The day of, he decided he could make it, after online ticket sales had already ended. So being the nice guy I am, I hopped into my trusty motorcarriage and trekked on down to the Electric Factory, located at 421 N. 7th St., between Callowhill and Spring Garden. The website said the ticket window would be open at 4:00, so when I arrived at about 6:15 in the afternoon, I expected they might be sold out. Instead, the website was lying, and I sat around with a friendly group of hippies until the window opened at 6:55. I bought Joey and Sarah's tickets for $30 each, about $5 cheaper than my ticket, goddammit.
Well, no matter. Not feeling like driving home, only to drive back after a few hours, I decided to stick around and find a good watering hole to kill my time. I took a peek at my trusty Not For Tourists Philly guide, which directed me four blocks east to Finnegan's Wake - which, once I got there at 7:15 p.m., was closed. Absolutely ridiculous.
There was nothing else in sight, so I marched back west until arriving eventually at...the Spaghetti Warehouse, by 11th St. No thanks.
From there, I headed south, hoping something might beckon to me from Chinatown. Alas, it was not to be. Every place looked exactly the same, and I really, really wasn't in the mood for Chinese food before a long night of dancing.
So at Market Street, I headed back east, enjoying a pleasant walk through lovely (though restaurant-free) Independence Park, eventually finding myself at a low-key bar called Charlie's, located by the corner of N. 3rd and...Vine? Regardless, the walk took me a fucking long time, one that I don't plan on making again anytime soon. Live and learn.
Inside Charlie's, a sexy, sharp-witted bartender named Rachel served me a plate of fish & chips, along with a handsome selection of beers. During my visit, Sarah arrived ahead of Joey and came in to match me on drinks, which she did very skilfully, including a few $3 kamikazes.
We lurched our way over to the E-Factory around 10 (the show started at 11), meeting up with a few kids on the way who were lucky that I knew where I was going.
We met up with Joey right outside the venue, which was swarming with tye-dye and a few unwelcome cop cars. On Joey's suggestion, we decided we'd enjoy this concert from the balcony, since we'd shown up with enough time to find a decent spot. This was the best place to enjoy the beverages, as there were cute waitresses in black shirts weaving their way through the crowds.
My friend Ryan, an old co-worker, called my phone knowing I'd be there. He pointed himself out to me in the audience, sitting with his girlfriend Reagan at the top of the balcony, on a couch. I had no idea such an amenity existed at the E-Factory, and what a lovely surprise it was. We managed to still get a decent view of the band over the heads of a few people sitting at barstools a few feet in front of us, but fuck, we had a couch.
The band played very well, and I expected no less. I was slightly disappointed, however, that the 11:00 start time had to give way to a mandatory 2:00 a.m. end time, by law. Each song was ever so slightly more punctuated to save time, and I could hear it. Still, this was my 15th (16th?) Dark Star show, and my first in almost a year, for reasons inexplicable. So I was thrilled to see them in almost any context. They played a solid show from January 14, 1978 - and yes, I guessed the year correctly. Highlights included a Jack Straw opener, Cassidy, Loser, Let it Grow, Candyman and Eyes of the World, including a Don't Let Go encore. It was a terrific show, and the option of standing up to dance or sitting on the couch to catch my breath was a magnificent one, indeed.
I'll be out to see them again soon, but I should mention that my trip home from the E-Factory that night took a full hour. In contrast, the drive back the next morning to drop Joey off at his car, took 15 minutes. Go figure.
Since then, the three of us have begun our discussions of our upcoming trip (and by upcoming, I mean a year from now) and where we'll be going in each spot. You'll hear more about that, next time.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
The Great American Road Trip
The loftiest of our goals are naturally the most difficult, and thereby least likely, to achieve. I have set out on my share of endeavors that ultimately went unfinished - moving to Baltimore last year, completing that stupid Sophomore Essay class in college...the longer I think about it, the more I could rattle off.
But for the most part, the times in which I've been most disappointed in myself have been of my own doing, in situations when I was the only person accountable and therefore left myself no one to blame besides for yours truly.
With that in mind, today begins the first installment of a many part series here on on Conshohocken Freedom. If I hadn't already settled on an appropriate name for it, I just dreamed up "Freedom From Conshohocken" just now, on the spot - ultimately, what it will mean for me. But more to the point - let me tell you about the Great American Road Trip.
