Everywhere is Walking Distance

I used to really like comedy.  Steven Wright had a line that “everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.”

When I was moving to Albany, and feeling a bit nervous about living in such a small metropolitan area, locals would tell me, “Albany is great.  It’s just three hours from Boston, New York City and Montreal.”

This is the worst way to describe a city to anyone.

Especially since the Capital Region has a lot more going for it than its proximity to three metropolitan hubs.  There are vibrant four-season farmers markets, it is the home to one of the best bakeries in America, we are right in the middle of apple country which means apple cider donuts and more recently farm-distilled applejack, and that’s not even mentioning our marvelous taverns, diners, fish-fry or mini hot-dogs with meat sauce.

There are also some good things that have nothing to do with food, but they seem somehow off topic.  Let it not be said that I’m always down on the region.

Yet, in a few minutes, I’m getting the hell out of here.

One can drive a lot further than one can walk.  And luckily Young Master Fussy and Little Miss Fussy love long car trips.  So we are off on a four-hour trek to spend the afternoon and evening with some old friends in New Jersey, just over the bridge from Philadelphia.

I imagine we’ll just bring in pizza for dinner, or something simple like that.

But I’ve already got big plans for Monday morning.  We’ll see if I can get the kids to cooperate.  There is a fighting chance I can get a good cappuccino at one of two places in Philadelphia.  I’ve selected the newer of the two, and I cannot wait to get there and report back.

Also, one cannot go to Philadelphia and not get the specialty sandwich of the region: Italian pork with provolone and greens.  You may have been expecting me to say something else.  But really, these pork sandwiches far eclipse the now ubiquitous Philly cheese steak.

Seriously, you can get a passable specimen of the latter in almost every major city in the country.  Try to find one of these delectable Italian pork sandwiches outside the region.  I haven’t found any.

And coincidentally enough, there just happens to be a banh mi joint a couple of doors down from the pork sandwich.  Regular readers might be asking, “Didn’t you get your fill of those things in Virginia?”  The truth is that I thought I did.  Twelve sandwiches in one day was an awful lot. But I’m going to have a long drive back to Albany on Monday afternoon, and I’ve got to figure out how many of those delicious Vietnamese baguettes I’ll need to sustain myself.

I’m thinking three.

The observant reader will have noticed that I’m not traveling with my copyeditor Mrs. Fussy.  Please pardon the typographical errors in Monday morning’s post.  Given this situation, my open letter to chefs will be postponed until Tuesday.  And all of those great questions you asked will hopefully be answered in an Ask the Profussor on Wednesday.  Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Now I need to pack.