A Love Letter to a Sandwich

I've visited Philadelphia on four occasions. Admittedly,  three out of the four times were to get my hands on a certain sandwich, which I discovered during the first trip. Under the guise of seeing my Aunt, Uncle, and their sweet boys, I've always managed to steer the day's activities towards the Famous 4th Street Delicatessen.

The Deli reads like an authentic old-school establishment because it is. There's a long counter with pastries and different meats and middle-aged men and women at the counter going about the business of weekly grocery shopping. And then there are the tourists, cue me, who fangirl over the sandwiches too large to fit into even an above-average sized mouth.

The Famous 4th Street Delicatessen has claimed fame for itself and lives up to that appellation. The walls are covered with photos of America's most celebrated eating at the Deli's tables - President Obama, the Jonas Brothers - which should be enough to convince anyone of how good this place is.

And then you find yourself sitting at one of those tables, eating the same food as Kevin Jonas, and you get it. This place is famous for a definitive reason - it's good as hell. Everything is delivered in mammoth proportions, but there's no discrepancy in quantity or quality. Both are delivered at the table. 

In especially fantastic circumstances, food critics will classify a restaurant as one that is worth a specific trip for. It is so damn great that you should get in a car, plane, or train, eat all of the food you can, and then turn around and go home because it's just that worth it. Right now, I'd like to bestow myself with the years of experience and refined pallet that those food critics have and make the judgment that the 4th Street Delicatessen is such a place.

Philadephia itself is great too, though. I love it for its history and architecture and atmosphere - like a more rugged version of my beloved D.C. - but I love it most for its hot pastrami sandwiches down on 4th street.