During college, I was privileged enough to be randomly matched to a terrific freshman year roommate, a fellow by the name of Joey, from Williamsport, PA. Sure, he's got his pitfalls - he farts a lot, he pees the bed regularly (though he's gotten better about that since we graduated), and most importantly of all, he scored 10 points lower than I did on the SATs, a point that I make sure to revive as often as I can remember. But aside from that, he's a stand-up guy, and a very good friend of mine.
Joey met a lovely young lady named Sarah during our senior year, a soft-spoken woman from Massachusetts with equally excellent taste in music as Joey's and mine. He did so in the only he way he'll ever be able to pick up a girl - by living next door to her, of course. But lo and behold, they've turned into quite the couple, moving in together after school in Mt. Holly, NJ. The three of us are still very good friends, and have spent nearly all of the Democratic primary season visiting each other to eat, drink and toast each passing Obama victory.
Long story short, the three of us are all looking for an adventure. Joey and Sarah were able to drive cross-country and back during the winter of our senior year, and it only served to whet their appetite for a greater, even loftier adventure. And I'm right there with them. I've never had (or made) the opportunity to do anywhere near as much traveling as I'd like. My biggest trips so far in life have been a week in Traverse City, Mi. by plane, a week in Montreal by bus, a week in Tampa by car, and a flurry of ventures around the northeast United States as a child. A pitiful list of travels by any measure.
So Joey, Sarah and I have begun planning what will take place in May of 2009, tentatively on the 20th. We'll drive up and down this broad country, visiting more than 20 major cities to ultimately end up in Portland, Or. Our plans are to drive there, and stay there.
The drive will begin in Philadelphia with what will undoubtedly be a heartwrenching goodbye. We'll head first to Baltimore, continuing on to Washington, D.C. to visit my lovely older sister Lela. Next stop will be New York City, and on to Boston, followed by Lewiston, Me. to visit our friend Kimmy. Then west to Buffalo to weigh in on the famous wing rivalry between Duff's and someone else (I'll do some research). Southwest to Cleveland, and then south to Charlotte, NC to visit our buddy Chad. Then south to the beach in Charleston, S.C., and further south to Savannah, Ga. Joey insisted on going to Daytona Beach, Fl., which should warrant a stop in Jacksonville, as long as it's on the way. From there, west to Atlanta, followed by an obligatory swing through historic Birmingham. We'll follow with a few days in N'Orleans, followed by a drive north through Jackson, Ms. and a rodeo, by Joey's suggestion, in or around Memphis, Tn. We'll keep driving north to St. Louis, and then visit Chicago for pizza and Milwaukee for beer. Next, southwest to Des Moines, and south to Kansas City on the way to Wichita, to look around for Jack Straw. From there we'll drive south to Dallas, northwest through Amarillo and up to Denver, beautiful Denver. We'll continue westward through the Rockies to Vegas, followed by a drive southeast to Phoenix. We'll swing through Mexicali, and further on to San Diego, with a possible day in Tijuana? Then along the coast to L.A., and of course to San Francisco. Then we'll drive up Highway 1 to 101, stopping off in Eugene and ending, finally, in Portland, a full 100 days later.
The whole trip measures out to just over 9,000 miles of driving. At a $5.00/gal gas estimate, we'll drive my car at about 30 mpg, and each pay around $500 in gas money. We'll stay with friends in cities where we have them, but the rest of the time we'll be on the search for campgrounds. Maybe we'll stay at a motel if it's pouring rain and we find a really cheap one, but otherwise we'll be camping.
The long and the short of it being, it will be the greatest adventure of my life. And the only way it'll ever happen is if we start planning now, which we have. And I have a brand new motivation, a reason to kick ass at work, prepare for the journey and, of course, document every moment of it right here. I guess I'll have to change the blog's name, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
This will be my loftiest goal. And with Joey, Sarah, and an entire year of planning behind it, it's going to be out of this world.
But for the most part, the times in which I've been most disappointed in myself have been of my own doing, in situations when I was the only person accountable and therefore left myself no one to blame besides for yours truly.
With that in mind, today begins the first installment of a many part series here on on Conshohocken Freedom. If I hadn't already settled on an appropriate name for it, I just dreamed up "Freedom From Conshohocken" just now, on the spot - ultimately, what it will mean for me. But more to the point - let me tell you about the Great American Road Trip.
