When it comes to bad dad jokes, my dad wins the prize. My dad is also the type who likes to retell his “humorous” stories over and over again.

Eat Philly! (Philly Will Do)

One of my favorites is the tale of his trip to a pricy steakhouse known for its prized prime rib. While the rest of his dining table intelligently selected steak, my father ordered the stuffed flounder. Thick and juicy prime ribs appeared on the table, while my dad was left with a pretty lame attempt at a seafood concoction. The emphatic storyteller that my father is, he always pounds his point home with the same moral: “When you go to the pasta place, you order pasta. When you go to the seafood place, you order seafood. And when you go to the steak house, you order steak.”

I’ve heard this story a hundred times, yet for some reason its moral didn’t seem to stick until I had an identical experince.

Last Saturday, I went to Fellini’s Cafe for a friend’s 21st birthday. It’s a typical Philadelphia Italian BYO, and up until this particular evening, I had yet to find a dish I didn’t enjoy. As my fellow friends all ordered pasta dishes like gnocchi and fettuccini alfredo, I decided to go for the crab cakes. Obviously, my dad’s repetitive story had not been engrained in my mind and my years of not paying attention to his wisdom were going to come back and bite me in the butt.

When my dish arrived, three soggy crabcakes smothered in some kind of odorous sauce stared me in the face. I’m not a picky eater, so I decided to dig right in. By the second crapcake, I was ready to call it a night and go pray to the porcelain god.

It was a rought night. The next day, I journeyed home to the suburbs to receive some TLC from my parents. Even though I was prepared for my dad to tell me “I told you so,” I decided to fess up to my faux pas. When my dad asked how my trip to Fellini’s went, I admitted that I had made an “amateur mistake.” To which he replied, “A what?”

“An amateur mistake!”

“Oh really? An Amatura steak. What’s that like?”

After a five minute conversation stupid enough to be in the plot of a Three’s Company episode, my dad finally tightened the screws in his head and realized that my amateur mistake was actually ordering the crapcakes. Along with a few laughs, I got the “I told ya so” I rightfully deserved.

Yesterday marked the first day of Philadelphia Restaurant week, in which dozens of Philly restaurants offer a multi-course meal at a fixed price of $30. A wide variety of eateries allow diners to choose from many kinds of specialized cuisine at affordable prices. So as you are scrambling to make last minute reservations, I urge you to heed my father’s advice. If you go to Philadelphia Fish & Company, order fish. If you head to Cuba Libre order Cuban cuisine and if you go to Fellini’s Cafe, order pasta. Don’t make an Amatura steak.

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