The B Does Not Mean Bad

I went to Philippe's yesterday for lunch with my friend Eric, who had only been once before. We ordered our food and polished it off in less time than we had spent waiting in line. He had the ham & cheese and I had the beef double-dipped. (I also had a piece of blueberry pie.)

He said the sandwich was great, but after we finished eating, he looked up towards the front door and a look of alarm came over his face. "Oh, man, did you know this place has a B?" he asked me nervously.

A few years ago, that might have fazed me. I used to think a B was a sign that a restaurant was really dirty. (I actually thought the B stood for Bugs.) Now, I won't even step foot in a Chinese restaurant that doesn't have a B. (That's how you know it's good!) And for sure I'd still eat at Philippe's even if they had a C. I reassured him he'd be fine, since Philippe's has been feeding Angelenos for 100 years.

I think they probably had their grade lowered just for the mustard pots. First they went after the bacon-wrapped hot dogs, then the taco trucks, and now the mustard pots. What's next? Outlawing Animal Style at In-N-Out? Those damn Health Department people are trying to ruin my city!