Joey met a lovely young lady named Sarah during our senior year, a soft-spoken woman from Massachusetts with equally excellent taste in music as Joey's and mine. He did so in the only he way he'll ever be able to pick up a girl - by living next door to her, of course. But lo and behold, they've turned into quite the couple, moving in together after school in Mt. Holly, NJ. The three of us are still very good friends, and have spent nearly all of the Democratic primary season visiting each other to eat, drink and toast each passing Obama victory.
Long story short, the three of us are all looking for an adventure. Joey and Sarah were able to drive cross-country and back during the winter of our senior year, and it only served to whet their appetite for a greater, even loftier adventure. And I'm right there with them. I've never had (or made) the opportunity to do anywhere near as much traveling as I'd like. My biggest trips so far in life have been a week in Traverse City, Mi. by plane, a week in Montreal by bus, a week in Tampa by car, and a flurry of ventures around the northeast United States as a child. A pitiful list of travels by any measure.
So Joey, Sarah and I have begun planning what will take place in May of 2009, tentatively on the 20th. We'll drive up and down this broad country, visiting more than 20 major cities to ultimately end up in Portland, Or. Our plans are to drive there, and stay there.
The drive will begin in Philadelphia with what will undoubtedly be a heartwrenching goodbye. We'll head first to Baltimore, continuing on to Washington, D.C. to visit my lovely older sister Lela. Next stop will be New York City, and on to Boston, followed by Lewiston, Me. to visit our friend Kimmy. Then west to Buffalo to weigh in on the famous wing rivalry between Duff's and someone else (I'll do some research). Southwest to Cleveland, and then south to Charlotte, NC to visit our buddy Chad. Then south to the beach in Charleston, S.C., and further south to Savannah, Ga. Joey insisted on going to Daytona Beach, Fl., which should warrant a stop in Jacksonville, as long as it's on the way. From there, west to Atlanta, followed by an obligatory swing through historic Birmingham. We'll follow with a few days in N'Orleans, followed by a drive north through Jackson, Ms. and a rodeo, by Joey's suggestion, in or around Memphis, Tn. We'll keep driving north to St. Louis, and then visit Chicago for pizza and Milwaukee for beer. Next, southwest to Des Moines, and south to Kansas City on the way to Wichita, to look around for Jack Straw. From there we'll drive south to Dallas, northwest through Amarillo and up to Denver, beautiful Denver. We'll continue westward through the Rockies to Vegas, followed by a drive southeast to Phoenix. We'll swing through Mexicali, and further on to San Diego, with a possible day in Tijuana? Then along the coast to L.A., and of course to San Francisco. Then we'll drive up Highway 1 to 101, stopping off in Eugene and ending, finally, in Portland, a full 100 days later.
The whole trip measures out to just over 9,000 miles of driving. At a $5.00/gal gas estimate, we'll drive my car at about 30 mpg, and each pay around $500 in gas money. We'll stay with friends in cities where we have them, but the rest of the time we'll be on the search for campgrounds. Maybe we'll stay at a motel if it's pouring rain and we find a really cheap one, but otherwise we'll be camping.
The long and the short of it being, it will be the greatest adventure of my life. And the only way it'll ever happen is if we start planning now, which we have. And I have a brand new motivation, a reason to kick ass at work, prepare for the journey and, of course, document every moment of it right here. I guess I'll have to change the blog's name, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
This will be my loftiest goal. And with Joey, Sarah, and an entire year of planning behind it, it's going to be out of this world.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Food Review: Sonny's Famous Steaks (4.5 out of 5)
This post was written last Sunday, one week ago, before my trusty ol' computer bit the dust. Today, a week later, I'm slowly creeping back to equilibrium, but not there yet. Here's what I wrote immediately after visiting.
Food: Cheesesteaks
I love Old City. It's vibrant, colorful, and on this particular day, the whole neighborhood smelled like fresh food. I found my way to Sonny's, a pleasant, middle-of-the-block sitdown, complete with outdoor seating. Inside, the floor was clean, the look was pretty sharp and the seating was surprisingly ample. It was just after noon, and with no line I was greeted promptly and placed my order, cheesesteak, fried onions, American. With a bottle of Coke my lunch was $8.25, and took no more than three minutes to prepare as I obnoxiously snapped a few pictures of the interior. I don't really know photography etiquite so well, whether I should ask permission before shooting, but I just shot anyway. In the meanwhile, I noticed the slightly comical t-shirts that each of the people behind the counter was wearing, black shirts with the Sonny's logo on the front and a silhouette of a cheesesteak on the back with the words, "Bite Me." I inquired, and yes, they had extras for sale for $15. Large, please.
