The magazine had me up to Baltimore for the cover – with Scott Suchman behind the camera – at Petit Louis Bistro – Hotcha! – but, alas, not for the Smoked Salmon BLT at Neopol Savory Smokery.
Holy smokes, I gotta get over there for a BEE ELL TEE, and pronto. Thank the lord of the sandwichdance, there is a Neopol at Union Market in DC.
Posted in Baltimore, BLTs, Sandwich Joints
Tagged Baltimore Magazine, Neopol, Neopol Savory Smokery, Petit Louis Bistro, Scott Suchman, Smoked Salmon, Union Market
A couple days ago, on the drive home from North Carolina, I made my regular stop off US Route 64 for lunch at Pierce’s Pitt Bar-B-Que.
Pierce’s was first introduced to me in the mid-80’s when it was still just a shack. You ordered your food at the window and ate it in the car.
Now Pierce’s is a full-on restaurant with seating for what looks like a couple hundred, a giant parking lot, lots of souvenir merchandise and a fancy awning.
The smokehouse still pumps out clouds of fragrant grey clouds, the bbq is still delicious and the sides continue to sing righteous back-up.
I like this place. I like the food. A lot. Pierce’s is popular, understandable.
The staff seem to take pride in their work.
They seem happy and well-fed.
Outside seating is my preference, particularly on such a pretty day as it was.
High praise for the meat, accolades for the greens, but why oh why is the bread so bad? Believe me, I ate every bite and licked my fingers. That said and done, I cannot be the only bbq lover who prays for the current era of artisanal-local-heritage to tap its wand on the sad rolls that carry the pulled pork. Tap, tap, tap, fairy godmother of meat, make the bread better.
Thank you.
Posted in Bread, Sandwich Joints, Virginia
Tagged Barbecue, BBQ, Pierce's, Pierce's Pitt Bar-B-Que, Route 64
Mr. Fix-It is becoming a regular around this joint. He does love a joint. The Lunch Encounter is just worn around the edges enough to suit him.
Here he is again, set down at the counter, opining on Montreal smoked meat. Any man worth his weight in meat ought to familiarize himself with the stuff.
What makes a sandwich?
Is it anything you put between two slices of bread? A creative combination of fillings? Or is it something that’s both more and less than ingredients, like a connection to a particular place?
Last week I visited Montreal with my daughter and our dog Ruby. We booked a place on Air B&B that was advertised as “pet friendly.” After the booking was final I realized that meant there would be cats in the apartment.
But Ruby doesn’t mind cats, and the location, in the Mont Royal Plateau neighborhood, was fantastic. As we explored the surrounding blocks we noticed a number of businesses with Hebrew signage, including what appeared to be a small shul. In the dim quarters of my memory I recalled that Ms. Midnight Snack had tried to steer me to a great deli in Montreal. That place turned out to be Schwartz’s, and it was right in the neighborhood.
I checked out the menu – nothing but meat sandwiches, which wouldn’t please my vegetarian daughter. Plus no outdoor seating for Ruby. So I went the next morning as soon as they opened, thinking I might get a sandwich to go. They weren’t ready for lunch, though, and the only thing available was smoked meat. So I got some.
Montreal smoked meat is somewhere between pastrami and roast beef, only better (at least the way they make it at Schwartz’s .) For $9 Canadian I got enough for two reputable sandwiches. But since I had already eaten a croissant that morning I decided to forego the bread. Our Montreal smoked meat was eaten straight from the butcher paper. The cats loved it, not to mention Ruby. And despite the absence of bread I felt like I had tasted a sandwich with a long, rich and tasty history, and a strong connection to the Jewish community in Montreal.
So take it from Ms. Midnight Snack, from Ruby, and from the cats. If you go to Montreal, do not miss Schwartz’s.
That’s right, Ruby doesn’t mind cats. In fact, I heard her human declare, “Ruby, you have a boyfriend. He’s a cat.” Tis true and his name is Oliver.
Posted in Sandwich Joints
Tagged Montreal, Schwartz's, Schwartz's Bifteck, Smoked Meat
Striding into the Lunch Encounter, none other than that handsome devil, Charles Walston, with sandwich tales to tell. Sat himself down, spun once on the vinyl-topped stool and unspooled the following:
The gnawing in my stomach wasn’t hunger.
During a visit to New York last weekend, my daughter and I had arranged to meet our niece/cousin on Saturday afternoon. She suggested Astoria, Queens, because she was considering an apartment there, and she had heard good things about the diversity and increasing options in the area.
I had a foreboding that the experience would churn up déjà vu moments, and not the good kind – remembrances of places past where the tide of trendiness had washed over old spots that felt authentic, and where I would wind up feeling like a rube at the county fair.
And yes, there was some of that. A furnishings/gift store offered unimaginative and mostly overpriced stock, nothing we hadn’t seen before. It felt a little sad, a reminder that life itself sometimes doesn’t seem like enough so we have to pretend our tiny orbit is the center of everything, and all of it just winds up seeming the same.
