Category Archives: Sandwich Joints

A Lou Lou of a Love Affair

I’m in love with St Louis. It’s grandeur and industry, its musical melding of north, south, east and west, the people who wear their city like a pair of handmade, well-worn wingtips, the indigenous sandwiches – St Paul! Fried Brain! The Mississippi river, as big and brown and muscular as a python sleeping off an antelope lunch, lolls alongside the Gateway Arch, the most beautiful building in the world.

IMG_4522Photo by Heidi Leech

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Twangfest brung us to St Lou, a nighttime affair hosted by KDHX, featuring the Bottle Rockets and wailing on the Duck Room stage at Blueberry Hill. Days were free for an extended sandwich safari. An enduring St Lou nooner.

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After dropping our bags at the Moonrise Hotel in the Delmar Loop, Along-for-the-Ride Heidi and I hightailed it to Nora’s in Dogtown.

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Crowned by the Riverfront Times as one of St Louis’ five best sandwich spots, Nora’s!.

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​5. Nora’s (1136 Tamm Avenue; 314-645-2706)

Meats smoked in-house help distinguish this small Dogtown establishment: The “For Pete’s Sake” features smoked pork loin with bacon, brie, caramelized onions and applesauce, while smoked turkey serves as the centerpiece for several sandwiches, including the “Hangover Club” (with Genoa salami, provolone and bacon). The vegetarian crowd isn’t left out, as smoked portobello mushrooms are the basis for a couple of sandwiches.

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The steamer was down. And out for repairs. Nothing hot available and that left slim pickins’. We soldiered on, lantering our jaws while warming our hearts and appetites to cold things.

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In the Handi-Wacks-paper-lined tin, smoked chicken salad, appropriately pulled not cubed, and light on celery which delighted Along-for-the-Ride Heidi.

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The Hillsider $7.99
Genoa salami, ham, provolone, tomato, red onion & red wine vinaigrette.

To be frank, I very much wanted one of the hot sandwiches, possibly because they were unavailable. I even considered making a few calls to rent a steamer for Nora’s.

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Twangfest was the one who brung us and dance with him we did. Four nights and one afternoon to every dang rhythm what was played.

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Photo by Heidi Leech

In Good Company

From cloud channeler, poet, teacher and music pusher Reuben Jackson who lives in Winooski, Vermont. Says Reuben about Misery Loves Company, “My aunt’s screen door somehow ended up in Winooski.” photoPhoto by Reuben Jackson

And, “I am hooked on their fiddlehead sammiches….and, of course, clouds.” Screen Shot 2013-05-10 at 9.13.56 AM

Misery Loves Company

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I am from hard boys
Who warned me not to quit school-
And crosstown cellists.

Sitting on the stoop
On quiet summer evenings-
A decade of rage.

Haunted by mentors
Who mainlined books and courage.
I have seen too much.

Reuben Jackson

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My misery always loves company. Especially good company. Reuben is good company.

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Warm spring afternoon.
When I think the coast is clear –
I smile at flowers.

Woman with a dog
Talks with me about teaching –
Beagle licks my face.

Entourage of wind
Makes a pass at new flowers.
I think of friends’ graves.

I would be this soft
If I trusted the world more-
An MGM song.

Reuben Jackson

A Thin Man No More

Yet another sandwichy reason to hit the brakes when you get to Pittsburgh.
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The Thin Man Sandwich Shop

Dan and Sherri Leiphart

From Pittsburgh Post-Gazette Blog

From The Sublime Miss M:

David and I were starving. We were on our way home from working the Pittsburgh Farm-To-Table Conference where I was selling my book, Tomatoes Screen Shot 2013-05-02 at 3.52.47 PMand promoting the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.

We stopped at buddy Amy’s Mon Amiee Chocolat in the Strip to check in and pick up chocolate and she that reminded me of the new Thin Man Sandwich Shop. David got their first and ordered two beef shin sandwiches with horseradish mayo and braised celery. Since I wanted to taste something else, I changed my order to their signature sandwich, The Thin Man, a baguette spread with chicken liver mousse, topped with local bacon, frissee and a red wine vinaigrette.

Wow! We ate both of these driving those 2 hours back home, washed down with their honey lemon drink, which tasted, just like owner Sherry Leiphart said, of honeycomb.

Fabulous sandwiches. There was nothing left but crumbs.

Sandwichy thanks to the Sublime Miss M.

Cole’s At Last

I had wanted to go to Cole’s for a long, long time, long enough to slow roast a beef on an LA sidewalk. Cole’s and Philippe the Original are neck-in-neck on the French Dip-o-drome, that is, if you believe the hippety-dippety-dipped-up-hype. Neck-in-neck, but not beef neck, silly. Roasted beef, the sandwich kind, the kind sliced thin, so your teeth don’t have to do it.

You oughta see the penny tile floors and the mahogany bar and the light orbs and vertical dills and happily stacked meat and the bowls of liquid mahogany edible beef shellac.

I was there with fabulous Jenn, cool in the shade of her LA savvy.

Cole’s is a bit more high-brow than Philippe the Original. Lower lights, higher brow. Bout the same level on the roast beef layer. Medium-brow, not too thick, not too thin.

Shellackety-stacked piles of beef on rolls, rolls that soak, rolls built to soak, built to absorb, built to absorb under the orbs. Dip, dip, dip. More like dunk, actually, for a duration.

Truly, anyway you slice it, long as it is across the grain, a French Dip, done the LA way, in other words, IN LA, is fine fine fine. Mighty fine. Not much room in my life for food superlatives. You get to a certain level of nirvana and the sandwiches levitate on the same heavenly plane.