The Fruit of Heaven

Legend tells of an age when mankind was suffering. Their lands were desolate, their stomachs were empty. What little food they found was bitter, like the earth, eaten only for sustenance, no joy was to be had in it. Then God, in the midst of their tribulation, heard their cries for help. He reached down to them and eased their misery with the perfect sandwich, the Philadelphia Cheesesteak from Penn Station. And the people rejoiced.

But then some of them began to grumble. Some cried out for chicken, others for ham. "We want to eat fresh!" they cried in their insolence. And so God afflicted them with Subway. After countless lettuce-filled foot-longs on Italian bread, Penn Station faded from memory. Stories turned to rumors, rumors turned to legend. And some things that should never be forgotten passed from memory. And everyone died.

I just made that up.

But here's a fact: the cheesesteak from Penn is the greatest sandwich on the planet. True story: sometime in the not so distant past, I discovered that you could get an 8" cheesesteak for under $3. The results were almost disastrous. Nevertheless, it remains my favorite sandwich. If there was any possible way to literally live inside food, I would live inside a Philly Cheesesteak from Penn. If I could name my children after a food item, they would be Philly for a girl, and Cheese Steak for a boy. If I were elected the president of health and nutrition for America, I would designate a whole new food group: The Cheesesteak group. It would be the best food group of them all.

I'm still trying to convince my wife, however, that Philadelphia is in Pennsylvania.

I said too much.