Carousing, in our mild way, on the streets of the South Side. I found a dozen pennies and a couple nickels scattered on the ground, some thoughtful person anticipating my delight, I like to think, that weird woman who will always stop for a coin. To state the obvious, I love the collection of neon here, probably Pittsburgh’s best concentration, juxtaposed against the cow’s head, perched high, and gazing down on them all. Old and young, we all live together.
We ate far more than we ought at Winghart’s, including a ridiculously rich and enormous funnel cake (such a weak spot for fried dough!), no carnival required. Winghart’s, along with Burgatory and Benjamin’s, makes the best burgers in town. My favorites all have jalapenos on them, just in case you were wondering. I like spicy (but not so much as to ruin the flavor), and with the exception of home cooking, it’s very difficult to find in these parts. No Tabasco for eggs. Mild salsa. Not-so-hot and sour soup. My friend calls it the mid-west palate. It makes my mouth sad.
Speaking of palates, are you geared up and ready for all foods homey and Thanksgiving? No spice necessary! We are going to friends for the feast and bringing Pillsbury Crescent Rolls, mashed sweet potatoes, and home made pecan pie. It’s funny how foods like crescent rolls and jellied cranberry (which our friends are providing), that when tried as an adult are often offensive, yet are integral to the Thanksgiving experience, how every adult I’ve ever met must have at least one item served at their childhood table. Whether it is nostalgia or expectations, I’m not certain, but I like the sweetness of it, how we carry so much of youth with us, always.