I had one or ten drinks the other night. Like most nights out, I wanted something to eat..but not just anything to eat: I wanted something delicious. Something cheesy, meaty, salty and savory. I wanted – no, I needed – a Philly cheesesteak egg roll from Big Red’s Steaks. I made it there and tried to open the door, but it was locked. I took a step back and saw that it was closed. Not just for the night – but for forever.

As I tried to wipe the single tear off my cheek, I had the weirdest sense of d?j? vu. I had been there before. Not there geographically, but there emotionally. It had been years since Pel’meni had closed on State Street, but standing there by Big Red’s, the pain came back. For those who don’t remember or who weren’t around, Pel’meni was a small restaurant on State Street that served dumplings. You could get a pile of either potato or meat dumplings – or a mixture of both – well-seasoned and served with Sriracha sauce, a piece of wheat bread and sour cream.

After Pel’meni closed, I thought there would be trouble. I was sure riots would start or protests would be led. What would happen when all the people left the bars at 2 a.m. and had nothing to eat? Windows would get broken, cop cars would get flipped and chaos would ensue. But right about then, I rediscovered Jin’s Chicken and Fish. Jin’s was a vending cart that served fried chicken or catfish sandwiches and was usually parked at the end of Frances Street by State Street Brats.

My thoughts of anarchy faded away with every bite of my chicken sandwich, which consisted of four pieces of perfectly fried chicken, lettuce, a ‘healthy’ portion of mayonnaise and hot sauce. As I licked the remains of the sandwich off my fingers, a wave of relief washed over me. Disaster had been averted that night.

But it wasn’t long before Jin’s went the way of Pel’meni. What was once a fixture at the end of Frances was gone, without a note or even a deserted storefront. I had heard rumors that Jin’s wasn’t gone at all, that it had only moved locations. But the stories didn’t agree as to where, and it didn’t matter. Even if Jin’s was only five miles away, it may as well have been 100, because it wasn’t there. When I looked at the patch of concrete where the cart used to park, rebellious thoughts began to stir inside me again. This had to be it. The riots had just been delayed, not stopped.

Then came Big Red’s and the discovery of their Philly cheesesteak egg rolls. For $5 – the same price as a plate of dumplings at Pel’meni or a chicken sandwich at Jin’s – you could get four of them. They were everything I hoped they would be. A mixture of steak and cheese, wrapped up and deep-fried, served with a side of nacho cheese. You read that correctly. They served their cheese-filled egg rolls with even more cheese. But now they were gone too.

All of this had flashed before my eyes the other night, but this time was different. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t even get irritated. I didn’t even think about picking up a stone or breaking a window. Instead, I paused for a moment and mourned, giving Big Red’s the respect it deserved. Then I walked to Ian’s Pizza and bought two pieces, dipped it in their homemade ranch sauce and walked home content. Content, because I knew that one thing would always be true. As long as there were hungry patrons leaving the bars at 2 a.m., there would be a restaurant that is open late, serving them that perfect something to satisfy their hunger.

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