It's a 'Burgh Thing!

October 1996: A Brush with Greatness

It’s a couple nights before Halloween and I’m walking to Paul’s CDs in Bloomfield. The last two months haven’t been that great due to my own personal demons. The cool night air is keeping my head clear and making it easier to think.

The closer I get to the store I notice a person coming toward me from across the street. Lost in my own thoughts I glance up and realize he looks a lot like special effects wizard Tom Savini (DAY OF THE DEAD, DAWN OF THE DEAD, DERANGED, CREEPSHOW, FRIDAY THE 13TH installments and the list goes on.) It finally dawns on me that Savini lives in Bloomfield and probably has to go to the store just like everyone else.

Having seen almost everything Savini’s ever done it would stand to reason that I would have plenty to say to this Wizard of Gore. Instead, the most I can muster is a weak, “Hey Tom! Happy Halloween!” Sometimes my life is so sad.

May 1997: Pittsburgh’s Four Basic Food Groups

I’m no stranger to regional food fetishes. After all, I grew up in the Delaware Valley, home to: Taylor Pork Roll (no relation), which is sort of like eight slices of pig flesh melded together in one slab of artery-hardening delight; Scrapple, a gooey brick of hog scraps that rounded out many a heart attack breakfast of buttered toast, whole milk and eggs fried in Scrapple drippin’s; and Boost, a concentrated cola syrup mixed with water & ice for a caffeine rush sans pesky carbonation. And that list doesn’t even consider Philly cheesesteaks, hoagies and Tastykakes.

However, Pittsburghers have forged new roads and blazed new gastronomical trails. For the ‘Burgh, the four basic food groups have been slightly modified to reflect the region’s peculiar tastes: Fries, Fish, Ham and Iron City. How Allegheny County has the country’s largest senior citizen population is beyond my scope of reasoning and our budget.

You will rarely be asked “You want fries wit‘at?” in these parts. It’s not that the black & gold faithful don’t love their fries. It’s just hard to find a meal they’re not already in!

The best example of this groundbreaking trend can be found in the city’s famous Strip District. Primanti Brothers (Forty-six 18th Street) is a Pittsburgh tradition in the same vein as Philly’s own Pat’s Steaks — both a tourist attraction and a local hangout. The hot spot is open till all hours and literally crawls with hungry boozehounds once the bars shut their doors. Inevitably, they all end up at Primanti’s — frat boys, leather-clad punks and bedazzled yenzers whose shellacked hairdo presents a mobile fire hazard.

And why do they seek out Primanti’s from all walks of life? Despite the laid back atmosphere, the joint offers sandwiches that can be described as both disturbing and revolutionary. These artisans of the highest order pile your sandwich high with meat, cheese, condiments and sides — all on one sandwich! The result? A 4–5" high monstrosity brimming with cole slaw and french fries that scarcely fits in my big mouth!

And don’t think the fry obsession stops there. Oh, no! Imagine ordering a salad in hopes that it’ll help shed a few pounds. Unfortunately HEALTH BE DAMNED! In Pittsburgh, croutons are for women and light-loafered foreigners — here we garnish our salad with fries...and lots of ‘em! “Would you like a home cholesterol test with that?” might be a better cross-sell.

While Philly eating establishments can be judged on their steak sandwiches, Pittsburgh defines its bar/greasy spoon culture with the ubiquitous “Fish Sandwich.” (Actually, the proper way to say that is “Fishsamitch,” run together in one garbled command.) In fact, more than a handful of local eateries boast the “best fish sandwich in Pittsburgh.” Forgive me if I wasn’t game to research those claims more closely, especially since the ‘Burgh is 400 miles from the nearest body of oceanic water.

And just what is the “fish” in a “fish” sandwich? What if McDonald’s promoted a “meat” sandwich? Would there be many takers? (After trying the colon-ripping Arch Reflux I’m not sure they didn’t already try!) Pittsburghers don’t seem to really care, as evidenced by the lunchtime crowd at the city’s two Original Oyster House restaurants (20 Market Place and 801 Liberty Ave.).

Low-maintenance to the max, the Oyster Houses specialize in — what else? — fish sandwiches. Breaded and “lightly fried,” the slab o’ fish extends well beyond the boundaries of the generic bun that vainly attempts to harness it. The result is generally a pair of hands that reek of fish and tartar sauce — and pack some Handi Wipes since I’ve yet to see an operational bathroom at either storefront. (I made the mistake of visiting an OOH on my way to an interview and the local drug store is still in the black thanks to my purchase of gum, mints and moist towelettes!)

When visiting the Oyster House break tradition and order the crab cakes — spicy and moist — and the incredible clam chowder. It’s thick enough to float a quarter and makes a hearty snack.

With fries and fish behind us, it’s time to tackle the other end of Pittsburgh’s diverse culinary spectrum: Ham BBQ and Iron City. It’s a combination guaranteed to produce dangerous gas and pores ripe with noxious fumes!

Though Pittsburgh rests hundreds of miles from the Deep South, that doesn’t keep the residents from indulging in Ham Barbecue, one of the most offensive regional delicacies I’ve ever had the misfortune to taste. This stuff makes the aforementioned Scrapple look like foie gras! And if you’re envisioning an open pit with fiery coals searing slabs of seasoned ham slathered with hot and spicy sauces, put your imagination in check.

Instead, picture a sandwich piled with “chipped, chopped ham” (another ‘Burgh delicacy) heated in a vinegary barbecue sauce — sad as it may be to call it that — and served on a spongy hamburger roll. In other words, as far from a traditional South Philly Kaiser Roll as Ham BBQ is from honest-to-goodness soul food.

If you’re looking to top that eating experience off with just the right beverage — and ensure plenty of solitude the next morning — serve it up with an ice cold Iron City (pronounced “Ahrn City” or simply, “Ahrn” in these parts). In fact, it better be ice cold ‘cause that’s the only way you can chug down this tin-tombed horse piss that dominates the taps at local bars and eateries.

What’s more unfortunate, and only adds to the ‘Burg’s image problem, is the way residents plow through this swill because “It’s a ‘Burgh Thing.” Believe me folks, I know there is such a thing as taking provincial pride too far, and this slogan is more an excuse than a ringing endorsement.

June 1998 : And now, the end is near

My (nearly) three-year stay in Pittsburgh has come to an end. What I’ve come to realize in these last few weeks is this: You never know just how much crap you’re accumulating during weekly thrift store and flea market trips until you try to move it all. We started trucking stuff about three weeks ago, unloading one entire 15’ trailer of nothing but furniture, clothing and necessities like a new big screen TV. Woo-hoo! JT flew in from Oklahoma over Memorial Day to help me transport a van filled with records, cds, videotapes, books and computer equipment. As I sit here in June I realize that there’s still a good three carloads left.

I wonder how mad Ed’s going to be when I dump half this shit in the alley...

[Editor's Note: Despite the tone of this piece, I did enjoy my time in Pittsburgh, thanks to the fun folks I met at Allegheny General Hospital and Black Box Corporation.]