“I do not trust this American food,” Dario Saric sniffed, sitting at a table in a cramped, crowded restaurant with two of his teammates. “This place is dirty and loud. It is not a place where one could ever expect to enjoy a decent meal.”
“C’mon man, cheesesteaks are, like, the only thing you can eat in Philly,” Nik Stauskas said. “This place rules.”
Nerlens Noel nodded. “When I found out you’d never had a cheesesteak before, it blew my mind,” he told is rookie teammate. “I practically live at this place.”
“Damn, I think that’s our order!” Nik said, seeing a tray of three of the beef-and-cheese sandwiches set out on the counter. He ran up to the front of the small cheesesteak shop, grabbed the counter, then hustled back to his teammates. “You’re gonna love these, Dario, I swear.”
“I doubt it,” Dario said, glowering as the greasy, overloaded sandwich was placed in front of him. “If I make an honest attempt to eat this pig slop, do you guys promise to take me to get real food afterwards?”
Nerlens had already shoved two large bites of the sandwich into his mouth at once, but this fact did not stop him from trying to answer. “You’re not ever gonna want ‘real food’ again after the first bite of cheesesteak hits your tongue,” he mumbled semi-intelligibly. “It’s so good to be part of the provolone master race.”
Dario looked down at his sandwich. He couldn’t find a place to pick it up that wouldn’t cause his hands to get covered in grease. Finally, he gently lifted it up with his fingertips and took a small nibble off the side, fully expecting to have to spit it out and cleanse his mouth with mouthwash to rid himself of the surely foul taste. He chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds, considering the flavors, as his teammates watched with suspense, having paused their own gustatory excursions to watch Dario’s reaction.
Swallowing, Dario set down the sandwich. “It’s not as bad as the ratty decor of this place would indicate,” he said, trying not to overreact to what had been the most delicious single bite of food he could remember eating in his life. “American cuisine might not be very refined, but I could tolerate another bite, I suppose.” Purposely not moving too quickly, he took the cheesesteak back in his hands and took a larger bite. But when the fresh, hot steak entered his mouth, he couldn’t hold back any longer, and began to eat the sandwich in much the same way Nerlens had.
“I told you it was good!” Nik said as he high-fived Nerlens. “Cheesesteaks are the best!”
Dario couldn’t help but grin as he chewed. “They’re pretty good.” He had already begun to wonder if this type of sandwich was available in all the cities they played in, and if not, whether it could be replicated at home. “Americans aren’t so bad after all.”