It’s hard to imagine a better accompaniment to a good pint of beer than American Sardine Bar’s eponymous sandwich. For $2, you get a soft-crusted, compact sandwich boasting a salty and piquant mash of that still-unfortunately-maligned fish, bright and crisp with onion, hearty and tamed with sliced hardboiled egg. It arrives on a plain white plate, devoid of garnish and utterly confident in its simplicity. With a beer—maybe a draught of Fegley’s Brew Works Second Coming, the crisp, easy-drinking EPA from Bethlehem, Pa.—it’s perfect, and the price can’t be beat.
Ahoy, matey! It’s only natural to serve me with grapefruit and fennel, which are both in season. Plus, you could use the vitamin C in grapefruit to ward off scurvy.
By Brian Freedman
Too often, we tend to drink the same stuff every time we go out. Here, then, is what a real New Year’s resolution should be about: Not exercising more, not curbing your road rage, but drinking better, and drinking more adventurously. Philadelphia is the right town to do that in. Despite the iron fist of the Philadelphia Liquor Control Board, there’s a thriving, creative drinking culture here that will challenge and inspire you if you’re up for it.
I’m a traditional Lebanese-style stew made with spices like cumin and coriander that offset the sweetness of my caramelized onions, baby turnips and carrots.
I moved to Philadelphia in ’05, a long journey from my distant planet known as Houston, located in a galaxy far, far away called Texas. It was August, and much to my surprise, the weather was just as fucking putrid and hot and humid here as it was back there, which was and is the only similarity the two locations share. (In Houston, for instance, people are secretly racist. Here, they wear it as a badge of honor.)