Adam Erace asks the reader to picture a meal at the Venezuelan Sazon on the ragged corner of 10th and Spring Garden. A meal that shines with pride.

Just picture the soft Champion sweatpants hanging in your closet at home, because that’s what you should’ve worn to Sazon. Picture the portions, generous for such little coin, and how full you are by the time the gargantuan asado negro arrives. But picture the fork, and you lifting it anyway, slicing through the tender steak’s black jacket of caramelized garlic and unrefined brown cane sugar, and savoring.

Spanish Slice [Philadelphia Weekly]