I got my food and walked toward my car, stopping with a block remaining to snap a picture of the sandwich. It was a little light - I knew before I opened the wrapping that it bordered on being short of a full meal. I stole an initial bite before I finished walking to the car, which made me sit back down to fully comprehend this phenomenal creation. The meat was sliced thick, not diced, but unlike Lou's from the day before, it didn't cling together in any way. The roll incurred some saturation along the bottom, but did not split or even threaten. The onions were the best I've had, finely chopped and browned to perfection. The cheese was melted immaculately alond the interior sides of the roll on the inside, but left the sandwich with its only structural flaw: it needed just one more slice of cheese. Its slight lacking in that department left it with a deduction of a few tenths of a point.
Food: CheesesteaksLocation: 228 Market St., Old City, Philadelphia
Phone: (215) 629-5760
Date Visited: 05-11-2008, 12:15 p.m.
Rating: 4.5 out of 5
For starters, this is getting ridiculous. Today was the fifth day in a row that I've swallowed up a cheesesteak; I did D'alessandro's on Wednesday and Friday (the review of which is being withheld for a later, more prestigious occasion), already wrote about III Illiano's on Thursday and Lou's yesterday. Today was Sunday, and I went with #7 on WIP's super cheesesteak list: Sonny's Famous Steaks, on Market Street in Old City, about a block from the lovely Arden Theatre Company.
There were some elements of the drive which I found to be rather perplexing, elements that are Sunday mainstays at this time of year. Traffic on 76 East between the Roosevelt Blvd. and Girard Ave. gets completely constipated due to zoo traffic, so I take the wise man's route, Kelly Drive. However, this was similarly frustrating, as I encountered a Regatta-driven detour once I approached the boathouses. And to top it all off, it was Mother's Day, so the commotion was at a slightly higher level than usual.
Most importantly about the establishment itself, the parking was a challenge. I did not expect to circle around for 20 minutes looking for a spot. I found myself a little place that I wasn't sure would be legal, on the corner of Fifth and Chestnut, about three and a half blocks away.
I love Old City. It's vibrant, colorful, and on this particular day, the whole neighborhood smelled like fresh food. I found my way to Sonny's, a pleasant, middle-of-the-block sitdown, complete with outdoor seating. Inside, the floor was clean, the look was pretty sharp and the seating was surprisingly ample. It was just after noon, and with no line I was greeted promptly and placed my order, cheesesteak, fried onions, American. With a bottle of Coke my lunch was $8.25, and took no more than three minutes to prepare as I obnoxiously snapped a few pictures of the interior. I don't really know photography etiquite so well, whether I should ask permission before shooting, but I just shot anyway. In the meanwhile, I noticed the slightly comical t-shirts that each of the people behind the counter was wearing, black shirts with the Sonny's logo on the front and a silhouette of a cheesesteak on the back with the words, "Bite Me." I inquired, and yes, they had extras for sale for $15. Large, please.
The other deduction came during the drive home, as I shoved the last piece of roll into my mouth. The sandwich was gone, every single morsel of it, and I could have eaten at least another half. Granted, I didn't have a stomach full of pasta from the night before (as was the case yesterday), but a cheesesteak should fill you up, and this one, unfortunately, didn't. And when I say unfortunately, I really mean it, because this cheesesteak was one of the most delicious I've ever had.
Again, I love Old City, and now I know where to get a fantastic Old City cheesesteak as late as 3 a.m. on Friday and Saturday. I'm pretty sure that knowledge will come in very handy in the near future, and when it does, I'll remember to buy two and savor them both.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Food Review: Lou's Sandwich Shop (4 out of 5)
Food: Classic Diner
Location: 414 E. Main St., Norristown
Phone: (610) 279-5415
Date visited: 05-10-2008, 10:45 a.m.
Rating: 4 out of 5
This morning, I awoke to a Saturday free of responsibility until 4:30 in the afternoon, which is really the most I can hope for in terms of free time. I might note, since I haven't yet on this blog, that I'm a seven-day workweek guy; I spend five days a week waiting tables at a restaurant in Conshohocken (to pay the bills), and the other two days working at a P.R. company in Philadelphia (to further my career). So there are certain places that I'm usually not able to go for food, like John's Roast Pork in South Philly, which has obscenely inconvenient hours but apparently sensational food.
