Day 15

Spent two days at home in LA after being back east with 2 sons, where we ate the best dough products on earth. They say the reason the east coast has the best rolls, bagels and soft pretzels is the water. It is shocking to me that some chemist, who creates like 10,000 new prescription drugs a year cannot come up with a replica H2O to be used nationwide, so I can cancel my 23 year good pizza search in Los Angeles.

I took my California raised sons to New York City, where we partook in some of the local foods. A stop at Ray’s for a slice of pepperoni did not solicit the rave from the kids I thought it would. I think they are content with a mall Sbarro plain piece, since that is what they are used to.

We started our journey 90 miles south of Manhattan, when I turned them on to a cheese steak at my friend Suzzane’s Deli in Wyndmoor, PA. Now, her sandwiches will never be in the same conversations most have when talking Philly cuisine, but that’s not because they are not delicious.

Usually most out-of-towners will ask when inquiring about my favorite, “Pat’s or Geno’s?,” referring to the popular south Philly spots where you can get a gut bomb 24/7 from them. They are located right across the street from one another in typical competitive fashion for the City of Brotherly Love.

Those places have good food, but I think some of the lore is based on the attitude that comes with your order, which you better have down, or suffer the consequences of a sweaty Italian guy serving up some annoyed sarcasm. “I’ll have one wid sauce & onions” will get you a good, meaty meal without the eye roll and head shake of shame.

Suzanne has a small place on Willow Grove Avenue in a village-like town, cooking for a steady clientele, half of who just walk in and say, “the usual.”

One thing our host/owner/chef does have in common with all the famous grilles is the confidence. Everywhere in the area, there is a claim that their hoagie or steak is the best in the Delaware Valley, accompanied by a brief reasoning as to why. “Dellasandro’s chops the meat too much” might be something you hear, but for my kids it is all new to them.

We took them to go and went over to the place where I myself learned how to cook when I was a teen, the Flourtown Country Club. Yes, it was there where an apparently clueless owner hired four close delinquent friends, Tommy (“Jack Benny”), George (Megaphone Mouth) and Dave (Wrong Way Feldman or El Whoppo).

I will save our escapades for another day (if requested), but needless to say, if something was sent back to the kitchen, it went back out a little more “moist.”

The place has hardly changed a bit in 30 years, and we all sat at the picnic tables to enjoy our food. I watched my boys take their first bites and paid close attention to their reactions.

Typical for the territory, as if he has been living there his entire 13 years, my son Justin says, “it’s really good, dad, but it’s not the same as Delesandro’s. I think their rolls are better.”

I guess the water is different 7 miles away in Roxborough than in Wyndmoor.

Or as Justin says to blend into his adopted hometown accent --  the “wooder.”