About a month ago I got my first cheesesteak in years. For the past 5 years or so, the vast majority
of the food I’ve eaten has been made at home.
I knew ‘Pat’s’ and ‘Gino’s’ steaks had gotten up to about $12 for a whiz
wit + mushroom a few years ago, but was floored when I ordered the standard
steak from Woodrow’s on South Street and they said “that will be $17.50”. When the cashier waited expectantly for my
payment I had this weird feeling of “not wanting to feel like a loser” if I
scoffed at the cost and cancelled my order.
I watched as my arm extended my debit card feeling some type of absurd, surreal
out-of-body experience. To be fair, Woodrow’s
makes a fantastic steak and it definitely scratched that “once-every-few-years”
itch to celebrate a Philly staple, but I was conscious of the likelihood that
this would be the last cheesesteak I ever ordered for myself which may have caused
me to savor the grade D meat and cheese a little bit more than I would have
otherwise. This morning, a similar
scenario happened at a local coffee shop.
‘The
Bakery’ opened up about a year ago on a corner a few blocks away from our place
deep in South Philly. Besides Dunkin Donuts
it’s the only coffee shop for about 15 blocks or so. I’d never been there before and have pretty
much entirely eliminated caffeine from my diet except for tea and a DD coffee once
every few months or so. This morning I
had the itch and Katy suggested I walk to The Bakery. So I did and when the cashier told me “$8.50”
for my ‘dirty chai’ (a cup of chai tea [which I watched the barista pour from a
carton/wasn’t even homemade] plus a shot of espresso) I again watched in some
out-of-body slow motion horror as my arm extended my payment. I similarly felt like this very could be the
last drink I ever order from a coffee shop, but this time the sentiment didn’t
make it taste any better. In fact, the
feeling of being removed/disillusioned has kind of stuck with me as I’m finishing
the last few sips here at home.
