Maybe it’s because I dress for winter like I’m a Dickens-era street urchin. Or maybe I’m just a sucker for an old-fashioned redemption story. Either way, my all-time favorite story is A Christmas Carol . So every year I prowl the channels and watch as many adaptations as possible. And it’s always the same: whether it’s Alastair Sim, George C. Scott, or even that one with Mr. Magoo, the real star, for me, is Mrs. Cratchit’s plum pudding. That sounded naughtier than I intended.

Peanut Chews are as lowkey Philly as snowballs whipping past Santa’s noggin or a pretzel rod stirring a cup of wooder ice. In other words—they’re known, just not ‘30-year-old boxer running up the Art Museum steps ’ known. But don’t get it twisted—Peanut Chews are quintessentially Philadelphia. Molasses-forward bites packed with roasted peanuts, dipped in a no-nonsense dark-chocolate coating that packs a Heavyweight punch. And they didn’t need a statue to make their point—just

A lot of cities are famous for their street food — crema-lathered elote on Avenida Michoacán, dirty-water dogs from a cart sitting at Broadway and 42nd, crispy arancini peddled by fruit vendors through the narrow alleyways of Palermo. But only Baltimore is known for its highway food. The Pulaski Highway, to be exact. Since the early 1970s, this 35-mile stretch from “East Bawlmor” to Abingdon has been Maryland’s open-air food court — a smoky corridor of roadside shacks carving

For those of you who scored high on your SATs or have taken in the breathtaking views of Fall Creek Gorge between classes — you already know. For everyone else, sorry, but this story won’t involve a velvet wide-brimmed hat with a feather, an ivory-handled cane, or any buff dudes hanging upside down doing crunches. Because a P.M.P. has nothing to do with cats named Dolemite or Fifty Cent. It has everything to do with Poor Man’s Pizza   — more specifically, Ithaca, New York’s l