Der Brucer and I did indeed have a wonderful time tonight. It's nice to know that Philly is no longer a distant city. (Hey, I'm used to the idea of a two-hour commute. And the countryside between Rehoboth Beach and the City of Brotherly Love is much prettier than my commute used to be.)
We had a good time at the Reading Terminal Market. I zoomed over to the Cook Book store, getting the revised edition of Becoming a Chef and John Thorne's Pot on the Fire. I've always loved good writing. Then we raided the Spice shop, with roasted chestnuts, cous cous, whole nutmeg, ancho chili powder, tahini and marmalades ending up in our basket. Der Brucer found a cast iron sandwich press for himself, and a funnel with a strainer attachment for me. And then he found a surprise for Penny O before we found dinner at the Down Home Diner.
I think one of the reasons we keep going to Jack McDavid's restaurants is because der Brucer knows he "sort of" owes the man an apology from the first time. Several years ago, we went to McDavid's upscale Jack's Firehouse, and der Brucer, who had driven us to the place using "alternate" routes (meaning, he pretty well got us lost), told McDavid that it was too bad the place was in such a bad neighborhood. The look on Jack's face was not one of pleasure. In the thirty years since der B had been in the area, it had turned around and become one of the more desirable neighborhoods in the city. Unfortunately, we hadn't seen those changes due to our luckless route. And also unfortunately, we haven't run into Jack himself since that first time, but someday...
Der B told in yesterday's notes about his dinner. Me, I started with a tomato-basil soup, a clear soup tasting deeply of the tomatoes, absolutely wonderful. I followed this with the Carolina pulled pork platter, with sides of butter beans and the best fresh coleshaw I've ever had, not drenched in dressing but tangy and with a nice crunch. One more stop, as der Brucer had to have some ice cream from a favorite vendor.
On to the theater, to meet Penny. Only we got there way too early, so we stopped for a pint at a nearby bar. I'd forgotten what it's like to go to a bar where people can smoke while they sit next to you. Bleh.
Penny was thrilled to see us, and just as thrilled to see the roses we'd brought. OK, maybe that's an exaggeration, but she knew exactly how to work the roses into her show, took us into the theater to show us where our seats would be, and gave us our cue as to when to throw the roses onstage! Der Brucer also revealed his gift to Penny: some canelli he'd found at the Market. (I still think it would have been better if he'd waited until the end of the show, considering part of Penny's running commentary. She'll understand.)
Penny was in wonderful voice. She ranged from Verdi to Gershwin to Sondheim with ease. Her "Losing My Mind" was frankly better than Julia McKensie's. And she is a really good comic actress, as well! I'm glad I didn't botch the roses throw (for anyone wondering, this should be done more like tossing a frisbee, and not a Molotov cocktail).
After the show, we waited until the throngs died down before approaching her again. Pictures were taken, book was signed.
And too soon it was time to leave.
Penny, you were wonderful. Give your pianist, Peter de Mets, a hug from us, because he was really good, too, and I think he'd rather have you do the hugging than...well, never mind. And please thank David Spencer for his generous contribution to the evening.
It's very late, time for me to retire.
For some reason, I've got "I Could Have Danced All Night" running through my mind!