The biggest, baddest issue of Philadelphia Magazine, the “Best of” issue, is out and I gave it a quick read.
No matter how many times they assure me advertisers can’t “buy” their way into the section (I kind-of believe that) I know many people/businesses/events are in for no other reason than they are a favorite of some staffer, editor, owner. Totally understandable.
This year, while there was no listing for best politician, best TV anchor, best columnist (which I won a couple of years back, thanks, in a decision, I’m told, that divided the staff between the acute and Know-Nothings), there was a “best Philadelphians” mish-mash, including the Daily News’ crack crime reporter Dave Gambacorta.
So I breeze through the “bests” — I don’t need “mancare” or a personal trainer and I know what restaurants I like — using it as a guide to what (the editors think) is hip at the moment.
The thing of it is that, bottom level, the idea of “best” is often subjective. What’s a “best” restaurant to you is fruffy and over-priced to me. I don’t care who the “best chef” is at this instant.
I’m not going to dissect the bests.
I am going to say that Liz Spikol’s “The Lost City” was the best read in the mag.
Why? It’s subjective. She’s writing about the Center City she grew up in, that I lived in, in the ‘70s and her memoir — mentioning long-closed delis, arcades, movie theaters — brought back memories to me.
In her roundup of the way things were, she listed the Duck Lady, the Pigeon Lady, “the incense vendors, all those hookers at Broad and 13th….”
Broad and 13th?
I am having trouble picturing that intersection.
OK, Liz had a brain fart. It happens to every writer. She meant 13th and Locust, or 15th and Locust, or Broad and Wharton.
Where were the editors?
Maybe checking out the best cocktails at Garage (best new bar).