Today, my craving came on early, just after 10:00. My stomach was still pretty gorged from a plate of leftover pasta that I devoured just before I fell asleep, but once I start reading that list of WIP's best cheesesteaks (see link listed on the left), my mouth doesn't stop watering. I knew for a fact that I was almost out of gas, and fuck you, I'm not paying $3.75 a gallon for gas until I absolutely have to. So I went down the list and picked out the place closest to my house: Lou's Sandwich Shop, a "dive" on Main St. in Norristown.
I placed my phone call at 10:30, and learned over the phone that there were at least three sizes of cheesesteak - small, six or seven inches long; medium, your standard cheesesteak roll (about a foot); and large, which I didn't bother asking about. I got a medium, with fried onions and American cheese, threw on a sweatshirt and was on my way.
The drive was incredibly easy, west down ridge pike with an easy parallel park in front of the church across the street. The establishment itself, while well-lit and brightly painted, was populated by the homeliest, most hopeless breed of Norristonians that I've ever seen in such close concentration. I have a feeling I would have attracted a fair amount of attention if my sweatshirt hadn't been concealing my "Barack The Vote" t-shirt.
The cheesesteak was ready and waiting when I reached the counter, and with a 20-oz Coke came to an even $8. The smell overpowered my car almost immediately, prompting me (as usual) to tear in during transit. A thin line of melted cheese came away as I opened the paper, revealing a beautifully crafted sandwich with the meat intact, rather than shredded. The onions glistened like diamonds, the roll soft and almost malleable. The looks of this cheesesteak made me positively swoon.
The taste was out of this world, a gracious collaboration of juicy meat, fresh cheese and sweet onions, probably teetering on a 4.8 or 4.9 out of 5. It was piping hot and very well-sized, leaving no room whatsoever in my stomach (and even warranting a mid-sandwich slowdown, though my late night pasta binge last night was a major contributor). But a few deductions must be made from this otherwise phenomenal creation. First, while I do derive a certain satisfaction from eating a cheesesteak with longer, less chopped cuts of meat such as this one, that feeling may well be nearly negated by a stringy cheesesteak, one which you had to kind of tug at in order to sever a bite from the rest of the sandwich. This problem was in the cards here, though not to an uncomfortable extent. Just slightly bothersome. Second, the roll didn't hold up; before I made it through the first half, the meat had torn through the bottom of the oversaturated roll. Normally, this would be the grease's fault if a sandwich wasn't eaten in enough time after it was prepared; however, I knew it wasn't the case today, since I'd placed my order not twenty minutes beforehand.
Finally, I have to reiterate the poor dining environment. It might work for some people, but I have a feeling that if I had sat down to eat in, my review would have been lowered by at least a half point. No joke.
This place is open for breakfast - how early that is, I don't know, as they did not have any to go menus on hand when I visited. But if you live on this side of Philadelphia and you want a great cheesesteak, call ahead and get one for the road.
Location: 414 E. Main St., Norristown
Phone: (610) 279-5415
Date visited: 05-10-2008, 10:45 a.m.
Rating: 4 out of 5
This morning, I awoke to a Saturday free of responsibility until 4:30 in the afternoon, which is really the most I can hope for in terms of free time. I might note, since I haven't yet on this blog, that I'm a seven-day workweek guy; I spend five days a week waiting tables at a restaurant in Conshohocken (to pay the bills), and the other two days working at a P.R. company in Philadelphia (to further my career). So there are certain places that I'm usually not able to go for food, like John's Roast Pork in South Philly, which has obscenely inconvenient hours but apparently sensational food.
Today, my craving came on early, just after 10:00. My stomach was still pretty gorged from a plate of leftover pasta that I devoured just before I fell asleep, but once I start reading that list of WIP's best cheesesteaks (see link listed on the left), my mouth doesn't stop watering. I knew for a fact that I was almost out of gas, and fuck you, I'm not paying $3.75 a gallon for gas until I absolutely have to. So I went down the list and picked out the place closest to my house: Lou's Sandwich Shop, a "dive" on Main St. in Norristown.
I placed my phone call at 10:30, and learned over the phone that there were at least three sizes of cheesesteak - small, six or seven inches long; medium, your standard cheesesteak roll (about a foot); and large, which I didn't bother asking about. I got a medium, with fried onions and American cheese, threw on a sweatshirt and was on my way.
