Twelve days ago, after paying our bill at Barbuzzo, a restaurant in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, my wife and I exited the establishment and then walked a few blocks to Jefferson Station. There, we caught a train that returned us to our suburban town. Halfway between Barbuzzo and the station I said to Sandy, “This was a nice day.” I wasn’t the least bit surprised when she said she had been thinking the same thing.
Yup, our worries and woes were in hiding during the five and a half hours we spent in Philadelphia that Thursday, first at The Philadelphia Flower Show and then at Barbuzzo. I don’t know, maybe I’d been sprinkled with a heavy dose of magic dust before leaving home in the early afternoon, because I was cool, calm and collected in Philly, as relaxed as when I’m drifting off to sleep. Even the substantial crowd at the flower show didn’t bother me in the least. “Hell,” I said to myself, “everyone here has just as much right as I do to get up close and personal with the exhibits.” What? I, whose nerves often are easily jangled, actually felt that way? I did. I sure would love to be in such an at-ease frame of mind far more than I normally am. Will the transformation occur before my time expires on Planet Earth? Well, “miracles” are known to happen. But I’m not holding my breath.
I’ve been living in or near Philadelphia since the mid-1970s, but for decades never paid any attention to The Philadelphia Flower Show, a famed annual event. In 2016, though, almost on a whim, Sandy and I decided to go. I liked the experience, and now have attended five times. This year’s production, which ran for nine days, was as sweet as summer fruit, despite being held in a non-descript hall large enough to accommodate a number of jumbo jets.
Each year’s flower show has a theme, 2024’s being United By Flowers. I’m all for unity and, like just about everyone, am pro-flowers. So, I couldn’t go wrong. Excellent flowers were almost everywhere in the exhibits area. Ditto for other forms of flora. Sandy and I spent two and a half hours admiring the many installations, doubling back at times to re-examine the five or six that had particularly wowed us. We spent an additional 30 minutes wandering around the vendors section, where more products than you could shake a stick at — and not just horticultural items — were for sale.
Besides the beauty and creativity on display, was there anything else about the show I liked? Affirmative. I admired the diversity of people in attendance. They ranged in age from those that hadn’t yet reached their first birthday to old f*ckers such as me. A wide range of races and cultures were on the scene. And numerous folks with mobility issues didn’t let the enormity of the hall keep them away. Wheelchairs, motorized scooters and canes abounded.
Around 5:00 PM, Sandy and I heard dinner’s call. So, we bade farewell to the flower show and made our way to 13th Street. Philadelphia’s restaurant scene is amazingly strong, and a four-block-long section of 13th Street is one of the prime destinations for restaurant goers. We couldn’t get into Darling Jack’s Tavern, our first choice. But 50 feet away was Barbuzzo, an Italian eatery we’d passed many times but had never frequented. In we went. The place was mobbed, dimly lit and looked cozy. Could they accommodate us? Sure, but only at the chef’s counter, where two stools apparently had been waiting to greet our rear ends.
Happy with our perches, we watched meals being cooked five feet away from us, in pans sitting atop the burners of a stove as solid as an army tank. The burners’ flames, and those from the nearby wood-fueled pizza oven, kept us good and warm. I kept glancing at the oven, whose fury fascinated me. Its portrait was the only photo I took in the restaurant.
We kept things simple at Barbuzzo, whose menu ranges wide, opting for a salad, a Margherita pizza, beer and wine. Everything was delicious. And, before we knew it, it was time to head home.
At 8:06 PM, we arrived at Jefferson Station, giving us very little time to catch the 8:10 train. If we missed it, we would have had to wait an hour for the next one. F*ck that! But we didn’t miss it. Moving quickly through the waiting area and down the stairs, we reached the train platform just as the 8:10 was pulling in. Nice.
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