Philly: 24 Hour Edition, or How Much Can I Eat and Still Fit in My Pants

Hours spent in the city: 24
Miles driven: 309
State lines crossed: 5
Food Stops: 8
Alcoholic beverages: 4
Money spent: $125
Friends seen: 2

It's hard for a California girl such as myself to wrap my head around distances. An hour can be spent simply trying to get onto the Bay Bridge, or a quick trip from college home for laundry. A road trip was always measured by the amount of things in the car, and inevitably meant Los Angles, boring ping pong tournaments, and remember to pack extra batteries for my hefty cd-player with the anti-skip function, and my Linkin Park albums, obviously.

The intent was to get out of DC, take advantage of my new flexible schedule, and see maybe 2 of 6 people from culinary school for whom there is no mutual dislike (let me tell you, I met some of the most narrow and simple-minded taste buds at that place...). However, let's be real. As much as I wanted to see my friends, I really just wanted to go to the chocolate factory, and it was easier to justify that trip if I had a place to stay and a friend to eat more with. Sorry, Nikki, hope you don't mind that I used you for chocolate.

My dear friends live in South Philly, right off East Passyunk (pass-E-yunk) Avenue. Up and coming hipster place if there was ever one, filled with tightly packed rowhouses, short stoops and cramped parking spots. Great growing food scene though.

Food Stop #1: BLT at Black N Brew, 1523 E. Passyunk Ave.

12 pm. Hangry after 2.5 hours of solid driving, and my first choice, Essen, was closed, Black N Brew was picked because it was all we had. No pictures of said BLT that took way too long to prepare, and way too fast to consume. People don't seem to understand just because there are only 3 ingredients in this sandwich, doesn't mean it can't be substantial. It did bring my morning grumpiness back to a grumble and not a growl, so I won't write them off just yet. Actually, their beautiful mosaic exterior, and typical hipster/chalk wall interior did make me want to come in and bask in the sun on a sidewalk table and write my deepest inner thoughts in my journal as I contemplated life over a soy vanilla latte.

Snack #1: Chocolate. See previous post.

Food Stop #2: Spicy lamb dumplings and Italian roast pork bao, Bing Bing Dim Sum, 1648 E. Passyunk Ave. 

5:30 pm. I will not launch into a tirade about my issues with their take on my bastardization of one of my favorite culinary and cultural traditions, and just say that it was close by, the price was right, it was Happy Hour, and my fellow food professional liked frequenting the establishment. I had an accompanying forgettable New Belgium, and Nikki has a watermelon cooler of sorts. The only nice thing I can say is that the food is well seasoned. That is all.

Food Stop #3: Raw oysters, foie gras froyo, Stateside, 1536 E. Passyunk Ave. 

6 pm. Do you see what we were doing here? I had a master plan to happy hour crawl down East Passyunk, but this place felled us. Armed with the happy hour Chardonnay and an Old Fashioned, we ordered just a handful (4 each) of local Virginia oysters, and a foie gras froyo. Badly described by the waiter and the written menu, I took it as a partially frozen foie gras mousse with some stone fruit and other garnishes. What came out was... not expected. Beyond expectation for the price point ($14, listed as a snack), it was nearly beyond consumption for 2 people as well. Mainly because the chef's vision of it was to leave out any cracker/crostini/bread to help eat the mousse. Challenge accepted! But the salt content was just a little over of too well seasoned, so we had to asked for something carb-y.

We realized that by the time we finished our behemoth "snack," we were throwing in the towel. We had to, to survive the rest of the night. I was disappointed in ourselves, 4 small plates, 2 drinks each, in 1.5 hours... it's like our metabolisms were dying on us. Ugh, old age.

We restarted it by walking 3 miles to University City to our third stop. I quickly agreed to "see" Rittenhouse Square, and take in the atmosphere by the fountain to mask how horribly out of shape I was in.

Fountain, Rittenhouse Square

Food Stop #4: Salmon tartare, and steamed mussels, White Dog Cafe, 3420 Samson St. 

8:15 pm. I hope I never stop having friends in the industry, even after I leave it in the future. It's nice to get those extra little things, extra pours, dishes sent from the kitchen, your own corner at the bar. In this case, it was not I who got this treatment, it just helps if your friend is the fiancee of a sous chef. (Just fyi, dropping my name never gets anyone anywhere with anyone else, so don't bother trying to find people and say you know me. They will just spit in your food.)

Our adventure was cut short by a crazy lady with knitting needles. No, I don't mean me. Yes, I did bring my knitting to the bar, again. But it was another woman, with crazy eyes, and by her own admission, was there because she had no friends. We left a lot earlier than we wanted to, but there was no other polite way to pry her hands off Nikki, other than to quickly make for the door when she was distracted. (No, we are not that horrible, but yes, that woman was Level 4 status clinger, and we had to get out of there, after lots of polite goodbyes).

Food Stop #5: French fries, Fountain Porter, 1601 S. 10th St.

