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  • We ate at Primanti's before watching a Steelers-Ravens matchup on a snowy December 24th a few years ago. It was five guys with lots of room to consume, and we needed the calories to keep us warm for the game. A cold and persistently penetrating wind whipped through the exposed stadium and made us get up from the garishly-colored, bright yellow seats to stamp our feet, clap our muffled hands, and generally cheer on "our" team to victory. But for whom to root? That was indeed the question. While I was wearing a Polamalu jersey - and grew up outside Pittsburgh in the northern panhandle of WVa - I was living at the time in Baltimore and had come to appreciate the defensive power and toughness of the Ravens squad (but not their arrogant, chinless former coach, or his idiotic sunglasses. Gloat after you've got more than one ring, buddy! Some Steelers have more rings than they do fingers, at least for one hand to bear). Still, I was totally on the fence about which side to cheer for, and that made me the enemy. But we ALL could agree on Primanti's. I had the smoked turkey sandwich, the fries and slaw inside of course, and a local microbeer, the kind that once made this German-immigrant rich city famous before the world wars and the god awful mistake that was prohibition ended all that. Primati's was basically awash in black and yellow, terrible towels hanging from many a pocket. I thought about quoting Poe but wisely kept silent. It was a decision that likely saved my life in this football-frenzied city of the three rivers, in one of which my body likely would have been found floating the next morning, with purple blood floating on the dark waters (not the Monongahela, please! I can never spell that one right). Besides, my mouth was full with delicious food and brew. The Steel City never tasted so good. For even though the Steelers were vanquished on the gridiron that day by the Birdmen of Baltimore, Primanti's definitely came out a winner. But those fries and overstuffed sandwiches will get 'ya, even if Heinz, err, Hines Ward doesn't. Quoth my stomach, nevermore! Well, at least not more than once every visit to the 'Burgh.
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