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Ralph's Restaurant
Philadelphia, PA
Fall 1995
I am a the hospital, visiting my colleague who is gravely ill. Her husband and daughter are at her bedside. I am with another colleague and the moment, though trying, is great fun. As we are laughing, we notice that Lynn is fading. She needs to rest but she doesn't want us to go as we all live two hours away and it will be another few days before she has any more company.
so we compromise. we will go to dinner and she will take a nap and then we will check in again before we back the two hour drive back home.
I ask my three friends where they want to go for dinner. Italian food is the unanimous choice.
"I am going to take you to the best Italian restaurant in Philly", I tell them, filled with self-assuredness.
"You should know a good place", Rich says. "After all, you're from Philly."
Susan asks for the name of the place.
"I don't know", I confess.
"What, then how are we going to find it?"
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," unconcerned about this minor detail. We pile in my car and head to South Philadelphia, home of the Italian market and the heart of the Italian-American neighborhood. I drive slowly and then I spot an huge, fat man. I pull over and roll down my window.
"Excuse me, sir," I shout out. "Can you recommend a great restaurant around here?"
He looks up and down the street, "North or South?"
"What?"
"Northern Italian Cuisine or Southern, which one you like better?"
I shrug my shoulders and shout back, "South?"
"Then you got to go to Ralph's, its right up the street. It's the best for southern cuisine. You can't go wrong at Ralph's."
"Great, Thanks," I tell him and roll up my window.
Dick asks, "What's the difference between Northern and Southern cuisines?"
"I don't know," I said. "I just answered before a food lesson started."
And we do go to ralph's and the food is great and we all leave satisfied with our meal.
