Last Saturday C. and K. came into Philly via the Bolt bus. K. will soon be moving from New York to Toronto and C. had about a 24 hour window of down time in her schedule, so it seemed to be the perfect opportunity for them to come for a whirlwind visit/me to see K. before she left and C. before her architectural commitments consume every waking hour of her day. After picking them up across from 30th Street Train Station, there was talk of shopping, booze and fun. C. was particularly interested in having a Bloody Mary and K. was regretting not bringing a flask. It was noon. Those girls, when they let their hair down, hey hey. Anyways. Before any fun could be had, I took us to a car wash because Duckie, Ambassador Iron Face was a d-i-r-t-y f-i-t Fit....and I'm intimidated by car wash guys so it's better for me not to go alone. Once Duckie was shiny again (ha, I just got back from a few days in the relative wilderness of the Adirondacks and the Duckster is not so sparkly now) we dropped the girls' stuff off at the apartment and then headed up to Fairmount Avenue for some eating.
Last weekend was Bastille Day, or at least it was the weekend that my neighborhood celebrates Bastille Day. You'll see what I'm talking about in a later post. The point, I guess, that I'm trying to make at this time is: it was a bustling scene outside the Penitentiary, the street was shut down and people were just milling about...some in costume. We went to Jack's Firehouse and sat at an outdoor table with a great view of the street and within ear's distance of a dunking booth, pet parade and chamber orchestra (or some musical group). People should not dress their dogs up in dresses. There are very few exceptions to this rule. K. and C. ordered Bloody Marys while I ordered the mimosa (with freshly squeezed o.j.). My drink was fine, but the Bloody Marys seemed like a much better deal, my one sip confirmed their proper horseradish-ness.
Complimentary corn muffins and biscuits, with black raspberry jam came with the drinks. The jam was really happy to meet the butter and the butter was ecstatic to meet the muffin. It's a corn muffin vampire...kind of.
There were a number of tasty breakfast options but, in the end, I decided that a pulled pork sandwich was what my belly was crying out for.
C. had French toast and K. had egg quesadillas. I've only eaten at Jack's one other time and my opinion remains the same. Everything they make is good, but not so good as to really differentiate itself from any other restaurant. I think, though, and I could be making this up, that I had a really good dirty vodka martini there when I first moved to Philly.
Last weekend was Bastille Day, or at least it was the weekend that my neighborhood celebrates Bastille Day. You'll see what I'm talking about in a later post. The point, I guess, that I'm trying to make at this time is: it was a bustling scene outside the Penitentiary, the street was shut down and people were just milling about...some in costume. We went to Jack's Firehouse and sat at an outdoor table with a great view of the street and within ear's distance of a dunking booth, pet parade and chamber orchestra (or some musical group). People should not dress their dogs up in dresses. There are very few exceptions to this rule. K. and C. ordered Bloody Marys while I ordered the mimosa (with freshly squeezed o.j.). My drink was fine, but the Bloody Marys seemed like a much better deal, my one sip confirmed their proper horseradish-ness.
Complimentary corn muffins and biscuits, with black raspberry jam came with the drinks. The jam was really happy to meet the butter and the butter was ecstatic to meet the muffin. It's a corn muffin vampire...kind of.
There were a number of tasty breakfast options but, in the end, I decided that a pulled pork sandwich was what my belly was crying out for.
C. had French toast and K. had egg quesadillas. I've only eaten at Jack's one other time and my opinion remains the same. Everything they make is good, but not so good as to really differentiate itself from any other restaurant. I think, though, and I could be making this up, that I had a really good dirty vodka martini there when I first moved to Philly.
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