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I got the sandwich ready for its close up. She took the picture. There are no words. Possibly, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

Thanks to The Sublime Miss M for the youtube link.

Inner toast! *

Oh, the delicacies that pour from my cerebral fountain! From the inner core out, full force, whooshing. Whistling hot.

And from Marianne Williamson’s cerebral fountain? Not delicacies. Meat and potatoes!

*Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Marianne Williamson

Set your inner toaster to HOT and spread the butter with a heavy hand.

My friend  Renee went to Israel with her husband, to visit their son.

I asked for pictures of shewarma.

She said, “Is it a sandwich without the bread? I know I promised you some sandwich photos but it is Passover.

And I said, “Yes. It is a promise sandwich.”

“I uploaded some sharwarma photos in your drop box sans the bread.”
Now she’s thinking in  French in Israel. That poor girl is so confused. 

“For me it is all about the sides, which I know you would love – salty and tart!”

Yes, I most certainly would. She knows what I like.

“We stopped at this place on our way to Bet She’an. Dov (Renee’s 18-year-old son) thinks you really need the bread.”

Dov is the very same boy who once complained that his bag lunch did not “have an entrée” when his mother failed to include a sandwich. I hear you, Dov! Speaking from this perspective –  the mothering POV – a lunch of all sides does not look bad. I do that myself, pack the boy a plethora of snacks and sides, hoping he won’t notice that the lunch plate has no center. 

And, is bread mandatory? When you are eighteen, or eight, or any age around which the universe revolves, black is black and white is white. A sandwich has bread. Period. I hear you. But I don’t alway comply. Sometimes I slip in a bit of the grey area, a lunch with no entree or, getting really crazy, ask him to make his own lunch. Bit by bit, step by step, bite by bite, shepherding those boys along the road to adulthood, where black is rarely black and white is rarely white, but a promise is always a promise.

The back story is this.

Okay, okay, you didn’t click on the link, or you did click, but you didn’t read the back story. Looking for the gist, the crux, the cut to the chase. Okay, I’ll give it to you. Big Ed’s Alley Inn is THE place to go in Reno for a meatloaf sandwich. I got that from the first and foremost authority, Paula.

The lowdown from a girl that pours herself into life and knows when to say “When”:

Important sandwich lessons from the City that Reads (yes, that is one of Reno’s, or perhaps Reado’s slogans).

The later in the day that you go to Big Ed’s the thicker the slice of meatloaf.

We got there about 1:15 pm and we got 1-inch thick slabs of meatloaf in our sandwiches (way more than usual).  Of course, there is always the chance that you get there after they ran out of meatloaf (which has happened before).  You got to know when to hold em, know when to fold em.

Paula

 Photo of my lunch from last fall. Photo taken last fall, when the lunch was fresh. Never did get to writing the post and now Rebecca Krafft has stepped up to guest blog. Thanks much, Rebecca!

Soul Food in Green Valley

Miss Margaret’s off-the-beaten path bbq joint is very easy to miss — or maybe a little hard to find. But it is a real find. Miss Margaret is a delightfully down-to-earth chef who has a half dozen home-style entrees and lots of sides and desserts (think huge layer cakes). I found it as a result of this item on ArlNow.com, and it turns out it had been profiled on a county video which you can access at the link above.

I went there a couple of weeks ago when I was clean out of ideas for dinner, and picked up ribs and pulled pork bbq. Delish, and there are other kinds of food as well — Jamaican chicken and curry too. I’ve only been there once so far.

Miss Margaret is so sweet — maybe about 35. So young, energetic and friendly. Pieces of cake as big as your head.

To get there, head south on Shirlington Road through Nauck. Cross 24th/Kenmore Street (Green Valley pharmacy on the corner), pass 25th street on the right, then look for a driveway on the right that goes straight up a hill. It’s on top of the hill next to a barbershop. There’s parking and the driveway continues back down the hill to exit. If you pass the billiards place you’ve missed it.

Here’s the ArlNow article. I encourage you to check it out.

It’s easy to miss the unpretentious storefront of Margaret’s Soul Food and Catering Services, located at 2534 S. Shirlington Road in Arlington’s Green Valley (Nauck) neighborhood. But the down-home cooking inside the barred windows of the one-story brick building is worth the 10 minute walk from Shirlington.

