Coca-Cola Corner

Here’s a photo from a corner in Slatington, Pennsylvania, USA. I’m not sure what the name of this place is, either Kurt’s Korner or Homeslate Sports Bar. Kurt’s has the sign above, but Homeslate shows up on the Coca-Cola painting on the wall.

Doesn’t matter. I’ve driven past this place about three hundred thousand times in my life. Okay, not that many but I grew up a couple of towns away and this place was frequently on my route to somewhere else, especially when fuel was cheap. Ah, those were the days, sometimes.

As might be gleaned from the name of the town, Slatington was once surrounded by slate quarries. It was a prosperous business for a while, especially before the advent of asphalt shingles. All those roofs of a  growing America needed something to keep the rain off of our ancestors. Of course, nothing lasts forever. The slate pits filled with water after they were abandoned.

I’ve been known to crisscross the northeast United States in search of such places. Sometimes I find people who were alive during the glory days of these old-time industries. They love to chat about the past. Often times they explain unique solutions to everyday living that were actually commonplace in an age before computers and modern appliances.

As mentioned before, I’m going to start photographing these people and writing down as much of what I learn from them as is practical. At the moment, I can’t remember where, but various historians are taking oral histories from people in order to build a record of the past that is from many more first-hand sources. It seems like I’m duplicating their efforts. Nonetheless, why not? In the first place, those who have gone before me deserve a record of their accomplishments. Second, who knows what comes of such writing? I remember my early days in Aruba. Plenty of people told me stories about the island and their lives. Then, some years later, I was writing An Island Away. If not for the people I met there, the story would never have come about.

Just like the Coca-Cola tagline, my thinking is that life… “It’s the real thing.”

Published in: on July 3, 2008 at 2:26 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The Best Philadelphia Cheesesteak

This post actually continues where the one about the best roast pork sandwich left off. As mentioned previously, John’s Roast Pork in Philadelphia is the oracle of the griddle, the mecca of artery mashing food. And so, we come to THE BEST PHILADELPHIA CHEESESTEAK, and again, bar none, John’s produces it. Don’t even entertain the idea of going to those other joints you’ve seen on the Travel Channel or some other half-baked joint written up in a lame journal of culinary culpitude.

Here it is, in all it’s glory:

This is a better photo than the one I had from the pork sandwich. (Rest assured, that pork sandwich is drop dead good and just as loaded as the one above. Trust me and my heart surgeon. I am not kidding.) Notice the fullness, the lean beef, the melted-in provolone. Is this thing just the greatest or what? Yeah, I put some sauce on it, too. There’s hot peppers and fried onions integrated into the mix while on the grill. The flavor permeates the first layer of that handsome roll. The crust stands firm, yielding the subtlety of sesame seeds on the outside and meaty freshness on the inside.

Here’s a closer shot:

I mowed this down one bite at a time. My wife, to my astonishment, managed to finish one of her own. Impressive. However, no one beats my cousin. He was working with me on the pier one day and we came here for lunch. He ate two (yeah, that’s double, dos, a two-fer) on that day. This was something to behold and he nearly blacked out. The guy knows what he likes and likes what he knows.

Anyway, always enjoy your cheesesteak with ICE COLD Coca-Cola. Everything is better that way.

Published in: on June 25, 2008 at 12:49 pm  Comments (4)  
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A Friendly Corner

There I was in Madrid, Spain, hankering for my Coca-Cola. I could have taken one from the fridge in my room. The place where I stay knows me well and always provides a fresh stock of my favorite beverage. But that wouldn’t put me in the thrall of the city. I didn’t have to venture very far. Diagonally across the street from my door was this little market.

The people working there might have been straight from central casting. There was a husband and wife team, both about five feet tall and exhibiting that charming helpfulness that makes every visit to the store a joy. It took them two tries to peg me as American. They quickly begged forgiveness for the graffiti on the wall outside their store. I told them it meant nothing to me, that I was in search of an ice-cold Coca-Cola. Still, they were ashamed that someone had defiled their corner. They didn’t want me or any other visitors to get the impression that their neighborhood was full of bad people. I said in my shabby Spanish that this is one of the nicest neighborhoods in all of Madrid. They agreed but shook a fist at some kids who needed a lesson or two. I purchased the Coke, a few small items, and took my leave.

Those shopkeepers are a declining breed, not only in Spain but the world over. They’re the ones who will chat with you, take an interest in the neighborhood, and tell you to ask for their friend, who on their recommendation, will treat you like family at a local restaurant. Patronize them whenever you can. It’s a genuine experience that makes a trip memorable.

As always, ENJOY! Coca-Cola ICE COLD.

Published in: on June 23, 2008 at 10:16 am  Comments (3)  
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A Brief Reminder

Here’s a photo of a fading Coca-Cola sign, this one taken in Aruba.

People ask me why I’m such a big fan of Coca-Cola. Well, it goes back a long way, my whole life actually. You see, my grandfather worked for Coca-Cola Bottling of New York. They owned the local bottling works in the next town over from where I grew up. He drove a delivery truck, hauling various products to stores and restaurants located around the area. The company treated my grandfather very well. When he finally retired they gave him an expensive clock, which I only learned much later was powered by the changes in atmospheric pressure. It’s a long explanation exactly how. Suffice it to say it works with a barometer that acts as a winding device so you don’t have to wind it. For the company to give him such an expensive gift was a remarkable gesture. Sadly, my grandfather died young, as many of his generation did, a victim of cancer. I remember going a few places with him, the local fire house where he liked to meet his friends was one in particular.

But it’s more than just loyalty to my grandfather. I like the taste of the product. Some people may not like it, but Coke is a universal symbol of Americana. I’ve been many places in this world and buying a stranger a Coke is not a bad way to break the ice or start a friendship. It doesn’t have to be complicated. It’s simple. A properly chilled and served Coke goes a long way to refresh and inspire. I can’t pour one without being reminded of my grandfather. Funny how things remind us of people, isn’t it?

As always, ENJOY Coca-Cola, ICE COLD.

Published in: on June 18, 2008 at 12:24 pm  Comments (2)  
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