But then we wandered into Broadway Silk, piled high with bolts of colorful cotton, rayon and yes silk too, old radios and sewing machines, and two longtime proprietors (and their cat) who assured me “we aren’t going anywhere.”
After a while we started thinking about food. We passed a barbeque place that smelled pretty good, but could have been in any gentrifying zip code in the country. Astoria has long had a strong Greek and Cypriot presence so we peeked into a couple of those places, but couldn’t tell if they were local treasures or clip joints.
Ms. niece/cousin noticed that a place with good notices on Yelp was just a few blocks away. So we walked there, and the painted sign in the window – Il Bambino – looked reassuring. When we saw the outdoor seating area in back, we sat down.
Comforting signage in Astoria
Photo by Charles Walston
The menu was mostly paninis, well-executed with some interesting combinations (mine was speck and asiago and a red pepper puree.) A salad was fresh and generous and daring enough, even if the beets had probably come out of a jar. We polished off a large bowl of olives. Most of the other diners seemed to be from the neighborhood, although don’t ask me what gave me that idea.
Panini at Il Bambino
Photo by Charles Walston
So we got what we were looking for – a meal that wasn’t life-changing but satisfying and fairly priced, in a place that felt like part of a real neighborhood.
The next day in Brooklyn we were under the wing of a long-time resident, and she steered us to Crown Heights where we found Lincoln Station.
The menu was more ambitious and varied than Il Bambino, but nothing about the place felt fleeting or too trendy.
The lovely young man behind the counter took our order cheerfully
Lincoln Station bustles comfortably on a Sunday morning
Floorspace to spare and a good view
Crown Heights on a sunny summer Sunday
Egg Sandwich with Bacon
Avocado and Egg Sandwich
A comforting space for a nice meal before an uneventful ride home.
Broccoli and Ricotta Sandwich with super crispy fries
Side of kale
Lincoln Station seemed like a restaurant that has endured growing pains along with the neighborhood and come out the better for it.
Posted in Brooklyn, NY, NYC, Sandwich Joints
Tagged Astoria, Broadway Silk, Brooklyn, Il Bambino, Lincoln Station, Queens
Mark your maps! Start your engines! It’s a rare day that I have a discovery, a spot that I did not read about online or in print. Katie’s Korner appeared serendipitously. Oh joy!
Katie’s Korner in Harmony, Pennsylvania, just off the turnpike – just off the turnpike – is reason enough to road trip it to Buffalo, New York. We used the app iExit, which DID NOT MENTION KATIE’S. Oversight alert!
From what I can discern, Katie’s Korner is a Hubbard, Ohio based franchise, although the Katie’s folks in Harmony, Pennsylvania have made it their own private Dine-In-Or-Go.
Such a sweet oasis and unexpected.
Hand-written menus and local labels on the beverages are happy signifiers. We walked in, saw the mob, noticed the chalked scrawl and raised eager eyebrows. Grins all around.
Hunky dory, what dory hunkys. 
My co-travelers, Benji and Carolyn felt an urgent burger desire, which seemed absolutely apropos. The fries, hand-cut and skins on, came in a large, just right for three appetites. Crispy exterior, creamy inside, they held up to vinegar stoutly. My oh my we were so happy when our lunch showed up.
Turkey Reuben. Dat a Rachel, yes? I call it that and did not make it up.
The turkey was off the bone of a roaster, the kraut crunchy, the bread marbled and grilled. What more could one want? Not halved was smart. The sandwich would have self-destructed had it been severed.
Katie’s Korner, the Sunday we were there, attracted a diverse crowd – homemade utilikilt-wearing hipsters, camo-clad giants, apres-church families bearing tutued kidlettes.
Banana Cake, touted as the best you’ll ever taste, was. We scarfed it en route to the car. Homemade Cookin’, it was. Extra points for accurate apostrophe use.
Posted in Sandwich Joints
Tagged Banana Cake, Harmony Pennsylvania, Katie's Korner, Rachel Sandwich
Why Crisfield’s isn’t overrun by hipsters, I do not know. Crisfield Seafood is superb. Effortlessly so, seemingly. And it is not swarming with neophytes, hooray.
I am truly, madly, deeply in love with this old flame. Forgive me my lapses, I have been away waywayway too long.
Crab Cake, Crab Salad, Fried Perch, Oyster, SOFTSHELL. Get thee to a softshell. So tender and sweet when they have just shed the straightjacket of youth – one of their youths to be precise. Back to the vulnerability of infancy, they are tasty, poor things.
Soft shells, in season, the tastiest insect-like thing you will ever eat. A reason to live when you are grappling with February’s mid-Atlantic death grip.
Crisfield Seafood is old DC, the DC that patronized Reeve’s Bakery and Restaurant, Whitlow’s on E Street 
, Scholl’s Cafeteria
, the original Old Ebbitt Grill 
, the counter at People’s 
, and Schwartz’s Drugs lunch counter 
.
Crisfield’s is not a ghost of DC past. It lives and breathes.
They do not serve oysters in the summer, there are four to a plate of softshells and the counterman heartily recommends the cheesecake. We admired his salesmanship and shared a slice – creamy, nutty, caramely, fresh, just as promised.