The drive was incredibly easy, west down ridge pike with an easy parallel park in front of the church across the street. The establishment itself, while well-lit and brightly painted, was populated by the homeliest, most hopeless breed of Norristonians that I've ever seen in such close concentration. I have a feeling I would have attracted a fair amount of attention if my sweatshirt hadn't been concealing my "Barack The Vote" t-shirt.
The cheesesteak was ready and waiting when I reached the counter, and with a 20-oz Coke came to an even $8. The smell overpowered my car almost immediately, prompting me (as usual) to tear in during transit. A thin line of melted cheese came away as I opened the paper, revealing a beautifully crafted sandwich with the meat intact, rather than shredded. The onions glistened like diamonds, the roll soft and almost malleable. The looks of this cheesesteak made me positively swoon.
The taste was out of this world, a gracious collaboration of juicy meat, fresh cheese and sweet onions, probably teetering on a 4.8 or 4.9 out of 5. It was piping hot and very well-sized, leaving no room whatsoever in my stomach (and even warranting a mid-sandwich slowdown, though my late night pasta binge last night was a major contributor). But a few deductions must be made from this otherwise phenomenal creation. First, while I do derive a certain satisfaction from eating a cheesesteak with longer, less chopped cuts of meat such as this one, that feeling may well be nearly negated by a stringy cheesesteak, one which you had to kind of tug at in order to sever a bite from the rest of the sandwich. This problem was in the cards here, though not to an uncomfortable extent. Just slightly bothersome. Second, the roll didn't hold up; before I made it through the first half, the meat had torn through the bottom of the oversaturated roll. Normally, this would be the grease's fault if a sandwich wasn't eaten in enough time after it was prepared; however, I knew it wasn't the case today, since I'd placed my order not twenty minutes beforehand.
Finally, I have to reiterate the poor dining environment. It might work for some people, but I have a feeling that if I had sat down to eat in, my review would have been lowered by at least a half point. No joke.
This place is open for breakfast - how early that is, I don't know, as they did not have any to go menus on hand when I visited. But if you live on this side of Philadelphia and you want a great cheesesteak, call ahead and get one for the road.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Food Review: III Illiano's Pizza (2.5 out of 5)
Food: Pizza/sandwiches
Location: 24 Ridge Pike, Conshohocken, inside the Whitemarsh Shopping Center
Phone: (610) 397-0272
Date visited: 05-08-2008, 8:00 p.m.
Rating: 2.5 out of 5
My dinner selection yesterday evening came on the basis of what was closest to the liquor store. In fact, I was walking to the grocery store, not even remembering that there was a Bravo's-type pizza place just before it. I figured I'd drop in for a first visit and maybe just a slice of pizza to go. It was about 8:00, and I was sure they didn't want to be bothered with an extensive order.
But by some stroke of luck, as I walked through the door, one of the cooks was chopping beef on the grill for cheesesteaks. Clearly I ordered one, with fried onions. And wouldn't you know, these kind gentlemen were thoughtful enough to give me one of the steaks they'd been working on when I walked in, so my wait time was about sixty seconds. Not too shabby. I dropped my change and a dollar into the tip jar and grabbed a menu on the way out.
Now, when I got into my car first thing that morning to go to work, the smell of fried onions still pervaded through my car, like some sort of intoxicating air freshener. This was because I visited D'alessandro's yesterday and ate the entire cheesesteak driving on Kelly Drive, probably leaving a few chopped onions on the floor or between the seats. Regardless, by the evening it had dissipated; and while my new sandwich stayed in its packaging the whole drive back to my house, it contributed practically no aroma to what still remained from my last cheesesteak trip. A bad sign; even inside the wrapping, you should be able to tell that there's a cheesesteak in the car.
I got home and tore into it, still steaming enough to make me slow down. It was disappointing in size, compared with other massive sandwiches available throughout Conshy. The onions were very thin on flavor; my friend Jon, who was over to drink with me and bore witness to my dining experience, suggested that the onions may have been undercooked. The book was not as dark as I like to see, but instead a questionable gray, probably from an excess of grease. It did not drip like a greaser, but the roll was soft and just slightly soggy. It was gone in under six minutes, and filled me up to a decent degree, but I could have eaten a lot more if I'd gone somewhere else.
Overall, the place looked good, with a fair amount of booth seating for an establishment its size. And the pizza, which sat in wait behind a glass panel at the front, looked amply sized and delicious. No delivery is available, and the name is extremely confusing; I went with Google's listing, but on CitySearch they're listed as Illiano's Pizza III. If you find yourself there, skip the cheesesteak and go for the pizza.
