The Lunch Encounter

Speaking of scale.
Sandwich art cars. Small enough to eat. Small enough for a mole to eat. A mole with a bit of perseverance. If these things do in fact roll, the mole will also need to be swift, munching as it scampers.

Harrod Blank does not seem to do anything small. I’ll take two, says he, and make them extra large. He’s got a mountain of art cars dying to be scaled by you.

Robertson Davies says to read deep rather than wide. Wendell Berry says to find richness and depth within  limitations. I am making a molehill out of  a mountain.  And a rich, deep, molehill  it is. Built soundly of hume and peat and the ashes of our critters, and sweat, blood and tears, and yard dirt dug up with a tablespoon.

The Petite Gourmet on 8th Street, across from Eastern Market, a building that could not be more loved without being burst from the inside out, is tiny and plain, has no menu and no sign that I remember. It is a mountain within a molehill. Nice pâtés, cheeses, mustards and other simple sandwich fixings sparingly spread between baguette halves. Understatement to the max, as they do it in France. We try here, but are unable to lean hard enough away from our grain.

The best the owner could do in the business card department was tear off this bit of paper from, um, I don’t know from what. I did not want to forget the place, the girls in the window adorably Frenchified to the point of appearing to be plants. And I do not mean the potted variety.

Make This the Summer of Sammie

A summer of love between slices.

Summer is not like summer used to be, and this is not a case of “it never was.” It was. Life races by and I want to grab it and pin it to the mat and, in the profound words of Ms. Skutley, “I’d like to pin it to the mat just long enough to inspect what the hell it is! Then surgically remove about ¾ of it so we can luxuriate in the rest.”

Most of the time my life feels completely out of balance and off-kilter. Either way – too little work or way too much. It has been like this for a long time, maybe so long that this IS the balance, and I have just not been paying attention. Or I have been trying so hard to pin it down, that it has wriggled away like jello against hot mashed potatoes.

Someone at work today said, I try to follow the Dalai Lama. I asked my assistant, “Do you follow the Dalai Lama?” “Is he on Twitter?” she said. “Cause I am not on Twitter.”

Fortune received at Wu Gardens

Postcard received from Sorry-Birds Ellen, same week.

Mariah sez, and she should know, so much raw wisdom from the font of youth, “There is no future, just a river of toast.” And, “When life gives you toast, do you butter it?”. And, ” When life gives you strawberries, do you make jam?”

BGR brings to mind GangBusteRs.

BUSTERS fellas! Move over! Big, dripping burgers on brioche buns.

Got a funny feeling they are poised for franchising, ready to pounce.

Cover photo by Scott Suchman. Styling by Yours Truly

A request for halfa shake and 15 fries did not seem to upset em. No Bon Qui Qui at this counter, and security did not strong arm me. Just call me Donna, Prima Donna.

A long time ago, at the Tastee Diner one night late with Phil and Kelly, after Twist and Shout, Phil ordered gravy fries with a hot fudge sundae, the extreme version of fries and a shake. His gravy was cooling like mad and congealing, and the ice cream was melting like mad and turning into a puddle, and Phil was eating away madly at them both , head flying back and forth. Man against nature.

This was one of those days when “You must have a fun job!” rang true. Yahue!

(Bread)breaking news!

CourtesyoftheAP. Thankyouverymuch.

RI mayor’s brother, an ex-con, opens sandwich shop

PROVIDENCE, R.I. — A former attorney whose brother is the mayor of Providence, R.I., has gone from federal prison inmate to sandwich shop owner. The new business is called Federal Wrap.

John Cicilline (siss-ill-EE’-nee) tells The Providence Journal that he became known for making wraps while in federal prison, where he was sent in 2008 after pleading guilty to shaking down a pair of drug dealers.

He was released in February and opened the shop in April with financing from family and friends. His menu is filled with wraps named for other inmates at the Fort Devens federal prison in Massachusetts.

CourtesyofHollywoodGoodfella. Thankyouverymuch.

Cicilline is not running away from his time spent behind bars. The menu board high above the counter has wraps named after inmates he befriended at Fort Devens, the federal prison compound about 40 miles west of Boston. There’s Rex’s Wrap, Steak Joost, the Riggi Reuben, Ralphy Wrap, and Ernie’s Veggie. He also makes Deven’s Dog, which is a hot dog smothered with cheddar cheese and caramelized onions.

The mayor, through his spokeswoman, had little to say about Federal Wrap.

“As with every new business in Providence, the mayor has every hope for its success,” she wrote.

Cicilline is divorced and the oceanfront house in Narragansett is gone. He has three daughters who help him with the business. He grew teary-eyed talking about how one of them couldn’t go to Hofstra University last year because he couldn’t afford to pay the tuition.

Cicilline can’t afford his own apartment, so he lives with his parents on Broadway.

“Today, I appreciate the value of a dollar,” Cicilline said. “I didn’t appreciate it before I got in trouble. I don’t want to say I’m glad it happened, but everything happens for a reason.”

Reusies look like cute cloth envelopes for your sandwich.

Goes the rhyme on the homepage of Reusies’ site.

Shopping NOW, as I write.

Listen, I’ve been washing plastic bags since the day I was born. The plastic-bag-hanging-dryer thingamabob that I made for my mother out of a wooden hanger, red ribbon, and 12 wooden clothespins FORTY-THREE YEARS AGO is still in her kitchen, still in use. I kid you not. With reusies, the kitchen laundry is cute.

STARSTRUCK

From Creston Lea up in Vermont:

I came home yesterday and found that piece of toast on my daughter’s table.
My wife has figured out the alluring powers of shaped toast in feeding a kid
who often says, “I don’t eat food.”

I’m trying to think of a single food reference in that book…pretty slim
pickings. My characters barely talk, much less eat. I think some Donettes
show up in Indian Summer Sunday. Oh…there IS some food talk in the story
called Let The Sad Times Roll On. No sandwiches, though…I don’t think.
Fennel? Artichokes?

Buy his book, Wild Punch. Read it, even if you are a person who says, “I don’t read books.”

SQUIRRELLUCK

Can you see the little cut-out star in the middle of his sandwich? Toasted the star for myself and had a tiny snack. My motto is: I eat food. In the narrowest, pre-industrial, sense of the word. Food. I wonder what Creston’s daughter eats. If not food, what is left?

I looked down at this blog, saw the piles and piles of sandwich ephemera, and rather than removing anything, I thought the problem was that it doesn’t have enough stuff on it. Hey, how about Leo and Joel?

Ian: Whoever was creating this sandwich looked down, saw the lasagna and red sauce, and rather than removing anything, they thought the problem was that it didn’t have enough stuff on it. Hey, how about a fried egg?

Leo: You really have a full day’s worth of meals here. A fried egg for breakfast, a cheese sandwich for lunch, and lasagna for dinner.

Joel: Except you eat it in 15 minutes.

Leo: I don’t know if that’s the most flattering angle to photograph this sandwich.

Joel: There isn’t a good angle.

Read on. You will be happy you did, particularly if you have been pondering the meaning of a Jewish cheesesteak.

Subway’s Lawyers Tell Rest Of World To Stop Selling “Footlong” Sandwiches

Subway has been sending legal letters to sandwich places informing them that Subway “has applied for the trademark FOOTLONG (TM) in association with sandwiches,” and instructing them to stop calling their sandwiches “footlongs” or else.

Read the rest of the story here.

Read my post on Subway’s footlong here.

Subway, get over yourself.