10pm. Grease and a pint. At the end of day, I'm a simple girl. Mountain of French fries, and a nice cold one. If you wanna get fancy, tater tots. I wish there were more unpretentious spots like this in DC, but sadly, this is not the town for it.

End night one. Wasn't drunk, nor stuffed beyond belief, just content to be with friends.

Food Stop #6: Dan dan noodles, pan fried Shanghai dumplings, Shang Hai 1, 123 N. 10th St.

10:15 am. It really didn't take much to convince Nikki that we should have pre-breakfast. Yes, a small snack before breakfast. Because I am a fatty. Because the pungent smells of walking through a Chinese enclave reminds me of home, and I really wanted jook and donuts. We had neither. But, not going to turn my belly from food. Consensus: I've had better versions of both dishes, and I'll never understand Shanghai dumplings and their serving sizes.

Food Stop #6: Butter cake and donuts, Reading Market Terminal, 51 N. 12th St. 

10:45 am. A total assault of the senses. A constant buzzing in my ear, the growl of my full stomach as my eyes got hungry, and the smells all the meats cooking. Nikki took me to the Flying Monkey for their famous butter cake. Butter, sugar, and flour. Repeat. Feel free, but I won't. We ended our gawking of every stall at an Amish donut spot. My trained eyes were able to pick out the shortening in the smears of flavored cream on each donut, and my suddenly dry mouth told me which ones not to pick. The apple spice cake donut was really nice though.

Meat art.

Food Stop #7: Brisket sandwich, Bubby's Brisket and Bugsy's Weiners, 103 N. 15th St.

11:30 am. I wanted a sandwich. It was an some Eater list. With a name like that, the idea just stuck. Literal hole in the wall, no frills, and all foods were probably on the brown spectrum by nature or after a hot oil treatment. Definitely would have been a guilty pleasures lunch spot if I worked downtown. I like my grease, what can I say.

#sandwichesandlandscapes

24 hours after I entered the city, I left it, with my mind already working on what we would next time. Perhaps I'll even explore the city next time, and maybe not eat (as much). Until next time, Philly.

Will Drive for Chocolate

"Okay Nikki, so here's the plan. We are going to charm our way into free chocolate today."

She doesn't bat an eye at my schemes. I'm lucky that most of my friends are happy-go-lucky enough to just go with my bulldozing methods and harebrained schemes. 

I had just driven 130 miles from DC to South Philly to be reunited with a culinary school classmate, whose professional career path has been similar to mine: haphazard goat trail leading to some end, but who knows exactly what, where and how. I had a random address to a chocolate factory in New Jersey. It's funny how random details stick out in my mind, but those have always led to the most interesting travel adventures (i.e. sunrise on Monserrat, after spending the night in a hermitage lean-to, a lifetime ago).

Michel Cluziel USA was located in West Berlin, New Jersey. The latter part of that sentence is enough for anyone normal person to go blank, if they got past the former to begin with. Michel Cluziel was a high end chocolate maker I remember seeing during my time in Paris, but as my small au pair stipend was usually blown on the more important part of the meal (wine, cheese, baguette, charcuterie, mousse de pate), dessert was usually secondary.

While not at the size or reputation of Valhrona, they are big enough to have a presence here in the states, and, to my luck, they were a mere thirty minutes outside of Philly. And when your friend is also a trained pastry fiend, there was no doubt in my mind that we would be crossing my fourth state line in as many hours to visit the Chocolatrium. 

Many hesitant turns onto random back roads of New Jersey led to a small singular building, hidden on a driveway, unnoticeable to the casual driver. A short picnic on the grassy flood barrier at the hood of my car later, we marched in, with no plan whatsoever, other than to be cute, and perhaps charm our way onto a tour. 

Tours were only for groups of 10 or more, and to be booked in advanced, but as I learned from my sister, the master trespasser with zero arrests or forcible removals to her name, it never hurts to ask, and look slightly pitiful when you do. 

We were denied the tour, but shown the store, where my Chatty Kathy personality came out. The line "I'm a pastry chef" tends to be a great conversation starter, and as our luck would have it, it was the starter and stopper. 

We were told of an immediate job opening and would we like to apply?

Seriously??? All I wanted was chocolate, but if you want to tell me about the opportunity to be a professional oompa loompa... (somehow the stars keep pointing me in this direction)

We met with the president, exchanged info, still reeling that sometimes job offers fall from the sky. 

Other customers came in and occupied the attention of our tour guide, Alan, but our patience was well rewarded. An abridged tour of the facilities showed me treasures; antique chocolate molds. 

Absolutely stunning. I want. So badly. Must. Not. Spend. Money....

Sadly, we only conned our way got to try was the Mokaya, a single origin dark chocolate from southern Mexico near Guatemala.  Full bodied, strong chocolate taste, slight red fruit sweetness.

Is it ridiculous to drive across four states to get chocolate? Only if you are not me. If you are me, it's just another Monday.