Location: 24 Ridge Pike, Conshohocken, inside the Whitemarsh Shopping Center
Phone: (610) 397-0272
Date visited: 05-08-2008, 8:00 p.m.
Rating: 2.5 out of 5
My dinner selection yesterday evening came on the basis of what was closest to the liquor store. In fact, I was walking to the grocery store, not even remembering that there was a Bravo's-type pizza place just before it. I figured I'd drop in for a first visit and maybe just a slice of pizza to go. It was about 8:00, and I was sure they didn't want to be bothered with an extensive order.
But by some stroke of luck, as I walked through the door, one of the cooks was chopping beef on the grill for cheesesteaks. Clearly I ordered one, with fried onions. And wouldn't you know, these kind gentlemen were thoughtful enough to give me one of the steaks they'd been working on when I walked in, so my wait time was about sixty seconds. Not too shabby. I dropped my change and a dollar into the tip jar and grabbed a menu on the way out.
Now, when I got into my car first thing that morning to go to work, the smell of fried onions still pervaded through my car, like some sort of intoxicating air freshener. This was because I visited D'alessandro's yesterday and ate the entire cheesesteak driving on Kelly Drive, probably leaving a few chopped onions on the floor or between the seats. Regardless, by the evening it had dissipated; and while my new sandwich stayed in its packaging the whole drive back to my house, it contributed practically no aroma to what still remained from my last cheesesteak trip. A bad sign; even inside the wrapping, you should be able to tell that there's a cheesesteak in the car.
I got home and tore into it, still steaming enough to make me slow down. It was disappointing in size, compared with other massive sandwiches available throughout Conshy. The onions were very thin on flavor; my friend Jon, who was over to drink with me and bore witness to my dining experience, suggested that the onions may have been undercooked. The book was not as dark as I like to see, but instead a questionable gray, probably from an excess of grease. It did not drip like a greaser, but the roll was soft and just slightly soggy. It was gone in under six minutes, and filled me up to a decent degree, but I could have eaten a lot more if I'd gone somewhere else.
Overall, the place looked good, with a fair amount of booth seating for an establishment its size. And the pizza, which sat in wait behind a glass panel at the front, looked amply sized and delicious. No delivery is available, and the name is extremely confusing; I went with Google's listing, but on CitySearch they're listed as Illiano's Pizza III. If you find yourself there, skip the cheesesteak and go for the pizza.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Ultimate Frisbee
When I was in high school, we had a Frisbee Club, of which I made myself the unofficial president because I was the only one who took the time to try to recruit people to come out and play. This was what an extracurricular should be; a bunch of us would trek down to the field, about a mile away from school (and off school property) around 3:00, and we'd smoke pot until the faculty adviser would show up. Then we'd play shirts vs. skins, with most of us barefoot, until around 5:30. Just a bunch of guys trying to kill those Monday high school blues.
But then I went to college, out at Susquehanna University in the middle of PA, and there was no such thing. Oh, there was a frisbee team, but they were nothing like what I've described above. No, no. These were grade A douchebags. The kind of guys you picked on all throughout middle school, and left alone in high school but really wanted to keep calling them names.
And these assholes took my favorite game (which I'd nicknamed hippie football) and made a mockery of it. They had mandatory practices three times a week, wore uniforms, and worst of all - cleats. Completely changing the idea behind what we were playing, they effectively chased me away from any organized version of the game as long as I was at school.
Yesterday, my good friend George shot me a text message during work telling me that he would be playing some ultimate frisbee somewhere in Manayunk, and invited me along. Obviously I accepted, and drove myself down to our friend Chris's house on Kalos St. in Manayunk. We got ourselves mentally prepared at Chris's and then made our way down to the field, a city block-sized patch of land on Henry Ave.
(I have to note that this field was directly next to D'alessandro's on Henry Ave, one of my favorite places to get a cheesesteak. Across the street stands Chubby's, which makes a sandwich to rival their competitor across the street. Sound familiar? The difference is that the age-old cheesesteak rivalry between Pat's and Geno's in South Philly concerns the originals and not the best in the biz today. Alas...this is a story for another day)
A good share of people showed up to play, about 20 in all, even one girl. But as soon as we started playing, it became fairly clear that I was in a game with that same kind of douchebag that hijacked the game back at college. They were trying to get us into zone defense formations, shouting "SUB!" at the top of their lungs whenever the disc was in the air, and apparently scolded one of my friends for not hustling enough. Meanwhile, they weren't even keeping score.
