The Lunch Encounter

met⋅ro⋅pol⋅i⋅tan   [me-truh-pol-i-tn] –adjective
1. of, noting, or characteristic of a metropolis or its inhabitants, esp. in culture, sophistication, or in accepting and combining a wide variety of people, ideas, etc.

Metro Connection talks DC sandwiches. Yes, we have a deserved reputation for being short on authentic delis, but if you are willing to put a few miles under your belt, there are delis worth the drive.

Food with Tim Carman: DC Delis
Washington is not known as a home of great delis and sub shops. But there’s a new Philadelphia-style Italian deli on H street, Northeast. And early indications are that the hoagies at Taylor Gourmet are worthy of the Philly tradition. Washington City Paper food writer Tim Carman joins us to talk about Taylor Gourmet – and to steer us to some of the best sandwich shops in the region.

The list:
Taylor Gourmet Deli
Deli City
Max’s Kosher Cafe
A. Litteri, Inc.
The Parkway Deli
The Italian Store
Jackson’s Roasting and Carving Co.

I would add the sandwich shrine of Mangialardo’s. Under the radar and exquisite in its simplicity.

The good news is, you could check off all stops within a week’s time, before circling back for a more in depth delve.

From the Sublime Miss M:
Symbolic Horseradish is One of Spring’s Early Risers

And from below is good too. Warm, wet earth urging the plants to grow up and, in the case of horseradish and other vegetables without which we would suffer, down as well. On second thought, with horseradish, with which we suffer. Delicious agony. 

Passover and Easter fall serendipitously close this spring and for those of us who flourish on rituals, symbols, myths, mysteries and rites, the seasonal cooking and feasting over the next few days could almost be daunting. Almost.

I have what Demetri Martin calls a conditional identity, sometimes I am Jewish (at the table) and sometimes I am, um, the obverse, or an obverse, culinary counterpart. As in when Dov Block asked his mother, granted he was only about 6 at the time, “Mom, is she Jewish or is she Christmas?” This time of year, am I Jewish or am I Easter?? A little maror, both kinds, on egg salad sure is tasty. Specially if the eggs were dyed before peeling.

Zzzzzzzzaaaaaaapppppp!

(He’s gonna get me.)

The Pastrami King Dies
The cold-cut king who turned the Carnegie Deli into a New York institution has died at age 90, but his legacy will live on in every over-stuffed corned beef sandwich. The New York Daily News
Led New York’s Carnegie Deli to World Renown

Stayin’ in’s nice.

I get the impression that women used to wear foundation garments under their housecoats. This one sure does look swell, swelling in all the right places, in her I-Love-Lucy pink, quilted robe. Next thing ya know, that Bustlin’ Betsy‘s going to splash some icy milk into that swanky swig, saunter over to give that drawer at 3/4 mast a swing of the hip, sliding this pristine scene back into seamless order. I’d be happy to get sassy during the starlight hours too, were some dashing, square-jawed fellow to fix me a ham sandwich.

Knitty
This cute cincher is knitted, no knidding. FYI girls, it’s DIY. Get those kneedles clicking while he snoozes.

Photo by Dean Alexander, Styling by Yours Truly

It’s gettin’ to be that time of year again. Time for me to pull the covers off the grills and mean to use ’em.

ISO a man with no hair on his forearms. A basting brush in one hand and tongs in the other. Squinting against the smoke. A man whose heart beats faster at the sound of fat hissing on fire.

Found a photo of the actual CDLPB from the fest.
Attached.
JAF

This just in from YMSMINY … JAF (Your Main Sandwich Man in NY, JAF)

Looking forward to sweating down in Nawlins at the end of next month, and to eating Cochon de Lait Po’ Boys at the Fest. Dinner reservations this year include
K-Paul’s, Brigtsen’s, August, and Cochon.

JAF

Mailbox coincidink…Bon Apetit jumped outta the box today and fell open to…

Not going to Jazz Fest, for the 6th year in a row, or is it 7 now, is killing me. K.I.L.L.I.N.G. M.E. Not going to Cochon is a further slap in the face. Such disrespect. What is this world coming to, I ask you?? Disrespecting the conceptually dead.

When Teddy was two, still stoller-bound, my agenda was his agenda, we took a long weekend to Jazzfest. And to a plethora of restaurants all around town, day and night, each one noisier than the next (I did the itinerary based on decibels). He was a trooper. Uglesich’s, Casemento’s, Cafe du Monde and The Camellia Grill are all deep in his collective unconscious. Closer to the surface in mine, riding the waves gloriously.
At the time Teddy had an odd habit of licking his shirt sleeve. Lick, lick, lick, lick, until a wetspot formed. The sort of peculiar quirk you pray your child will quit before college. The sort of peculiar quirk that ~ poof ~ suddenly is over. And you miss it.

Each day he and I would leave the fest a little earlier than the rest of our clan and take a long, long walk, strollering along greeting anyone we met, him snoozing, me sauntering. Those fest days were ~ HOT ~ and as we trundled through the exit turnstile one afternoon the attendant chortled, “He so thirsty, he lickin’ hisself.” Hah! Heavens he was a cute and quirky baby.

The World’s Most Perfect Food

Assuming you want to actually call this food. Okay, go ahead. Knock yer bacon-soaked socks off! Consider your credibility destroyed.
Yuppers!
Okey doke, now back to emptying the kitchen drawers, inserting them in their slots upside-down, carefully sliding in the contents and closing the drawers. WATCH OUT! The clock sez it’s still April 1st!

THE BREAD ART PROJECT

Beth and Rachel seem to share a joint breadcrust halo. Rising, rising, rising up to heaven. A heaven made of tender, finely-crumbed BREAD!

Blithe She-Does-Her-Best-to-Suit-Herself Correspondent Cynthia brought this to the attention of the Lunch Encounter news desk. Extra! Extra! Bork all about it! I do not want to go to there.

The McSurf N’ Turf

Adding sagely, Not sure if this will cheer you or totally gross you out.

I think the whole general idea of “suft n’ turf” is pretty hilarious. Who is the genius who started selling surf n’ turf? Where did it originate? Call your mom, she’s a food historian, right? I want to know.

(I find it challenging to imagine any of the parts of this sandwich emerging from turf or surf. Spontaneous regeneration on a factory floor seems more plausible.)

On the right day, I could kinda go for the Scotch Egg on a Stick. Much of the rest is just gross, sez Cynthia. Scotch Eggs on a Stick sounds like the Edinburg County Fair to me. Collops on a Stick, Rumbledethumps on a Stick, Fuarag on a Stick. Wash it all down with a yard ‘o beer.

You can see more delightful foods here at THIS IS WHY YOU ARE FAT.COM.

My imagination is thinking, “Would you like to downsize that??” As in, a Terre et Mer of Lambchop and Sardine. On a sliver of sourdough. Gotta work on that. The local fishmonger, aka Whole-in-My-Wallet Foods, brings in sardines on weekends. I asked them to set one aside for me. Just one. Bring yer own bag. 5¢ off.