Another milestone of sorts, not the kind that most parents mark, however. While dining at Fork in Philadelphia (highly recommended), Isabella provided a possible glimpse into her future. While eating — she duck, me risotto, her dad branzino, our companion hangar steak — Isabella proclaimed that she had developed a rating scale for restaurants. One was for terrible, two was for okay, three was for good, and four was for excellent. The rating encompassed service, as well as food. Our evening at the highly-acclaimed Fork was nearly demoted to a three when I had to ask for a red wine refill twice. All was restored when Fork’s owner delivered my vino. This is a sophisticated use of language in a conceptual way. It’s all good.
Today we made our way to the Reading Terminal Market. (I did not care for it when I visited a few years ago, but I thought I’d give it another try.) We were starved because it was eleven am and we hadn’t eaten. I spotted a diner that I heard mentioned on NPR because a celebrity couple dined there. Okay, if it’s good enough for the rich and famous, Isabella and I should be satisfied. My oatmeal was room temperature, clumpy, overcooked and enough for four. We’re not certain what Isabella was served. So my daughter came up with another rating — zero for it sucks.