"Heart disease has changed my eating habits, but I still cook bacon for the smell" -George Carlin

When I was first diagnosed with Celiac, one of the things that I missed the most was the options. Not the food options, per se- more like the life options. I felt held hostage by the fact that my dining world now fell into two very black and white categories: cook at home or eat somewhere with grilled chicken, fish, or steak on the menu. And while that's nice and all, what if you don't want to eat somewhere with a grill menu? I mean, isn't that the culinary counterpart of Big Love? Sure, it may seem like you have options, but in actuality you are just gastronomically running train on a series of three dishes which, although they might be the protein equivalent of a blonde, brunette, and a redhead, at the end of the day, all taste the same.

One time, in college, a fellow scholar and intellectual drunk guy at a party asked me "Do you ever just like, get drunk and eat wheat?" Uh, I don't know, do you ever get drunk and drink drain cleaner? Being drunk doesn't make me eat something that kills me. But that doesn't mean I don't want to. What if it's late at night and I just wanted to go to a bar and have a drink and eat regular-ass bar food like every other person in the world? I missed the ease of such non-committal dining. I longed for a time when going out to eat didn't have to be such a pre-planned production. I wanted my own gluten-free version of Cheers- a place that required absolutely no commitment or pretense, yet was always there for you- warm, welcoming, and open until 1 AM.But everywhere I went had late-night bar menus consisting of chicken fingers, sandwiches, and all the deep fried, breaded love a glutenous drunk could ask for.

So when I moved to a street located directly across from the Pub On Passyunk East, I was not exactly hopeful. From the outside, it looked like a typical neighborhood hang out- the kind of place where twenty-somethings who are so painfully hip that they could not possibly be bothered with everyday, mainstream nuisances like showering go after a hard day's work at American Apparel to swap war stories about their chest tattoos and give each other hair styling advice.

The first time we went, it was just to get drinks. The bartender left a copy of the menu, and when Aaron excused himself to go to the bathroom, I picked it up and busied myself with it, trying desperately to distract from the fact that I was the only person there wearing actual pants. I perused the words mindlessly, reading but not really retaining anything. All of a sudden, the words jump out at me off the page. "All sandwiches available on gluten-free rolls and bread." Holy shit. Could this be it? Could this be my Cheers? You know, if Norm only drank PBR and Cliff had a half-sleeve and a plaid shirt.

But you know what, forget all that. Hipsters and all, the P.O.P.E. has become a regular hang-out for me. The staff is amazingly friendly and helpful They are open late. They are right across the street from my house. They have gluten-free food. And not just any gluten-free food. Gluten-free drunk bar food. They have a BLT for Christ sake.

The BLT is quite honestly a thing of beauty. I mean, come on. It's a sandwich that is so great, they tell you what's in it right there in the name. Bacon, lettuce, and tomato. And that's it. At the P.O.P.E., it also comes with basil mayo, which is a delicious blend of herbaceous flavor and artery-clogging mayonnaise-y goodness. It is the perfect compliment to the sandwich: an uncomplicated symbiotic relationship that takes nothing away from the primitive pleasure of bacon on bread. The bacon is grilled to perfection, nestled with juicy, plump tomatoes and fresh green lettuce between three slices of crispy toast. It is unpretentious in it's simplicity.

Sometimes, it really is the little things in life. The bartender who is typically there on weeknights seems bemused by my new found fascination with something most people pass by without a second glance. I pick up my BLT gingerly, as though it were an ancient relic dug up by historians from a far away date in time BC (Before Celiac) and bite into it, unquestionably relishing every bite. "Why do you guys have gluten-free bread?" I ask him, as I am always inexplicably fascinated by the "why"- dare I hope to imagine the fact that this new trend might someday become the norm, or is there some more realistic rationale behind it, like a family member or employee with Celiac? He smiled at me and asked how my sandwich was. "Ohmygodsogood" I manage to get out between bites. "Well, that's why we have it," he said, and turned back to his other bar guests.

I couldn't have asked for a better answer.

The Pub On Passyunk East
1501 East Passyunk Ave
Philadelphia PA 19147
215-755-5125