Philadelphia

Mr. C doesn’t like sandwiches. In our band of misfits this makes him the odd man out. If I put a sandwich down for Barnaby or Watson it would disappear in seconds. They’d like it so much they’d even lick the ground to make sure they didn’t miss the smallest speck of deliciousness. Even Jasper would eat a sandwich if the opportunity presented itself. Sure he might prefer just eating the meat, but if he had to go through a bit of bread to get there I have no doubt he’d manage just fine. And me? I love sandwiches! Meat? Cheese? Veggies? It doesn’t matter. If you stick anything between two slices of bread I’m going to eat it. And I’m going to like it. But not Mr. C.

So, as we’re standing in front of Pat’s King of Steaks I ask, “What would you like to order?” Secretly, I’m thinking that it will be a shame if he orders a hotdog (which he eats without the bun!). No disrespect intended, Pat and company, I’m sure you make a mean hotdog, but come on, we’re in Philadelphia! I’m pretty sure there is a law mandating that anyone within city limits must order a cheesesteak. And who wouldn’t? A soft bun filled with steak and onions and smothered in ooey gooey cheesy goodness. Yum. Yum. Yum.

But Mr. C surprises me. Twice. First surprise: he wants a steak sandwich. Second surprise: he wants it without cheese. What is this kid thinking? His two favorite foods are steak and cheese. Seriously, if he was ever going to like a sandwich, this would be the one. He then informs me that he’s going to remove the steak from the sandwich and eat it by itself. I actually look around to make sure no one heard him say this. I’m terrified that the people working at Pat’s are going to decide we’re not worthy of their food.

This is the come to Jesus cheesesteak moment. Mr. C, we’re in Philadelphia. You love steak. You love cheese. You love bread. You will order a normal cheesesteak sandwich and you will eat it as Pat makes it. Understood? Good.

We sit down. I watch him take his first bite. He looks at me and says, “You just made a mistake, Mom. You shouldn’t have made me get this. Now I’m going to want these all the time.” Yes! Score one for me. And for Pat’s. There is now an official Mr. C approved sandwich. Too bad we’re moving 3,000 miles away from its home base.

After this, we spend the rest of the day wandering the lovely Philadelphia Museum of Art, which we missed on our first visit to the city. Art museums are my drug. I can never get enough of them. Unfortunately, my son did not inherit this passion. However, he does find ways to entertain himself whenever he finds himself incarcerated in one for a few hours. And, he’s visited so many that he knows exactly how to behave. I can leave him sitting on a bench while I flit in and out of the nearby galleries.

I will say that he finds this museum particularly nice for two reasons. One, the elevator is really cool. And, two, the main impressionist gallery has super comfy chairs instead of benches. Every time I circle back to check on him he tells me to go look at more art.

I love this kid!