I weighed almost 3 pounds more on the way out. Going to GospelFest for a little cardio.
In April, Joanie took me to La Taguara in Madison, Wisconsin. I had read about it in Madison Magazine 
and wanted a see-for-yourself. Vivid, it was and yes, mad taystee. It’s a mad town all right and never fails to be freshly surprising.
Visiting Madison is always a food fest. Seems to me, when there is a little less from which to choose, the food tastes better and the adventures feel more personal.
La Taquara serves primarily Venezuelan food, punctuated by dishes of its Latin neighbors. In the words of La Taguara,
Due to its location in the world, its diversity of industrial resources and the cultural diversity of the Venezuelan people, Venezuelan cuisine often varies greatly from one region to another. Its cuisine, traditional as well as modern, is influenced by indigenous people and its European ancestry and is also influenced by African and Native American traditions. Food staples include corn, rice, plantain, yucca, beans and several meats and seafood.
The “bread” for this sandwich is squashed plantain, like a giant tostones. Crispy, crunchy, messy and delicious.
Our lunch choices were easy – the Patacon Pisao or “flattened plantain” and a filled arepa, two wonderful sandwich species little known north of Latin America.
I won’t lie, our lunch was madelicious.
There it is in the magazine, the Patacon Pisao. Super nice photos, Mr. Musteikis.
Take me home, sandwich roads.
Photography for the magazine by Paulius Musteikis
Patacon 101
FOR plantain lovers, it may be the best thing since sliced bread. In fact, a patacón (paht-ah-CONE) — the full name, patacón Maracucho, identifies its birthplace as the Venezuelan city of Maracaibo — is a sandwich that dispenses with bread entirely. In its place is green (that is, unripe) plantain that’s been sliced lengthwise, fried, pressed flat and fried again. Still warm, the golden discs embrace shredded beef, roast pork, chorizo, chicken or cheese.
Read on in the Times here.
Posted in Sandwich Joints
Tagged Arepas, La Taguara, Patacon, Patacon Maracucho, Patacon PIsao, Venezuelan Cuisine
These two dolls look big screen ready and so do their sandwiches. Such is the tag on their title, Sisters’ Sandwiches and Such, because while you are at it – eating lunch, picking up dinner – you can make an impulse purchase of something you never knew you needed, but simply must buy.
The closest my sister and I got to sandwich big time was our fictional enterprise, Stuff and Such, an endeavor whose cash cow was a lot of laughs. Our metonym never left the realm of our imaginations, thankfully. Producing such takes vim, vigor and vitality.
The sandwich sisters are cheery, bubbly, upbeat. Their optimism and industry add sparkle to each bite. Eat up and expect a bit of sandwich zing in your step.
Washington Post story here.
Posted in Sandwich Joints
Tagged Higgins Tavern, Kim Carson, Maryland, Olney, Sisters' Sandwiches and Such, Tammy Prestipino
Taco Bamba, 
is casa to my first super torta, the meat-carne-meat-carne deluxe, the Torta Bamba. That monster puts on a hat dance, baby, capable of full court press courtship. Carry me across the sandwich threshold, mi amor, saturated in sequins!
Ya arriba, ya arriba!
Por ti seré, por ti seré, por ti seré.
Soy capitán, soy capitán.
Ya arriba, ya arriba!
Rrrraa-ja-jaa…
Se necessita una poca de gracia.
Una poca de gracia para mí, para ti.
A bit of grace for me, for you. Now come on, come on!
Gilly’s is not hard against the Williamsburg Bridge, nor is it boasting the triumvirate pedigrees of local, sustainable and organic, yet Gilly’s quietly carries the mantle of the the 9-letter A word. Need I e-utter it? Au, au, au…aaaw, don’t make me say it. Au-cough-cough-choke-thentic.
Kit-Kit–Katrina and I were there recently, following a class in the outre skirts of DC, the far out hinterlands of Rock-not-a-ville. To find it, you have to follow several left-turn-on-green-arrow-onlys, seeming to circle closer and closer until ~Bingo!~ Gillys!
Why am I deluging you with hyphenated hyperbole for a near-hole-in-the-wall off yet-another Pike? Cause Gilly’s knows what they are doing sandwich-wise. Come for a mixed-six, stay for a sandwich.
They get the bread-to-filling ration just right, a rarity in my sandwich safari roamings. The bread is good, need I mention that? A sandwich can rate on second rate bread, but the players have to compensate. At Gilly’s all players carry their weight.
Lastly, while listing criteria, the interior landscape of a Gilly’s sandwich is flat. Hooray hurrah huzzah for that. No hump of meat in the middle, no condiment-free zone at the crusts. Bite for bite, each one’s equitable – bread, filling, condiment, border to border.
Gilly’s is not new, nor hip, nor screaming for an icon on the map, thank the if-there-is-a-God-he/she-must-eat-sandwiches, Lord.
Posted in Sandwich Joints
Tagged Gilly's, Katrina Tekavec, Maryland, Rockville, Rockville Pike
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The Lunch Encounter 