I don't know what it is; maybe that we're older, and just naturally more mean-spirited? Do we derive pleasure from giving out orders to people in the most mundane of situations? Do we get off on hearing our own voices? Or did I just stumble upon another batch of douchebags?
Regardless, it seems inescapable, and it will be the moral of my post today: Douchebags flock to ultimate frisbee. There's just no way to change it, and it's a damn shame for those of us who love to play and aren't douchebags.
But thank god for D'alessandro's, which made up for the whole disappointing evening. More on that soon. For now, back to bed for another half hour.
But then I went to college, out at Susquehanna University in the middle of PA, and there was no such thing. Oh, there was a frisbee team, but they were nothing like what I've described above. No, no. These were grade A douchebags. The kind of guys you picked on all throughout middle school, and left alone in high school but really wanted to keep calling them names.
And these assholes took my favorite game (which I'd nicknamed hippie football) and made a mockery of it. They had mandatory practices three times a week, wore uniforms, and worst of all - cleats. Completely changing the idea behind what we were playing, they effectively chased me away from any organized version of the game as long as I was at school.
Yesterday, my good friend George shot me a text message during work telling me that he would be playing some ultimate frisbee somewhere in Manayunk, and invited me along. Obviously I accepted, and drove myself down to our friend Chris's house on Kalos St. in Manayunk. We got ourselves mentally prepared at Chris's and then made our way down to the field, a city block-sized patch of land on Henry Ave.
(I have to note that this field was directly next to D'alessandro's on Henry Ave, one of my favorite places to get a cheesesteak. Across the street stands Chubby's, which makes a sandwich to rival their competitor across the street. Sound familiar? The difference is that the age-old cheesesteak rivalry between Pat's and Geno's in South Philly concerns the originals and not the best in the biz today. Alas...this is a story for another day)
A good share of people showed up to play, about 20 in all, even one girl. But as soon as we started playing, it became fairly clear that I was in a game with that same kind of douchebag that hijacked the game back at college. They were trying to get us into zone defense formations, shouting "SUB!" at the top of their lungs whenever the disc was in the air, and apparently scolded one of my friends for not hustling enough. Meanwhile, they weren't even keeping score.
I don't know what it is; maybe that we're older, and just naturally more mean-spirited? Do we derive pleasure from giving out orders to people in the most mundane of situations? Do we get off on hearing our own voices? Or did I just stumble upon another batch of douchebags?
Regardless, it seems inescapable, and it will be the moral of my post today: Douchebags flock to ultimate frisbee. There's just no way to change it, and it's a damn shame for those of us who love to play and aren't douchebags.
But thank god for D'alessandro's, which made up for the whole disappointing evening. More on that soon. For now, back to bed for another half hour.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Primary Posting
I think I chose a good day to begin writing this blog. I'm 23, finished college for a year, and find myself living an unusual lifestyle that includes a seven day workweek, a profound love for live music, and a penchant for writing. Here, you'll be able to peruse my ramblings about whatever happens to be at the front of my mind, whether it be about dining out, traveling, cool spots in Philly or anything else.
Today is a nice day to begin, as today marks the unofficial end to Hillary Clinton's well-meaning presidential campaign. Poor, poor Hillary, whose ill-fated bid came at precisely the wrong time - that being at the same time as Barack Obama's bid. This contest has effectively been over, in my eyes, since the so-called "Potomac Primaries" of Maryland, Virginia and Washington, D.C., during which Obama beat the pantsuit off of Clinton by more than twenty points in each state. Finally, the candidates having completed 50 of 56 nominating contests, Tim Russert declared last night, "We now know who the nominee will be." I think that's as clear a note of finality as anyone can imagine.
I'm an ardent Obama supporter, thanks primarily to his opposition to the Iraq War before it began. I try to get involved, but I spend enough time on the phone at work that I'm not going to join a phone bank or anything. I have, however, managed to see both Barack and Michelle Obama speak (on separate occasions) in recent weeks, and will hopefully be able to do so again as the summer months progress. Such excursions, and their surrounding plans, are just the kind of thing you can expect me to be talking about on this blog.
But I've got plenty more on my mind. I've been on a cheesesteak binge lately, scouring through Conshy and Philly for spectacular specimens. My findings will have their home here as well.
In the meanwhile, I should be getting back to work. Nice to meet you, and we'll talk soon.
-Tom
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
