Walnut Street

I recently returned from a trip to Philadelphia, where I was attending an investment adviser compliance conference {have I already put you to sleep?}. I used to get excited to travel to big cities, particularly those oozing with history, such as Philadelphia. I am at a point in my life and career where traveling alone, for business, just isn't all that intriguing anymore. Nonetheless, I was not excited for this trip.

I arrived on Sunday evening. The weather was perfect and there was enough daylight to hit the pavement and checkout the city. I've heard many accounts from non-Utah natives about how dead Salt Lake is on a Sunday afternoon. Newsflash: so is Philadelphia. There was not much going on. I eventually found Walnut Street where I could tell, despite the Sunday afternoon lull, that this was "it." I eventually came to Rittenhouse Square where there was an art festival taking place. Unfortunately I got there as it was ending and the booths were beginning to pack up for the day, but I could feel the vibe. I took note of all the high-end shops such as Armani and Leon Max that I would never enter, especially wearing my $40 H&M jeans and $5 Target golf shirt. I'm too insecure for the up-down look I'd surely get from the sales people so I just imagined myself in 'that' dress, through the window. I also noted the restaurants along the street. One particular that caught my eye was Pietro's Coal Oven Pizzeria. They had sidewalk seating, which I love, and the place was hoppin' so I knew it must be good. The next night this is where I went to dinner.

I was seated inside the restaurant, but that was OK since the outside window/wall opened up so it actually felt like I was outside. I really wanted to order a slice of pizza, but my only option was to order a whole pizza. That didn't make a lot of sense since I was alone and surely I'd eat the entire thing. So I got the Pollo al Funghi. I was disappointed in my meal, not because it didn't taste alright, but because I was really hoping it was like the Chicken Picante at Alforno's. It wasn't even close. I indulged in the Bomba Gellato for dessert knowing I'd have to run a half marathon to burn the calories. It was worth it. I imagined that G would walk by and notice me sitting there. He'd come in, give me a kiss and we'd engage in good conversation.