Sometimes 100 miles makes 10,000 leagues of difference.
In some parts of the world countries aren't even 100 or 200 miles across. The 3 or 4 hour car ride to your Grandma's house as a child might, say if you're in Europe, require one or two passport checks. Charming. Each little country, rich with history and culture nested next to one another. They share so much, climates, mountain ranges, rivers, sky, and now currency, but keep to themselves sparse little tokens that are uniquely theirs.
Conversely, in this manifestly destined monster of a nation, spanning from sea to shining sea, its sometimes difficult to find the small, quirky, geographic/cultural intricacies. Today grits are readily available in the north, Blue Collar TV and NASCAR are national interests (?!?), and people who don't know what scrapple is probably don't want to know anyway.
Recently I came across a few things that have evaded monolithic, coast-to-coast exposure–
Jawn noun. slang, can replace any noun. I was surprised at people's confused looks when I would substitute 'jawn' for any word I couldn't recall quite fast enough during conversation. This is fairly common in Philadelphia, which I had for years considered a major metropolitan city. Plus I was positive that "jawn" had made it onto MTV by now and was a fully integrated piece of hip youth vernacular.
Water Ice noun. It's not a snow cone, its not gelato, and don't you dare call it Italian ice. It's just water ice, damn it, and its fucking delicious. A good friend of mine who just transplanted to Portland, Oregon was enjoying a beautiful pre-Spring day when he mentioned that it was in fact a perfect day for a walk with the dog and some water ice. After a several minute explanation to his native roommate both were frustrated with one another's positions on the subject. "Ice is water!" she exclaimed, "I can't even process this!"
Philly sandwich or Philly style For someone who isn't that big of a meat-eater, cheesesteaks are oddly a frequent topic of my conversations. I'm not a health-nut, but I have been essentially brainwashed by a raging vegan nutritionist who has drastically increased my gastro-intenstinal longevity and overall well-being at the expense of life's little pleasures (ie. delicious food.) Thusly, I have not, since my move to New York, had a cheesesteak.
"What makes a steak sandwich a Philly sandwich?" I'm asked constantly*. To which I reply something along the lines of "If you have to ask, you'll never know." Truth is, I don't suppose anyone, not Pat, Geno, or Jim could make a convincing argument, so now that I am pressed to do so, this is mine:
Philly Cheesesteak, noun, A sandwich of steak and varying accoutrement procured after marathon drinking at Ministry (or other fine establishment) at 4 in the morning with your dog and 3 best friends at the unmarked row-home-turned-midnight-grill on the otherwise bulldozed and barren corner of Henry & Girard where all other patrons are equally or supercedingly fucked up and ready to slur last-ditch effort pick up lines. This includes the cook who also wears a pistol in the belt of his pants as a friendly reminder to not pull any shit while his back is turned.
And just for the record, cheesesteak is one word.
*No, seriously, I get this all the time.
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