The county-run Arlington Virginia Network recently visited Margaret’s and found a treasure trove of soulful cooking, including jerk chicken, BBQ ribs, pulled pork, Italian sausage, collard greens and potato salad — all made according to proprietor Margaret Gardner’s family recipes.

In the video, Gardner’s demeanor appears to be even sweeter than the tea she serves. “In this business, honey, if you don’t crack a smile you won’t make a dime,” she told host Katie Greenan.

In addition to serving take-out customers (menu), Margaret’s caters events and is a regular vendor at the Arlington County Fair.

Have you had it? Up to here and a half? I had. Some people go to Mexico, some ski, the hardcore head to a spa…

Just as spring was boinging out all over in DC, I headed north, six weeks back in time. Not a ghost of a leaf, the earth still keeping its secrets. Was it just what the doctor ordered? Yes indeed. 

Madison, Wisconsin. I took a few days to eat sandwiches, kvell with mother friends, rock n roll with The Bottle Rockets and James McMurtry, and called it taking the cure. Madison is a narrow isthmus strung between Lakes Mendota and Monona. Healing waters. Straight from the airport to The Victory.   How could I not love this joint? No wifi, cell phones, ds’s or other nonsense condoned at the victory.  You know, and are overjoyed for it, that you are not in DC when there is summer sausage on the menu. Not sure the summer sausage knew what to make of the company it was keeping on my plate. Buffalo mozzarella, arugula, flat bread. Where, oh where, were the curds and the Ritz crackers? Tasty though. Not complaining.

Slight fermentation lets summer sausage stay out all summer, and gives it that slight tang that says Go Badgers!  Brilliant.   Just a few sandwich choices and not all available. Aaah, easy on the brain. I’ll have what you’re serving. Thanks much.   House made sodas. That’s what Joanie and I had. Ginger. Part of the treatment. Hallelujah, I was cured!

The

Avett Brothers’ cellist is a sandwich man.

How I do love a sandwich man.

This just in from Super Fan D. Kmetz in the northeast, who adds, ” Hope they cover Portland, Maine as well, as it can hold up against the west coast’s namesake.”

Portland is a town where you can find an impressive sandwich lurking around nearly every corner at places like Meat Cheese Bread (whose green bean sandwich we have already sussed out),Bunk, and Big-Ass Sandwiches. We visit two places making ultra-handmade ingredients for their sandwiches, starting at Olympic Provisions, where we chat with resident salumist Elias Cairo and get an excellent salami sandwich, made even more awesome with a liberal smear of butter. Then we go to Kenny & Zuke’s, one of the only spots in the country making old-school pastrami from start to finish, and putting it in a damn fine Reuben.

For a bit of escapism I occasionally daydream about living in a tiny, sunlit apartment in downtown Portland. This is a serious case of “Perfect Far Away” because I have not been to Portland since 1976. That town did make an impression on me. Even then the “food scene” was adventurous and included a restaurant that seated 8, all at one table, in a room so small that our chairbacks were pressed to the walls. We had brunch, and were all puffed up with our college girl sophistication and the pure bohemia of it all.

Now THIS is a life well lived. Freddie Yauner (is that Yawner? as in, height of irony? unless, of course, one finds rocketing toast to be a yawner. personally, i find it fascinating. toast itself is a yawner, which is what, of course, makes it so fascinating. fascinatingly dull.) must have spent hours and hours and hours engineering a toaster that sends toast up, up and awaaaay. it does come back to earth, as almost all things do, and NOT EVEN TOASTED. Ha. That is what I call a life well lived. that part anyway.

He calls it a moaster. So brilliant it oughter shine like a toaster useta. Moaster. We all need to pay attention to our inner moaster. Shiny and brilliant and sending hot stuff into outer space.
Freddie Yauner

How many feet would a hamster fly, if a hamster could fly high? Hamsters love speeed, you know, and those critters know horizontal only, earthbound they are. Betcha, I betcha, I betcha a hamster’s tail, that any hamster worth its weight in toast would grab on tight to an opportunity to go vertical. Up, up and away.

Reach for the stars and touch the sky.