![]() ![]() You can also reasonably use it to transport your dipping sauces without too much mess - assuming that you keep a close eye on the open packet of mustard or the cup of sweet icing nestled alongside your doughy nuggets.įor me, shopping is often an exhausting and stressful experience. The cup will both protect your doughy bites from getting smashed while ensuring that butter and salt don’t accidentally end up all over the inside of your purse. ![]() ![]() If you want to be even more practical, you could spring for a cup of pretzel bites instead of the traditional twist. It’s fine if it gets sorta cold or smushed as you shop - all that fake butter it’s doused in can fix virtually any problem. You can eat it on the go, nibbling little bites as needed. No matter: Your pretzel is conveniently served in a wax paper sleeve that fits inside a shopping bag or a generously sized coat pocket. Sometimes those wobbly tables outside of the pretzel stall are occupied or sticky after hosting a group of children who chowed down on cinnamon-sugar-coated dough. The mall pretzel’s main selling point, though, is its portability. Unfortunately, I don’t live in Philly - or Europe, for that matter - which means treating myself to a soft pretzel almost exclusively coincides with a trip to the mall. Regardless of what actually happened, now pretzels are a go-to snack, especially in places like Philadelphia, which boasts a rich pretzel culture that dates back more than a century. There are a range of legends, some more improbable than others: One suggests that pretzels were invented by an Italian monk who folded them to resemble praying hands, while another insists the pastry was invented by bakers in Germany who were, for whatever reason, being held hostage, possibly by one of those extremely pushy salespeople found at skin care kiosks that are somehow at every mall. The origins of how the soft pretzel became retail’s default source of starch are somewhat muddy, but experts generally agree it was first made by monks in Europe, perhaps as early as 610 CE. And so I head to Auntie Anne’s - or Wetzel’s, if that’s all that’s available - in search of a pretzel. I don’t want a feast, but I do deserve a little something for schlepping around for some new shoes and unnecessary trinkets. When I’m at the mall, I’m here to shop, not sit down for a big meal that’s going to make me tired and sweaty before I try on 47 different sweaters or brave the line at the Apple Store. Going to a restaurant inside a shopping mall always feels weird to me. ![]()
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