A Sarcastic Appetite

A Sarcastic Appetite Hits the Road: Philadelphia
August 16, 2011, 7:32 pm
Filed under: Gluttonous Weekends

I hate to admit it, but this blog really exists because of the Ninja. Or, rather, because of his prodding me to cook real dinners, on a consistent basis. So when he leaves town for almost a month (!), reasonably healthy dinners are instantly booted out the window in favor of things like ice cream. And wine. Sometimes, together. (Just kidding.)

So these last few weeks, I’ve spent my time eating and drinking my way across the city. Some people have the impression that I am some kind of foodie. Make no mistake: I am just a glutton. But this glutton has been having a grand old time of late.

Last weekend I went to Philadelphia for a very short day trip, to visit some great friends who value eating and drinking as much as I do. This is the rundown of our afternoon. To the others who live there whom I didn’t get to see, I simply say: I’ll be back.

We started at Silk City Diner, where I was too busy inhaling a Bloody Mary and some seriously delicious Eggs Benedict to take any photographs. (See above, re: glutton.) If you go, sit outside for the full effect.

Then we drove to Fishtown to check out Kraftwork, a great bar with an incredible beer list.


My favorite part? You can design your own flight of four. I can’t remember everything that I tried but it definitely included Arcadia, Lindemans, Boon, Troegs, Schneider, and Southampton.

After a flight, or possibly two, it was onto Village Whiskey, home of delicious cocktails, oysters, and deviled eggs. Oh, and duck fat french fries. Oh, and a S’Mores milkshake with a shot of – what else – whiskey. Below is the Ginger Rogers, in all her glory. She was just as delightful as she appears.

The deviled eggs, which were delicious but not so well received in the old tummy:

This is getting embarrassing, because I’m not done yet. Don’t judge. After leaving Village Whiskey, we walked a few blocks down and around the corner to The Dandelion, one of Stephen Starr’s restaurants. (Those of you in NYC might recognize one of his many restaurants: a little place called Buddakan.)

Anyway – onward. My poor strategery had led me astray, and I was now feeling the ill effects of eating oysters, whiskey, and deviled eggs in one sitting. Did this stop me from ordering one (1) Moscow Mule and one (1) roast beef sandwich on ciabatta? No, it most definitely did not. (See above, re: glutton.)

Ok, ok, we’re almost done here. My last stop of the evening was a bar also by Stephen Starr called the Ranstead Room, which fashions itself a “speakeasy” but nicely puts its initials on its outer door so you know where to find it. It’s the usual suspect: dark room, leather booths, and bartenders full of suspenders and mustaches who will make you cocktails you didn’t even know you wanted. Their version of a gin fizz – the Palma Fizz – featured mint and a spritz of rosewater. It was delicious.

I’ll be back, Philly. But next time, I’m bringing Tums.