jim's steaks

"Daddy, look! There's another one!" Dressed in pink and snuggled warmly in her father's arms, blond hair blowing in the wind, the three-year-old girl pointed to a taxi that had just pulled up to the curb in front of Jim's. The light rain steadily picked up, yet the prospect of getting drenched did not deter any of us from standing in the line that snaked out the front door of the restaurant and wound itself around the side of the building. In fact, the line continued to lengthen despite the increased precipitation. Jim's famed steak and cheese subs may well have been Odysseus's sirens.





I don't think the little girl anticipated the food as much as the rest of us did, but she became more animated as we inched closer and closer to the door. Still pointing out taxis, her eyes darted from one face to another, soaking in the grease-induced excitement mixed with weather-induced dread. We arrived at the door, crossed its threshold, and... the line continued to snake back and forth inside, offering no immediate reassurance that we would ever have the chance to place our order. Was their food really worth the wait?



I did the only thing I could do to distract myself from the thick air reeking of grilled steak, sweet onions, and peppers: I took photos. Heath cautioned me to be ready for my turn. Know my options and what I want when I get to the counter, else incur the cook's wrath. I rehearsed my choices in my mind: steak, American cheese, peppers, onions. Little by little I moved forward, making faces at the little girl and fielding her brother's curious glances at my camera. I should have offered to let him snap a photo or two, but the thought did not cross my mind then.



When it came my turn to order, the slow-motion of the long wait fast-forwarded to a pace that I did not anticipate. I panicked and forgot my order! Fearing the embarrassment that the cook would lay upon me, I said the first thing that came to mind: provolone. I stuttered the rest, forcing "peppers and onions" from my airless lungs, and as I watched the cook slap several round slices of cheese onto the bun, I quickly realized my mistake: I wanted square cheese.



...more photos of Jim's Steaks and my trip to Philadelphia here