CHEESESTEAK!!
That’s right, bitches and bastards, I found a fucking cheesesteak that wasn’t in goddamned Dinkytown. Instead, it’s in Hawthorne, which is where the white people are afraid to go.
Seriously, read anything about Minneapolis and you’ll find most of the very “polite” “well meaning” criticisms made by white folks in this town are aimed at North Minneapolis where, huh, what a strange correlation, there’s a lot of black people. So it goes then, that when the lady who made that parody map of Minneapolis a few years ago and labeled (all of) North Minneapolis (the black part) the “Compton of the North” - and let’s face it, all midwesterners know about Compton is what NWA told them in the nineties and that it’s “black” - she tried to say some shit like she never intended for it to be racist when bitch that’s all it’s about is race! You can’t walk that back and you’re why nobody trusts white people! We had a good thing going in Minnefuckingapolis and you showed up and, yup, racist shit! Do you know how many people of color I had to apologize to on behalf of all pale folks because of your idiot ass!?
Can I please stop using italics now?
Anyway, race shit: Yeah, I walked in to Pappy’s and I was, aside from the Russian guy behind the counter the only white guy in there. It was like a sitcom scene where somebody walks in the room and the jukebox scratches the record. Like that. There were six people in there and they all looked at me, the lone honky, must be lost, probably in here to ask for directions to Lake Harriet or some white shit. Wait a minute. Is he -? Is - ? Oh, shit, whitey’s ordering a sandwich! For here! What the fuck is the world coming to?
RACIST! (And I’m not even sure in which direction.)
Anyway, I’d been wanting to try Pappy’s ever since Open Streets North Minneapolis - read: The Only Time Open Streets Went To North Minneapolis But None Of Their Corporate Sponsors Did And It Was The Best Open Streets Ever With Live Music And Grills And Smokers Doing Up Chickens And Half-Hogs And A Bunch Of Bootleg T-Shirts Of Hendrix, Marley, And Biggie. Alas, I didn’t make it then but today? Today I biked thirty seven miles - tell my doctor that - and I needed to stop at around mile thirty anyway for a little break and I figured, “Fuck it, let’s go to Pappy’s,” except I forgot its name was Pappy’s so it was more like, “Fuck it, let’s go to that cheesesteak joint.” They have catfish and gyros and Italian beefs and hotdogs but I wasn’t interested in that. I wanted a cheesesteak.
Kid takes my order and tells me it’ll be ten minutes. Usually I would balk (no I wouldn’t) but I needed a rest. (Hell, I still need a rest.) So I sit at my table and drink my orange Gatorade and I notice my ticket says my cashier’s name is Debra.
Hold on, we’re going to get racist again!
…
And misogynist!
I think to myself, “Debra? A man named… Is that a… black… thing?”
I know I know I know, identity politicians, we live in a post-irony world where you’re going to petition for me to lose my job for that line. Check your Twitter accounts for how many mayonnaise jokes you’ve made about white people this month. We’re on the same goddamned side, OK? Chill out.
Anyway, I’m sitting there, listening to numbers get called out and I wait for mine, eighty eight - ironic that the honky gets eighty eight - and then everybody leaves and then Debra comes out to wipe down some tables and then he looks at me and says, “Oh, your sandwich is ready.”
I get up and go to the pick-up window and the Russian guy says, “Ticket.”
I left it on the table, I didn’t know that was the process here. I grab my ticket and the Russian guy hands me my sandwich and says something to me in Russian and I go back to my table, open the container, and -
AAAHHH, shit! White cheese. (That part’s not racist.) Is this going to be Sysco provolone? Am I going to be disappointed with my whole life right now? Jesus Fuck Me Christ. OK, let’s bite into this and just hate everything and go home and cancel date night because I’m busy putting my head in the fucking oven.
No.
No.
This is white American (not racist) cheese! This is that salty tangy ooey gooey cheese. And it’s enveloping peppers and onions that are sautéed to al dente perfection and the meat is seasoned perfectly and cooked just up to well and it’s all saddled in a fluffy white bun with a forgiving and flaky crust and holy shit, this… this might be better than Frank from Philly.
That’s right. I’m saying it. I’m making a declarative statement like a fucking man. Kafe Nasty, take this down: Pappy’s is better than Frank from Philly. The bread isn’t right but does it have to be that one brand of bread? You don’t get a cheese option like Whiz but isn’t melted American - white or yellow - a superior option in terms of consistency since it doesn’t just slide out all over the place? They know that cheesesteaks are supposed to be meat and cheese and onions and peppers so you don’t have to ask, they just put it on there. That’s what they do.
So, if your lily white ass can just be cool about this shit and not Columbus all over it, I encourage you to go give Pappy’s your money. You won’t be disappointed. Tell Debra I say “What’s up?”
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