Posted on 07/23/2003 2:03:34 PM PDT by martin_fierro
The Strip: 24 hours in Pittsburgh's revitalized warehouse district means 24 hours of feasting and fun.
Get a taste of what awaits you in print from this compelling excerpt.
Early one morning at Primanti Brothers, in the middle of Pittsburgh's Strip District, Antonia Corradetti is constructing a sandwich so big it would make Dagwood blanch. A fixture behind the long diner counter, she flips a wad of just grilled corned beef onto a thick slice of Italian bread. Then, yanking a basket of oil-dripping french fries directly from the deep fryer, she plunges her bare hand into the heap, extracts a fistful of steaming potatoes, and smashes them on top of the beef, so you can hear the sizzle when the smoking spuds greet the meat. Surprised there is no echoing sizzle coming from Corradetti's hand, I'm ready to dial 911, but she seems indifferent to her five-finger fire walk.
"I've only been doing this for 28 years," she says with a shrug, in a strong Italian accent.
"I can do a thousand of these an hour." But the pain? "Well the first time I did it, it was kinda hot, but the grill is a good conditioner." Corradetti laughs, holding out beautifully manicured hands as soft as a baby's cheek.
Locals call Corradetti's literal handiwork the official Strip sandwichnot just because others have copied it but because it mirrors the district's own history. Dating back to 1933, when the Strip was still the exclusive turf of wholesalers delivering produce out of mammoth brick warehouses, the sandwich was aimed at a fail-proof market. For the truckers, who were Strip royalty, nothing tasted better than the meat-and-potatoes meal they could hold in one big hand, while they steered with the other.
Now the sandwich is consumed mostly by late-night clubbers, but it still signifies the way the Strip guards its traditions, starting with its own defining look. Forget designer makeovers. You can see Pittsburgh's high-rises in the near distance, just to the south, but the restless development largely stops at the Strip's border, where the hulking brick buildings still throw long shadows like something out of a Hopper painting.
The district's survival, though, was never a sure thing. It underwent a slow decline that began in the Depression, when the warehouses first started to lose business. But by the 1970s the wholesalers were opening retail shops, and by the '90s a fresh generation of style setters had moved in, launching the boutiques, galleries, and dance clubs now lining Penn Avenue, the Strip's version of Main Street. The inevitable conversion of warehouses into lofts followed, and the Strip morphed from homey to high style.
(Excerpt) Read more at magma.nationalgeographic.com ...
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Hey, look! Willie Green made the article, too! <|:)~
Nonsense.
Why, just last week I ... nevermind.
<|:)~
MZ - we ate at the Serb Center tonight and had "Serbian" cole slaw with our fish dinners. It bore some resemblance to Primanti's!
And I did stop at Primanti's in the Strip with my buddies on the way home from a drinking binge a few times...somehow I got away with parking my car in the dark alley that also served as an unsanitary facility without plumbing.
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