Okay, Philadelphia, we confess: we don't quite know what to do with you.
We are in Philly under the guise of attending our college's homecoming. In truth, our primary purpose is to dine at as many of the Philadelphia Best Thing I Ever Ate locations as possible in what Ginger has taken to calling a "continuum of eating." In our world, there is no such thing as breakfast, lunch, or dinner; instead, our guide for the day is our trusty itinerary, which tells us to do one thing: don't stop.
|And Don't Skip Brunch or Linner, Either|
The other part of us finds Philadelphia infuriating.
|Philadelphia, Our Greatest Frenemy|
Apparently, the first lady was the hostess's doppelganger....
One of the many hostesses eventually escorts us to our table, and we order one cyprus breakfast (if we are to eat for 12 hours straight, we best share everything), one coffee, one tea, and two orange juices. The orange juices are especially important, in this case, as Kanella is a BYOB establishment. Not willing to haul a bottle of champagne all the way from Manhattan, Vodka has come up with the next-best solution:
She has filled a miniature water bottle with vodka and has traveled with it tucked securely in her handbag. The slightly-less-sane version of a flask, if you will.
|Perhaps Poland Spring Would Like to Sponsor Our Classy Ways|
"I'm going to pour it," Vodka answers without affect. And when our large glasses of juice arrive, not only does Vodka pour the alcohol from the water bottle into the glasses, but she makes us even more conspicuous by forcing Ginger to take pictures of the transfer.
|This Year's Candidate for World's Best Bartender|
As we're in the midst of Bring-Your-Own-Vodka-Gate, our tea and coffee arrive. Ginger explains that she has taken to chugging green tea at all hours of the day because "It cures everything that ails me," making her sound like a less spry version of Rose Nyland. Meanwhile, Vodka has ordered coffee, and it has been presented in its own French press.
A device neither of us have a clue how to use.
|What Is This New-Fangled Contraption?|
We're from that far-off nation of Manhattan where our coffee is handed to us, pre-made, in a cup.
(Though as Ginger points out with glee later on, Vodka, hailing from the Philadelphia suburbs, actually is from here, but this ancestry does not translate to one's ability to use a French press).
Finally, onto the object of our desires, the cyprus breakfast.
|Thank Goodness They Didn't Try to Stack This|
|Because Philadelphia Knows the Importance of Fried Cheese|
|Is Your Figure Less Than Greek?|
|Olive Oil Makes Everything Better|
|Would Anyone Like to Buy Our Olive? We Can Offer You a Swig of "Water"|
Instead of such fantasies of overconsumption, we should be focusing on our bill, as neither of us, in what becomes a running theme of the day, is capable of figuring it out ("I feel like I'm getting dumber," Ginger confesses). Finally, we slap down our cash, Vodka stuffs her still half-full "water bottle" back in her handbag, and we head out.
|Visions of the Mediterranean Dancing in our Heads|
This rose-colored view of the city sustains us for all of twelve blocks when, as if like clockwork, Philadelphia slaps us back to its own unique reality.
Kanella's Cyprus Breakfast: 5 stars*
*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate