Philadelphia Fever

In my desperate attempt to fill the void I call my life during the barren theatre month of February, Trish and I decided to take a President's weekend road trip. What more apt a get away then historic Philadelphia, PA, home of the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall and Cheesesteaks! Impressed by Philly's friendly folks and good food during our trip last fall, we booked a room at the Hyatt Penn's Landing.

I guess the winter doldrums sparked a case of wanderlust for mom and dad as well and they decided last minute to crash our party (that's me and mom taking an evening stroll on Penn's Landing).  Of course I don't mind hanging with the 'rents, but Trish and I are on a serious budget.  I'm saving my pennies to blow on Margarita's and Italian hookers on the family's Barcelona cruise this summer (to celebrate my father's 70th birthday!).  So instead of booking an additional room, we decided to double up in the beds and sneak the parents and all their bags into our room.  When did double beds get so small?  Or rather, when did my midsection get so wide?  Don't answer that.

Continuing in this line of weird, rhetorical questions, how many bags do you need for a two night stay in Philadelphia?  At least four or five if you ask my mom.  Yes, I know you should always be prepared (those years as a boy scout were good for something, I guess), but I can only imagine the size of the steamer trunk those sailors will be lugging onto the Carnival Magic come August if a "quick weekend away" entails a bellhop and rolling cart.  We're talking Titanic-Atlantic-crossing big.

Pineda trips usually revolve around food and this was no exception. Trish and I headed to Jim's Steakson South Street before checking into the hotel and meeting the 'rents. We knew there was no chance in hell that mom in all her double-knee-replacement glory would ever agree to wait in line for an hour for a sandwich. On our last trip, Trish and I did the Pat's versus Geno's experience with Geno's just barely edging out Pat's for cheesesteak supremacy. Of course, this was before we found out that Geno was a big ole racist. Oh well, he makes one tasty, bigoted sandwich. I'm happy to report, however, that Jim's delish cheeseteak will make future trips south of South Street unnecessary. Jim's juicy, flavorful steak and crusty, soft roll is now my Philly fave - at least until the next trip.

The rest of the weekend was spent either looking for food, ordering food, waiting for food or eating. Saturday night was a soul food prix fixe at the hotel restaurant in honor of black history month, Sunday lunch was pork sandwiches at DiNic's and cupcakes from Flying Monkey and dinner Sunday night was a seafood feast at Chart House. By the end of the weekend I needed some serious pepto. Oh well, no pain no gain. And by gain, I mean about five pounds right around my already bulging muffin top.

The food orgy was only interrupted by the slightly creepy Filipino mass we attended Sunday morning at St. Augustine's. Who knew Philadelphia was a Little Manila of sorts? Imagine my surprise when the white priest greeted the congregation with "magandang umaga." Talk about a serious head trip. The sea of brown skin was interrupted every few pews by a somber, white face, undoubtedly linked by marriage. No one warned these poor gullible saps that their hot, exotic trophy wife also came with a boatload of relatives, a pantry full of spam and a front row seat to every Catholic mass - holidays included - for the rest of their life! Suckers.

We bid adieu to mom and dad early Monday morning then promptly headed back to bed until the noon check-out time. What better way to celebrate our nation's great leaders then by napping? At 11:39am with the maid knocking at the door, we stuffed our bags and headed north on I-95 with the beefy scent of brotherly love trailing behind us. We made a quick pit stop at the Jersey Shore Outlet Mall where I stocked up on some new work attire. Nothing like a little retail therapy to soften the ending blow of a long weekend vacation and the realization that you'll be back to the daily grind in less than 24 hours.

<--- Fausto Jr. and Fausto III enjoying ice cream at the Reading Terminal Market.

Staycation

I’m really tired. Honestly, just plain tired. Since taking on a full-time gig at the Morg (i.e. Morgan Stanley), I’ve not had more than a long weekend off in almost three years. Yes, the corporate world has afforded me a lifestyle where a delicious Spam and Ramen noodle dinner is a choice rather than a necessity, but the schedule has left me a bit run down. Instead of using my three-week vacation time to jet set around the world, I’ve spent the time with the Pineda Conservatory kids at the summer sweat lodge known as CDC Theatre.

Yes, I know I shouldn’t be complaining but this is my blog. Where else can I go for a self-pitying rant?

Anyway, This past weekend Trish and I had a staycation in historic Philadelphia. It’s just over 2 hours from NYC, but it’s in another state and they have a different accent, so it's nearly a foreign country.  Anyway, this weekend "abroad" turned out to be my summer vacation (I know, sad).

Like most Pineda trips it was all about the food. I mean, yeah, we (Trish and I) went to the Liberty Bell (above left - looking very serious.  This is history, dammit!), took a tour of Independence Hall (above rightt - don't I look excited!?) and all that good shit, but the real historic moment was our cheesesteak taste-off between legendary South Philly rivals, Pat’s and Geno’s. Of course, arriving smack dab in the middle of lunch hour on a beautiful Sunday afternoon may not have been the smartest plan. Lines at both literally wrapped around the block and we waited a good half hour at each spot. For the sake of judging, we shared one sandwich at each location and picked the same toppings - onions and cheese wiz, the traditional Philly cheese of choice. Mmm-mmm (insert obscene oral sound here). The verdict? - Geno’s - their sandwich was just, well, "beefier" (is that even a word?).  But maybe that's just the special phlegm sauce (read on, it'll make sense).  Unfortunately, since getting back from our trip we discovered through the magic of Yelp that Geno is actually a racist asshole who sometimes spits in your food if you appear to be "not American" - City of Brotherly Love, my ass.  Blinded by my food-gasm I missed the "I am mad as hell!  I want my country back!" poster prominently displayed at the front counter and on the homepage of their website.  Moral?  Even assholes can be good cooks.  Thankfully, we enjoyed our sandwiches in blissful ignorance. 

For most people a beef, onion and cheese orgy would more than satisfy the need for vacation gluttony but this carnivore ain't most people.  Instead, we took Adam Richman's (the Man vs Food guy) advice and also stopped by Reading Terminal Market to share a Tommy DiNic's roast beef, spinach and sharp provolone sandwich and an assortment of Flying Monkey specialty cupcakes (including Lavender, Guinness and Mint Chocolate Chip flavors, yum!).  Full yet?  I think not!  After taking the afternoon to digest the days intake, we headed out to wine bar and tapas joint, Tria, where I got wasted on wine and extravagant food.  Just a sampling of our small plate feast included poached figs with gorganzola and prosciutto, truffled egg toast with fontana cheese and pistachio herbed ricotta with lavender honey.  I've got a food buzz just thinking about it.

Between bites of cheesesteak we were also able to check out the Cleopatra exhibit at the Franklin Institute.  It's from the same people who are presenting the current King Tut exhibit at the Discovery center in Times Square here in NYC.  It's actually a much more interactive exhibit than Tut with tons more articfacts.  But we were suffering from a bit of a food hangover so by the the time we had finished, we weren't in much of a mood to browse the rest of the museum.  We might have also been a wee bit annoyed that half the regular museum exhibits didn't work.  Oh, and frehen up that human heart exhibit already.  That thing needs a new coat of paint and a good Febreze-ing. 

Happy sphinx (below) and sexy headless Cleo (left).