Philly Culture

Between daylight savings time and crossing into another time zone, my internal clock (read: my tummy) if off by about two hours. I didn’t venture out in search of food until a little after 8pm tonight. Feeling lazy I drove about five miles in search of anyplace with a drive-thru, but no such luck. Giving up I turned around, headed back toward the hotel, and stopped at the first place that looked halfway decent.

The name on the sign read Jack’s Pizza and Pasta. The “and Seafood” is understood, apparently. I’ll bet you could visit a hundred Italian pizza joints back home in Oklahoma and not find a single one that serves Crab Cakes or Jumbo Shrimp. Up here in the northeast, it’s just assumed.

Upon entering I discovered I was the tenth person in the restaurant, and the only customer. Jack’s wife sat in a booth while Jack stood toe to toe with a Mexican man and his two sons. It was tough to tell exactly what the argument was about as Jack, a Greek man, was attempting to speak Spanish with an Italian accent while the other man apparently only spoke Spanish. The two of them were standing toe to toe, yelling at one another and only pausing each time something big was about to happen on the baseball game on the corner television. Jack’s (I’m assuming) daughter was behind the counter, ready to take my order. Her boyfriend was walking around behind the counter, as was the dishwasher and Sam, the produce guy. Both Jack and the man he was arguing with stopped for a moment, offered a hearty “Hey Sam” when Sam walked in through the back door, and went back to yelling.

I told Jack’s daughter I was from out of town and asked her to recommend something good. She said she made a mean meatball hero and I took her at her word. I thought about asking what came on it, but after seeing this sign next to the register, I decided against it.

What followed was ten minutes of waiting for a sub and being eyeballed by nine people who all knew one another and didn’t know me. Eventually I did get my sandwich, which I brought back to the hotel room and ate. Little Jackie was right, she did make a mean meatball sammich.

Amazing that they have seafood, but no napkins.