Though I've lived in close proximity to Philadelphia most of my life, I've never really taken too many visits there. There's this dichotomy in Jersey where, if you're from the North you're an extension of "The City" (aka New York) and, if you're from the South, you're an extension of Philly. But I'm from central Jersey, a region about which their is some dispute as to actual existence. Still, if the NJSIAA says there is a central section, that's good enough for, um, something.
So this past weekend I made my second trek to Philly in as many months, this time in the company of some old college chums that I hadn't seen in what I would realize was too long. As my man Dave Matthews likes to say, "turns out not where but who you're with that really matters." Yes, I just called Dave my boy because aside from everything else, I used to put on "Crash" to go to bed for probably the better part of eighth and ninth grade (replacing Metallica's "And Justice for All" no less). But alas, I digress as usual.
After a dinner of cheesesteaks and forties and some leisurely boozing we would settle into an evening of salsa dancing, but not before awkwardly walking into an "uninvited" party somewhere on the Haverford College campus. Admittedly we were just looking for a place to hang out (and keep warm largely, it was a bit chilly) before the salsa kicked off at around midnight. Not much compares to walking into what you expect to be a crowded party to see about eight people wondering who in the hell you are. Me and Danny G. are getting too old for this shit. In retrospect and even in the moment, it really was funny over anything else. And once we entered the house of salsa, all order was restored. Now I am not a good dancer mind you, but I enjoy dancing, and I like to think that that carries over well. I mean, I got ladies to dance and groove, and whether it means you're laughing at my moves or you can absorb some of my enthusiasm, or both, let's just call it win-win.
Post dancing things took a mild turn for the destructive along with some failed attempts to borrow golf carts at Bryn Mawr, but nothing a little late night Mickey D's couldn't cure. They even still had the Shamrock Shake available, but alas all McDonald's ice cream machines "break" after 11pm. I don't know why they have to turn the machine off then, but I wish they wouldn't lie to me and say it's broken. Next time I will ask them, "Oh it should be fixed by 10am or so though, right?"
The real highlight of the trip, for me, was the morning after. I think I've discussed in here before the manic glory of sleep deprivation and lingering booze in the veins, but it really does work wonders. Now, as much as the AgBat and I were outsiders briefly at our uninvited apartment gathering, I couldn't help but feel like more of an outsider on the sunny morning streets of Ardmore. I was waiting for someone to say, "You boys aren't from around these parts, are ya?"
So for a truly bizarre interaction, I really can't top our IHOP experience. It was Sunday at 11am, so prime time, and I expected a crowd. I walked up to put my name down for a table for four. "Can I get a table for four please," I asked. "Name," asked the host. I gave him my name, which he followed up with, "You'll have to be sure to watch your language around here. As you can see there are little children behind you." No, wait, really? I literally said nothing besides my name. There was a pause and I said, "Do I look particularly susceptible to using foul language?" Sometimes I speak in such an archaic and scholarly fashion, especially when I'm thrown for a loop [in reality I said nothing]. I interrupted the ensuing silence after his bizarre comment by asking how long the wait would be. He told me twenty minutes. I opted to have us walk around outside while waiting.
There were some further classic moments once we returned and were seated but I'm running out of steam and you, dear reader, might be running out of interest. Remind me to remind myself to talk about taxes and losing my Sonic virginity because I've been meaning to do both of those things. Oh shit, it's almost Passover time...
Showing posts with label IHOP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label IHOP. Show all posts
Monday, April 6, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Get Ya BM Pancakes Here!
Last week after my first ever Shamrock Shake, my buddies and I passed an IHOP with a sign that read "never-ending BM pancakes." Now I don't know about you, but the first thing that comes to mind when I see the letters "BM" is bowel movement. Just what in the Hell IHOP meant sadly eluded me until my friend texted me "BM=Buttermilk" the following day. It was so obvious and yet, without his message, I probably would not have figured it out, all the more because I like the way it sounds my way.
I remember quite well the first and last time I stepped to IHOP's never-ending pancake deal. Some friends had come up to visit me at school during my sophomore year of college and somewhere around eleven at night we decided it would be a good idea to see how many pancakes we could handle. We nearly hit a roadblock since not all IHOP's are twenty-four hours, including our first stop. None of us knew where a twenty-four hour IHOP might be as we were in foreign territories of Connecticut, but luckily the cook leaving his shift at that IHOP was on his way to another shift at a twenty-four hour joint. Not only did he lead the way and have us follow him, he also got us a huge discount on our check. The real beauty there is that you get to leave an extra generous tip, which is what really matters.
