Eat Your Filladelphia - Royal Tavern

Like grocery shopping, writing this blog is something I probably shouldn't be doing on an empty stomach. Then again, perusing the NYTimes' Dining & Wine section is probably not something I should do to comfort myself when I forget to bring lunch to work. But such are the complexities of being Don Bito.


Complexities like this.

And so it is with all the vigor and gusto of a menial office-worker waiting out an interminable shift so that she can get the eff home and microwave her leftover broccoli and meatball pizza that I bring you this blog. Shall we call it a review? That probably requires a more objective opinion. And I have very little use for such things. In the interest of honesty, let us instead call this "an ode to Royal Tavern."

Oh, Royal Tavern.

The first time I visited Royal Tavern I was, shall we say, not sober, and starving. A friend of mine, a culinary connoisseur in her own mind, was carting us to South Philly in her gray Volvo asswagon, listing in mouth-watering detail every single ingredient in Royal Tavern's nachos. Every. single. ingredient.

And while this trip would have been memorable for the sole reason that it was the first time I was prepared to eat upholstery, even more amazing was that these nachos lived up to every luscious image my friend had conjured in my mind.

To stroll through Royal Tavern's heavy wooden doors is to stumble into Nacho Shangri-La. As you find a seat among the candlelit mahogany tables, your eyes begin to dart this way and that, anxious to catch a glimpse of those nachos, just for a moment, though they be destined for the table of another. You attempt to distract yourself by poring over the impressive beer list, but to no avail. The apparition of nachos lingers even as you order yourself a rich, local draught.

And then the moment arrives. The glow of the little colored lights positively gleams off of the cheesy peaks. Before you is a mound of nachos bigger than your head. At the summit sit glorious dollops of guacamole and sour cream. Fresh pico de gallo, crisp shredded lettuce and sliced jalapeno abound. But it isn't until you dig in that you realize the true magic of this magic mountain: the perfect marriage of soft melted cheese and crisp tortilla in every crevice and grotto.

You probably think I'm just being verbose. Okay, first of all, I would never do that. Second of all, I challenge you to taste these nachos, and then look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong. Here's how that will go:

Me: So, skeptical reader, what do you think of those nachos?

You:
...

That's what I thought. But seriously, folks. It's not just the nachos or the dreamy draught list that make Royal Tavern great. Literally everything on their menu is a taste extravaganza. Their macaroni and cheese will make you want to quit your job and eat it full time. But it will be too late, because you will already have quit your job when you saw the specials board. And I'd love to rave about their desserts, but alas not once in all of my visits have I been able to save room.

And before I conclude my babbling, let me just say that I would patronize the Royal Tavern for the ambiance alone. I'm a sucker for the warmth of the dark wood and candlelight.



That is all.