The Lunch Encounter

Richmond and its inhabitants are so civilized. All these years as a stylist, more than 20, and the ONLY folks I know who go out to lunch during a shoot are Richmonders. Shhhhhhh. Please don’t let them know that this is the anxious, dog-eat-dog, time-is-money 21st century. Shush now. We deserve an occasional island of cordiality.

Jeff Saxman of Jeff Saxman Photography
A meatloaf burger. Brilliant! Or meat loafburger.

I could not bring myself to order a BLAT. It sounds like an exclamation one might use to describe the effects of stuffing yourself with hot Krispy Kremes round 2 am after a night of drinking bourbon on the rocks.

The National Museum of American History honors lunch with this featured object, the Jetson’s Lunch Box.

American notions of family life in the 1960s traveled effortlessly outward to interplanetary space on this fanciful box.

Perhaps on the box. Not in sixties unreal real life.

Is there chicken and stars in that thermos? The tiny stars with center pinholes. Stars do have holes. You send a wish and it may stick, or it may pass through, like a camel through the eye of a needle. That camel, squeezing through that itty bitty hole, is more likely than the wish sticking. Go with the odds. Wish early. Wish often.

St. Louis Blues

W. C. Handy, Louis Armstrong

I hate to see that evening sun go down
I hate to see that evening sun go down
‘Cause, my baby, he’s gone left this town

Blues City Deli in St Louis is on a perfect Benton Park corner and that joint’s got a groove on. In the pocket. Spent more than the allotted share of my 40 hours tipping back a root beer and tapping my toes at this super sandwich hotbed.

As I mentioned in an earlier post about St Louis, I checked my reliable source, the Bottle Rockets message board, for requisite sites, spots, dives and joints. My inbox filled with a weeks worth of eating. Excruciating editing for my 40 hours.

Hey Snack…a couple suggestions..try to make it down to Blues City Deli (best sandwich in the city). I recomend the Benton Park Poorboy or the Chicken Shack Ranch…St. Louis Blues History all over the walls and the owner Vince is an ex-muscian but more importantly..a hell of a guy..Mention your blog to him he will be grateful..Vinnie is a great guy….
Muddy Waters
That Vincent is a doll and a half, and running this sandwich show apparently runs in his blood. The man is clearly very generous, generally speaking, and generous with that impish smile as well.
Muddy recommended the Benton Park Poorboy or the Chicken Shack Ranch. Whaddya mean “or” Muddy? How bout both?? With a sassy Sioux City Sarsaparilla. The drink cooler was bustin’ with righteous pops.

Feelin’ tomorrow like I feel today
If I’m feelin’ tomorrow like I feel today
I’ll pack my truck and make my give-a-way

St. Louis woman with her diamond ring
Pulls that man around by her
If it wasn’t for her and her
That man I love would have gone nowhere, nowhere

And there is live music. During the daylight hours! Oh to have this place at the corner of 6th and Monroe in NoVA (that would be almost next door) so I could walk down every Thursday night with my kid for live music and a sandwich supper.

I got the St. Louis Blues
Blues as I can be
That man’s got a heart like a rock cast in the sea
Or else he wouldn’t have gone so far from me

I love my baby like a school boy loves his pie
Like a Kentucky colonel loves his mint’n rye
I love my man till the day I die

Got home, none the worse for wear. Hastily scrounged the edges of my bag for this souvenir, a gift from the the St Louis sandwich man himself. Had to wear it. Not only none the worse, I was much the better for wearing it.

Stamping along in our sneakers during the twelve lit hours of the fall equinox, we came upon this toothpick of the giants.

Toothpicks are filling my brain. They seem to have appeared serendipitiously in many guises and sizes. The thought of quills got the birds careening around in there. A bird house is being built, pick by pick, in my subconscious.

Le Negri, a sterilized peacock quill is the toothpick of choice for two giants in my world, James Farber and Eric “Roscoe” Ambel. Late last winter we squeezed sideways into Katz’s in the great empire state for pastrami.

The boys worked the sterilized peacock quill toothpicks while we waited for the check. On the other side of the table the fairer sex checked lipstick and smoothed skirts.

Research the picks of choice at Le Negri. A packet in your wallet will have you ducking under velvet ropes in no time.

A fascinating little object, n’est ce pas?

Should you be at lunch overseas with a tumbling Le Sandwich Club or in need of a little post-lunch dental hygiene the following translations from James will aid you:

Italian: Stuzzicadenti (my favorite) (stoot-see-ka-DEN-tee)
Spanish: Palillo (pah-LEE-oh)
French: Cure-Dent (CURE-a-dont)
Dutch: Tandenstoker
Japanese: Yogi (YO-gee)
Hebrew: Kassem (kas-SEM)

Not sure of the exact spelling of any of the above (pronunciation in parentheses).
Signed,
MSM in NYC (You are on your own with Dutch.)