So there we were, sitting down to our $2.99 never-ending pancakes and, yes, that was the real cost...2003 was clutch like that. Now, with competitive eating there are a few factors that are always essential for me: 1) eat quickly before your stomach can tell you it is full; 2) be hungry but not starving as you otherwise fill up too fast; 3) variety; too much of any one thing without variety can be difficult to manage. Pancakes are brought out in stacks of three, so in order to satisfy the first criteria, you have to order the next stack pretty much immediately upon working on the previous. When I eat pancakes, I also cut up every single piece before my first bite. This might slow me at first, but greatly increases my pace thereafter.
The second criteria was fairly well satisfied, but with the third I was going to encounter problems as all I was eating was pancakes. Now here is where I may have slipped up, attempting to switch syrup flavors in an effort to interest my palate with variety. As sweet as syrup already is, I found all of the flavors other than original far too sweet and otherwise revolting. I quickly changed back, but the damage may or may not have been done.
Now, out of curiosity I had weighed myself before the pancake effort, a healthy 158 pounds. Thirteen pancakes later I had ballooned to 163, admitting of course that some of that was probably water weight and pancakes can be spongy. Still, I considered it a rather unprecedented turnaround when I awoke at around ten in the AM and managed to produce a BM that put me right back down to 158 pounds. The manner in which my mind typically operates, coupled with this strong pancake dump memory clearly influenced my reading of that IHOP sign but can you honestly say "buttermilk" is what comes to mind when you see BM?
In light of the fact that pancakes tend to make me really sleepy and put me into a short-term diabetic coma, and prompt me to utter statements like, "I'm never eating pancakes again," I think I'd like to take one more shot and see if I can't break into the upper teens (say seventeen) pancakes. Probably silly, but then so is the Cy Young Award winner only signing to a $650,000 contract...
I remember quite well the first and last time I stepped to IHOP's never-ending pancake deal. Some friends had come up to visit me at school during my sophomore year of college and somewhere around eleven at night we decided it would be a good idea to see how many pancakes we could handle. We nearly hit a roadblock since not all IHOP's are twenty-four hours, including our first stop. None of us knew where a twenty-four hour IHOP might be as we were in foreign territories of Connecticut, but luckily the cook leaving his shift at that IHOP was on his way to another shift at a twenty-four hour joint. Not only did he lead the way and have us follow him, he also got us a huge discount on our check. The real beauty there is that you get to leave an extra generous tip, which is what really matters.
So there we were, sitting down to our $2.99 never-ending pancakes and, yes, that was the real cost...2003 was clutch like that. Now, with competitive eating there are a few factors that are always essential for me: 1) eat quickly before your stomach can tell you it is full; 2) be hungry but not starving as you otherwise fill up too fast; 3) variety; too much of any one thing without variety can be difficult to manage. Pancakes are brought out in stacks of three, so in order to satisfy the first criteria, you have to order the next stack pretty much immediately upon working on the previous. When I eat pancakes, I also cut up every single piece before my first bite. This might slow me at first, but greatly increases my pace thereafter.
The second criteria was fairly well satisfied, but with the third I was going to encounter problems as all I was eating was pancakes. Now here is where I may have slipped up, attempting to switch syrup flavors in an effort to interest my palate with variety. As sweet as syrup already is, I found all of the flavors other than original far too sweet and otherwise revolting. I quickly changed back, but the damage may or may not have been done.
Now, out of curiosity I had weighed myself before the pancake effort, a healthy 158 pounds. Thirteen pancakes later I had ballooned to 163, admitting of course that some of that was probably water weight and pancakes can be spongy. Still, I considered it a rather unprecedented turnaround when I awoke at around ten in the AM and managed to produce a BM that put me right back down to 158 pounds. The manner in which my mind typically operates, coupled with this strong pancake dump memory clearly influenced my reading of that IHOP sign but can you honestly say "buttermilk" is what comes to mind when you see BM?
In light of the fact that pancakes tend to make me really sleepy and put me into a short-term diabetic coma, and prompt me to utter statements like, "I'm never eating pancakes again," I think I'd like to take one more shot and see if I can't break into the upper teens (say seventeen) pancakes. Probably silly, but then so is the Cy Young Award winner only signing to a $650,000 contract...
Monday, February 11, 2008
IHOP
Tomorrow IHOP is giving away free pancakes. I remember one time I ate thirteen at the never-ending pancake promotion at a 24-hour joint somewhere in Connecticut. That is a value at $3.99, but this time things are free so there is no compulsion to eat to sickness, especially since they only give you three free anyway. Sadly I don't think it's going to fit into my schedule but hey, it's for a good cause, so go eat some pancakes and make a donation. Or not...
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