Butcher banter

"What's a schnitzel?"

The look on the butcher’s face says it all. I’m about to cop an earful.

“Waddit you say? Ssnittsel?”

He was a middle-aged Italian man with tough hands and a boisterous, unshaven face.  

“Chicken schnitzel, yeah.” 

We were in the Italian Market, at Cannuli Bros. It’s pork shop and I was stupid enough to ask for chicken. 

“Sssnitsel?” He says, mouthing the word like it’s a crossword clue. 

He turns to face the rest of his crew. Eight butchers all dressed in traditional garb, hats, and all. 

“Aye, Paulie! We got any ssnitsel left back there?” 

“You say sssnitsel??

“Ssnitsel, yeah.”

“Shh-nitzel,” I interject with.

“Oh, it’s a shhhnitzel, Paulie! We got any?”

“What’s a shhnitzel?” Paulie yells back. 

“Funny word, ain’t it? Shhnnitzel.” He turns to face me, “How do you say that?” 

“Schnitzel. You know, it’s German.” He just shrugs before turning back to Paulie. 

“Paulie, the shhnitzel! We got any??” 

“No shhnitzel!” yells Paulie. 

“We’re all outta SHHnitzel, eh? NO MORE SHHNITZEL! WE’RE ALL OUTTA SHHNITZEL EVERYBODY”

“NO SHHNITZEL!” They all yell at once. 

You know, seventeen months ago we moved from St Croix to Philadelphia, swapping sunscreen for cheesesteaks. 

Since that move, Philly has enjoyed a sports renaissance. A World Series birth for the Phillies, the 76ers hovering at the pointy end of the NBA standings, and the Eagles are playing in the Superbowl this weekend.  

If you think this is all coincidence, think again. I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that our little Stormon clan rolls into town like the Kings of Nasareth, bringing riches and gifts and hopes and dreams. 

The resurgence of Philadelphia sports is testament to that. 

One would think that being the bearer of such fortunes that I’d get a little more respect from the folks around these parts. But no such respect could be found at the butcher’s counter. 

Billy’s still chuckling when he sighs and hands me the rest of my order. “I haven’t laughed like that in weeks,” he says. “Go next door, they do the chicken there.” 

I say thanks and take my change. 

“And make sure you ask for cutlets, not schnitzel, ya jabroni.”