Plate after plate of potato salad makes everyone uncomfortable. I know, because I’m pitied at cookouts. Thanksgivings are worse: touching the turkey like tainted goods, skipping the stuffing with giblets and au ju, waiting for green bean casserole like some sort of a godsend.
Those nightmares were recalled as I stood in line at 9th and Passyunk. A few minutes later, a soggy lump of simple carbs and gummy beef landed at the bottom of my stomach, transporting me back to a glutton’s heaven that no tofu can reach.