NewsWorks: Stuff We Like

Pete’s Clown House a colorful oasis on gray Juniata Park days

When you take a ride up Frankford Avenue — past the fancy beer halls, the coffee shops, and the ironic facial hair — the old King’s Highway turns from hipster to Teamster, and from coffee house to … well … Clown House.

(more Philly Love Notes)

Philadelphia food writer Joy Manning apostrophizes the Italian Market:

Dear Ninth Street:

I remember the first time we met, when I was a food-phobic suburban kid. Your hanging rabbit carcasses, hog’s heads, and whole fish stacked high in open sidewalk-facing containers rendered me speechless with anxiety.

Still, I loved your grease-streaked pizza slices, strong and stinky cheese samples, and crunchy, rich, chocolate chip cannoli. What I noticed even then was that you whispered something I couldn’t understand into my small ears about the future I would have and the food writer I would eventually become. You were giving me hints about how to be myself.

Warning: This will make you hungry.

A love letter from Andrew Thompson

This land is not dirty; it is the anti-clean. The two lots that comprise Farm 51 have, in character, taken over the house itself, and the inside and outside worlds become nearly indistinguishable. Animals roam between the two with relative flexibility, the dogs pushing the backdoor in and out, the cats slinking through the open slit of the side window. The stench of compost differs only in degree. The half-finished chicken coop is only slightly more inchoate than the living room. Spend enough time here and you give up ambitions for primness …