Another trip back in time, to January 31st...
The “Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld is perhaps one of the more memorable in sitcom history, but I did think it was fictional… at least until I went in search of the quintessential Philly Cheesesteak.
It didn’t dawn on me that I needed to experience the “original” cheesesteak until I saw a cd at a gift shop entitled “The Cheesesteak Song.” Suddenly on this, my final night in Philadelphia, I had a quest. I asked a local where I could get a good cheesesteak, while remaining close enough to the freeways to not get hopelessly lost. I was given directions to a place in South Philly called Pat’s King of Cheesesteak.
Finding it turned out to be the easy part. Parking? Well, that was a different matter. That part of town is a “one-way” grid of epic proportions, but with streets about 15 feet wide. With cars parked along every single inch of every curb, that makes for one tiny little lane in the center, barely enough to get through. I actually saw a couple of what I thought were miniscule alleyways, but the street signs seemed to indicate that they were indeed lanes of travel. Maybe for mopeds. There was no way my rental car was getting through!
After circling for a while and trying to decide how badly I really wanted that cheesesteak, I finally found a likely looking parking spot. I could fit there without technically blocking the fire hydrant, and the curb wasn’t painted yellow at any rate. Despite inner forebodings about getting the rental car towed and finding myself stuck in the city, I saw other vehicles parked much worse than I would be. In a moment of “recklessness” (because you all know how “reckless” I can be), I decided to leave the car there for 15 minutes and hoof it to Pat’s King of Cheesesteak, which was now several blocks away.
Pat’s is basically a walled-in kitchen on a small triangular lot between 3 streets. Patrons line up –and boy do they line up!– to order their food and either take it to go, or eat at one of a few small outdoor tables. Being that the temperature was barely into the 20’s and with windchill it felt even colder, I decided not to linger any longer than necessary. As I was standing in line, I could see one of the kitchen windows, stacked with giant cans of Cheese Whiz. I kid you not. Does Cheese Whiz qualify as “cheese” in the proper sense of the word? Perhaps not, but its uncanny ability to melt into velvety smooth cheese sauce is really the whole purpose of its existence.
While hopping up and down a bit to keep the teeth-chattering at bay, I started to get close enough to the front of the line to read the “how to order” sign. This is when I started wondering if Pat and the Soup Nazi are related. I can’t remember the sign word for word, but here’s the best approximation I can give…
1. Decide if you want your cheesesteak with onions (“wit”) or without onions (“wit-out”).
2. Specify what kind of cheese you want on your steak: Cheese Whiz, American, Cheddar, or Provolone.
3. Have your money ready. Do any borrowing while you are waiting in line.
4. Practice your order while you are waiting. If you don’t get it right the first time, you can go to the back of the line and try again.
I did practice. And I *almost* passed for a seasoned cheesesteak orderer. I got the words out all right, and handed over my money efficiently. But wait… where do I actually get the cheesesteak? I was so busy practicing in my head (“American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out…”) that I didn’t watch anyone in front of me actually get their food. In that moment, I reverted to my Soup Nazi education. I ordered, handed over my money, and stepped to the left. And then I heard it. “Hey, ma’am! You have to wait for your sandwich!”
Doh! So close. Oh well. My abundance of fleece outerwear and lack of stiletto boots for walking in the city probably already gave me away as a west coaster. After 25 years in Washington and Oregon, I guess it’s hard to hide anyway.
So the mission was a success. I got my cheesesteak. I was not sent to the back of the line as punishment. My rental car was just where I left it, safe and sound. And most importantly, I eventually found my way back to I-76 W, I-476 S, and my temporary home sweet home at the Marriott in Devon Square.
Another day in Philly, another adventure. The last adventure remaining: finding my way back to the airport. Don’t laugh. It may be more of a challenge than you think…
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