Philadelphia Wings bring victory to city

By Anthony Chwastyk
Collegian Editor
March 29, 2006

Bill Drust is taking a week off so he can concentrate on harboring enough contempt to finish out the year. I’m here this week to discuss an aspect of the Philadelphia restaurant scene that I find disturbing—pretentiousness.

Have you ever walked through the khaki-clad jungle of Center City or the paint-stained streets of Old City and noticed the local eateries?

Nestled in our residential paradise, we Lasallians take for granted the number of down-to-earth establishments that employ efficient cooks able to fry up anything in minutes and intrepid delivery personnel willing to brave snowstorms, earthquakes and other such natural disasters. We also take for granted the relative predictability. I know exactly what I’m in for when I get a chicken parm sandwich from Kirk’s or the General Tso’s combo platter from China American. The experience can get redundant, but who cares really?

Now we come to the denizens of high culinary culture—Center City and Old City. I’ll start with Old City since age comes before beauty.

For the most part I enjoy Old City. Often, I find myself imagining what the city looked like back in the day when men would walk around with pants tied off at the knees.

Ben Franklin might be a little uspet by the slew of trendy ’strants popping up all over the area. Honestly, I don’t know if the area still deserves the “old” moniker. Places like Tangerine or The Bleu Martini do not seem colonially authentic. I went to a sushi place once on Second or Third street. I sort of knew what I was getting myself into, but never did I expect to feel as if I was being beamed up to the mothership. Everything was so minimalistic, especially the food. Although, I never really thought that quarter-inch squares of raw fish were supposed to be filling. Truth be told, I am suprised I made it in the building. Usually, I feel too uncool to even walk past the entrance.

Now we come to Center City. This part of Philly makes a good attempt at classy, traditional dining. Places that occupy Broad Street come to mind. Old-fashioned steak houses and Italian bistros offer traditional fare with ample portions. It’s when the beaten path is left that the average diner encounters trouble.

My own experience left me razzled and wary of Philly restaurants. I decided to try something fancy for a change, and I ended up at a place whose name I still cannot even attempt to pronounce or spell. It was “Le” or “La” something. Walking in, I noticed that the restaurant shared its space with an art museum. Coupled with the fancy French name, I became suspicious. Yet, my fears were temporarily dispelled when I encountered casual, friendly service and the dim-lit atmosphere I thrive on.

Things soon took a turn for the worse when I hastily ordered my appetizer and main course. Like the restaurant’s name, I cannot guess the grab-bag of ingredients that were thrown together. All I can even describe is the base from which the tripped out were concocted.

I order as an appetizer the oysters, a bad idea since I’ve never tried them before. But, I was feeling a little adventurous, so whatever. Oh God, were they gross. I ate one grudgingly and tried desperately not to acknowledge the mystery ingredients. I barely got two down the hatch before I threw in the towel. The waiter must have realized something was wrong when came to get the dish from me and saw me weeping.

For the main course I ordered the duck. Normally, I try to avoid this bird, but this time, I was shooting from the hip. Well, everything seemed fine with this part of the meal. That is, until I realized what the skewered brown masses were in front of me. They served me the heart and the liver of the duck. That poor little pond dweller’s heart was ripped out and served to me. I felt like I was in the Temple of Doom. I was going to attempt a bite of the liver, but then I thought about the beating I give my own. Both were pushed off to the side. By the time dessert came around I thought I was going revisit my appetizer. Luckily, my delicious apple pastry with ice cream stabilized my distressed gastrointestinal system.

I walked away from that experience a little wiser and a lot poorer. But eh, I’ll try anything once.

Stay tuned next week for the triumphant return of William Drust.

chwasta1@lasalle.edu