Lunch for the Pope

“I’d give him a marinated grilled chicken with spinach and sharp provolone on a long roll, with a salad,” John said with a sidelong glance toward the kitchen. He wiped his ruddy nose on the tan hand-towel around his neck and looked back and forth from empty chairs to his view of 21^st St. A few people with matching t-shirts and lanyards strolled by.  The blocks of center city were a patchwork of mobbed checkpoint areas and one-ways, empty but for a few cyclers going the wrong way.

On the Saturday afternoon just a few hours before the pope was expected to process around Independence Mall, Tony’s Restaurant was entirely deserted. But let’s just say, hypothetically, that the pope himself were to walk in for lunch. John would make him a sandwich. “I gotta cheesesteak too, but I think my chicken’s better.”

The pope would get a Brat Burger and beer if Ty at Shakeshack took care of him. A hamburger topped with flat top griddled bacon, a cheddar stuffed brat, crispy shallots and a ShackMeister Ale. “Or maybe a pope-dog,” the store manager said. “With a hat on top.”

Shakeshack was slow as well, and Ty told me they were dead on Friday. “We way over-ordered,” he said. A common issue, as restaurants had to place orders by Thursday because of restricted delivery and most expected to be exceptionally busy.

A quick stop for something to snack on while waiting for a glimpse of the pope, Capogiro’s on 20^th seemed to be faring well. “I’m sure everyone wants to serve him Dulce de Leche, but I think we have the best,” a woman behind the case said. It’s the pope’s favorite flavor of gelato and it’s been hugely popular recently. They make the Argentinian caramel in-house – sweet, balanced, and rich.

Village Whiskey stayed busy with their grill station on the street. Jose would serve him the Village Burger of course - house ground beef with tomato, Bibb lettuce, and 1000 island dressing. The pope seems like a well-done kind of guy, we agreed.

Almaz and her son sat behind the counter at their empty Ethiopian café on 20^th. “It’s okay,” the owner shrugged. “As long as our city’s happy it’s good.” She’d serve Pope Francis something sweet: a fresh mango smoothie.

A few blocks down the street, Rotisseur was exceptionally slow as well. “We’ve had fifeteen tickets today,” Aaron, who started the restaurant four and a half years ago, said. “This is the slowest day since we’ve opened.”

This Pope weekend was majorly hyped; restaurants in center city expected a deluge of patrons on Saturday. What they got instead were pilgrims. “The idea that they were all going to come here and be tourists was so naive,” Aaron said. “These people are here for one thing, and that is to see the pope.”

Aaron suspected that chain and big-name restaurants in Center City were doing okay. “For the rest of us, we’re screwed.” He estimated a $6000 loss in expected revenue for the weekend, a setback that could take a restaurant of his size more than a month to make up. “I still have hope – faith I should say,” but he warned me, he was bitter.

A slight eye-roll at my question. “Oh, we’d give him everything.”