Got me again...

On Tuesday, after spending a frustrating day in the hot and dusty Pennsylvania Convention Center inhaling the exhaust from the mini-cranes and forklifts that were whizzing around the main ballroom as I attempted to set up my company's demo, I returned to the hotel in search of some dinner. My boss had just arrived after his flight delays and called me to chat and arrange dinner plans. I had eaten some soul food at Delilah's earlier in the day for lunch and managed to partake in a hoagie sandwich from Carmen's Famous Hoagies in what I was calling my late afternoon snack, but I was really looking forward to a nice dinner.

The previous evening after flight delays of my own, I lolly-gagged a little too much getting out of the hotel and ended up eating at a place called the Marathon Grill. It wasn't bad food, but was just completely unspectacular in a late-night Denny's sort of way. It was food though, and I didn't have to resort to the over priced room service menu or be couped up in my room waiting for the delivery either. (I'd save that ritual for breakfast.) Where was I? Yes, eating dinner, that's where. On the phone, my boss sounded equally as hungry as I was and should be game for whatever restaurant I might suggest. He had even asked me what kind of food I was feeling like eating. I stayed in character, being as curiously non-committal as I could be while still conveying the sufficient desperation commensurate with someone whose stomach was growling with the intensity of a lion at this point.

When I reached the hotel lobby, I saw him standing there, waiting patiently for me to arrive but still with a sunny disposition. I told him that I'd hurry to my room so that I could set my computer bag down and then would hustle back so that we could be on our way. I returned in just about no-time-flat to find him still standing there. The two of us started to walk toward the front door of the hotel toward the taxi stand when he stopped and asked, "What do you feel like?" once again, as if he had reservations, but not the type that would guarantee you a seat at one of Philadelphia's fine eating establishments. I threw out the names of a couple places and described the cuisine as he made a face suggesting his disapproval. "Is there anything to eat here at the hotel?", he asked as if he had been standing in the lobby this whole time with a blindfold and was unaware both of the 2 restaurants and of the notion that there were several hotel employees including a concierge within 10 feet of where he had been standing this whole time. It turned out that the Philip's Seafood in the lobby was closed since it was getting late and the other place in the lobby was much more of a bar than anything, so I was supremely confident that we would still be dining off the premises. When he decided that we should eat at the bar, and endure its very limited "bar" menu I thought I would fall to the floor and kick and scream like a pouting 4 year old child that refuses to leave the toy aisle at the grocery store until his mother agrees to buy him the red fire engine. Really, that crossed my mind. Somehow, I kept my composure.

Tonight, with many more choices at my disposal since it was only 7pm and another co-worker in the fold as well, I was not worried about a repeat of that fiasco. It seemed like Mediterranean or maybe even American cuisine was going to be the fare for this evening when my boss suddenly had a revelation. "Do you think they have a really good steak?" he asked me, as if I were holding the menu of either of the suggested locales in my hand. I answered that I suspected they'd have a steak available and tried to keep us all moving toward the taxi stand. When he repeated his desire for the red meat once again, I enlisted the help of the concierge, more as a token gesture than anything. Much to my chagrin, the concierge suggested a Brazilian steak house. This was not exactly what I had in mind after eating hoagies, cheesesteaks, and grits and scrapple all week. Some pretty food would have been infinitely more desireable than a red meat extravaganza. I wanted something tasty and interesting, not something that would sit on my stomach like a ton of bricks, and definitely not something all you could eat like a churrascarria, and a swanky one at that. My other co-worker was no help either, being just as polite and agreeable as I was pretending to be. All at once I remembered why I enjoy traveling alone so much.