Coney Island Lunch!

Pennsylvania is a strange place. James Carville described Pennsylvania as Philadelphia and Pittsburgh with Alabama in between. It makes for some interesting characters for sure.

This weekend was filled with all types of Pennsylvania. The most memorable occurred this Sunday. My daughter attended the Indoor Soccer State Cup hosted in Scranton, PA. Home of da'U and the fictional Dunder Mifflin. It is an interesting place with interesting architecture and interesting food.


My husband is an alumnus of da'U. He has met some incredible people there and looks back fondly, especially at particular teachers who helped to form his world view. Last summer we found ourselves passing by the exit for Scranton. He veered off the interstate and barked, "Quick, google texas wieners, scranton!" I did and this came up - Coney Island Lunch. I punched the address into the GPS. As we followed the directions, John muttered under his breath, "This is wrong. I don't remember it being in this area. Wrong..." The sign came into view. John announced that the sign was right, but the location wrong. "They have a beat up black and white tile floor. I will know it is the right place if the floor is right." We walked through the door. No black and white tiled floor. John went right up to the counter and spoke with the waitress. Coney Island Lunch had moved. In 1987! Talk about feeling old.

We sat at a formica booth with vinyl seats. The texas wieners are served with dusseldorf mustard, fresh onions and chili on a local National Bakery roll. The hot dog is split and grilled on a flat grill until crispy. The National Bakery roll is almost square and the split hot dog fits perfectly. It is soft and a delicious home for the dog, uh, I mean wiener.


We are not big chili dog fans so we all ordered our wieners with dusseldorf mustard and sauerkraut. Fries with a side order of gravy and fountain birch beer rounded out the lunch. Wow. It is a colossal experience. One dog was enough for me, but it seems that the thing to do is to start with two and continually order until you are stuffed. The local tables all ordered several times, as well as John.

I highly suggest that if you find yourself in the Scranton area, stop in. Michaela and I grabbed the opportunity this weekend. John was so jealous. In 1923 a Greek immigrant built Coney Island Lunch and has since been serving a delicious dog. The place is a haven for baseball lovers. The walls are decorated in the local Yankee's history, as well as neighboring Wilkes-Barre's Red Barons. It is a fantastic place. Trust.

Oh, did I mention that a Texas Wiener is $2.05? Huge. Leaves plenty to splurge on the rice pudding.

I LOVE LUNCH!!

Lunch is highly underrated! To our great detriment, Americans are incredibly hardworking. What are you talking about? Smoking crack again? Nope, not this time. We work so hard, that we rarely savor lunch. Lunch is something we grab and slam! Possibly even in the car! It is not fair. Have I mentioned that John and I live to travel? No, really - I thought I mentioned that. We work hard to play hard.

Part of playing hard is taking a ludicrously long lunch, Italian-style or Brazilian-style, while on vacation. We are not eating alone. We have joined others on their lunch "hour." I look at the next table: wine, pasta, salad, cheese and yes, dessert with more wine AND conversation, laughter and sometimes arguments. It is a blast.

One summer we were in Venice with my kids and my lovely in-laws. Europeans tend to eat later than Americans. We arrived (starving) around noon to a fantastic restaurant that was recommended by one of our favorite regulars, Sr. Carlos Basualdo. The man not only knows art, he knows food. Our early arrival was greeted with, "Now? You want lunch now?" We smiled sheepishly, "Si, ho fame!" They replied that they, the staff and kitchen, were going to sit down for a quick bite, but they would happily seat us with some bread sticks and water if we did not mind waiting. The smells coming from the kitchen were too much and we agreed. Eating well in Venice can be challenging. It is a city based on tourism and with that comes terrible restaurants. Y'all know what I mean.

Our table, shaded by umbrellas, was situated outside by a small canal. The restaurant was in a neighborhood that once harbored the city's prostitutes and there was a Ponte de le Tette (Bridge of..well, Boobs) to our side. It was quiet except for the clinks of silverware and the murmurs of conversation along with one heated argument followed by roars of laughter coming from the restaurant. Occasionally, someone would appear with two more bottles of water and a fresh basket of bread. It was an out and out lunch party. 90 MINUTES LATER, the same attractive polite man who sat us, came out and handed us menus with a pleasant smile. My little guy was about to cry.

We quickly ordered. Immediately, individual glass bowls of perfectly fried whole shrimp, no larger than a dime, were delivered salty and hot. Compliments of the chef. After the first glass of wine, we started to laugh. Two and 1/2 hours later, while my little guy slept leaning against the restaurant's outer wall, we were finished. Our stomachs hurt from the glorious lunch and from laughing so hard. The neighboring tables were finishing up as well. Business men and women, not tourists, returned to where they first came. It was a monumental lunch for the Reitano Clan, but just lunch for others.

Why can't lunch be more important? Since moving to our Big Kitchen, lunch is survival. I don't want pizza or subs everyday. I want a delicious salad or fried chicken from Meme. I want long lunches. I cannot have them. I am American. I can have some delicious soup from Capo with a perfectly toasted panini. If I cannot have the time, I must have the quality. Join me, Love Lunch. Improv Everywhere agrees!