Rachel made sure I left Philly with a bang. Enter Monk’s. The Beer Bible–twenty pages of the beers offered at Monk’s. Fries famous in a couple states for their spice and the bourbon-mayonnaise dipping sauce.

And, of course, cheese steaks. You can even get one veggie-style, made with seitan. Considering that this was Philly and I was staring down my last opportunity for a cheese steak in the home of cheese steaks, I broke my informal policy against pretend meat and went for it.  Besides, when I asked for a recommendation from the server, she immediately named the veggie cheese steak as her favorite.  Who am I to argue?

Monk’s was dark. Really, really dark.  Forgive the flash.  Someday I will graduate to a camera more advanced than a point-and-shoot.

Here’s the thing I enjoyed about going out to eat in Philly. Even Monk’s, a pub kind of place, featured local vegetables on their sandwiches and local potatoes for their fries whenever possible. Monk’s is a Philadelphia institution; the place oozes local pride. To be fair, so does Philly in general. They take their sports teams seriously, farmer’s markets dot the city, the downtown showcases a local chocolate shop, visitors and residents can enjoy several shops featuring local artists, over 2,000 murals are splashed across the cityscape, and a multitude of small, independent restaurants have loyal followings in the city. All in all, Philly was full of excellent surprises. I’ll be filling in the gaps on my East Coast visit over the next few days as I get resettled. Stay tuned for more delicious tales of food!