My main sandwich man in NYC is working overtime this week. I’ll be peeling the cabbage to make it up to him next time we convene.

Jeffrey Steingarten wrote this book and I can’t praise it enough.

Washington Toothpick
See this in your rearview mirror while biking along the edge of west coast Route 1? Head for the ditch or you will be looking for toothpick-size pieces of yourself on the blacktop.

Dixie Chick Katie did her bit for the economy by buying me a gift. What would we do without refrigerator magnets (or without Katie?!)? And refrigerators to stick them on? At our house the fridge is our gravitational center. Fwoooop, we are pulled towards it day and night, arms outstretched.

Gravity. Not just a good idea. It’s the law.

The season for brown food and brown beverages is upon us. I can hear the ice clinking in my glass already.

The Divine Miss M loop de looped me on this:

The Brown Hotel Invites Louisville to Participate in 85th Anniversary Celebration

From 85 Cents to $85, a Taste of The Brown is Within Reach for All

LOUISVILLE, Ky. (Sept. 24, 2008) – – – In 1923, the price of gas hovered around 25 cents a gallon, Time Magazine hit newsstands for the first time and Zev was the winner of the 48th Kentucky Derby. In October of that year, history was made in Louisville when The Brown Hotel opened its doors to the public for the first time. Famous throughout the world for its grandiose beauty and its signature Hot Brown dish, The Brown is as celebrated today as it was 85 years ago. To mark this milestone, The Brown is offering a full schedule of special packages and dining events from Wednesday, Oct. 22 through Friday, Oct. 24! For information or reservations, call 502-583-1234.

The English Grill will partner with several local distilleries such as Craig Beam from Heaven Hill, Harlen Wheatley from Buffalo Trace (If you go to this site a buffalo will roar at you. Do buffaloes roar?), Bill Samuels from Maker’s Mark, Jim Rutledge from Four Roses and Jimmy Russell from Wild Turkey to present a spirited five-course dinner prepared by the hotel’s executive chef Laurent Géroli.

The Brown Hotel, located at Fourth and Broadway, has been a Louisville tradition for 85 years. It is home to the four-diamond English Grill and the casual venue, J. Graham’s Café where guests can try the legendary sandwich called “The Hot Brown.” The Brown Hotel is also a member of the Preferred Hotels and Resorts and Historic Hotels of America. For more information on this luxury hotel or a recipe of “The Hot Brown,” visit The Brown’s website at http://www.brownhotel.com or call 502-583-1234.

Last week I made my first visit to St Louis and wanted to make the most of my 40 hours there. Take away sleeping left 24 hours to fill. Round the clock sandwiches.
Planning ahead a bit I turned to my reliable source, the Bottle Rockets message board. They are a St Louis band, you know, and a sandwich thread on the board sparked this cyber lunch encounter. St Louis Bottle Rockets fans would have the goods on Missouri wiches.

With you being such a sandwich aficionada, I think you owe it to yourself to try one of St. Louis’ famous fried brain sandwiches. Used to be several places in South city that served em, but not sure how many there are now. One place I know of that still has them is Ferguson’s Pub.
cur dog

I had a brain sandwich one time. I was drunk. Got it at a bar called “Pat’s”, right across Highway 40 from the zoo. I don’t remember it having much flavor, other than what was on top of it, onions and mayo. Remember it having the same consistency of a McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish. It neither repulsed, or, aroused me. It’s sort of like a St. Paul sandwich, with less flavor.
Brian

Gotta get you some? Ferguson’s got em! Ferguson’s kept hours that worked with the smidgen of time I had to nab a fried brain sandwich. After ordering, a bit of tourist paranoia washed over me as the minutes chugged by in slo-mo. Three Bud Lites later the plastic plates circled on their bottom rims – wa waa waaa – on the table and settled. They split it for us, pile ‘o pickles a piece. Nice. Chewed several bites thoughtfully, then wolfed it and bolted. The next meal was at our heels.

When I used to work near downtown STL, I made a lunch excursion down to Carondelet in far South City to get a brain sandwich. I didn’t get my sandwich, but I did get to hear the waitress say “we’re all outta brains today” with a straight face. Can’t remember what the place was called, though. I’ve still never tried a brain sandwich, but I did have a brain taco several years ago in De Kalb, IL.
decent e

I know this picture is horribly dark but I was handicapped. Did not want to use a flash in a dark, neighborhood bar on a packed Friday night. Nor did I want to take my plate and stroll outside to the pavement where there was still some daylight. Be right ba-a-a-ck.

Further investigation will take you here:

Scott Simon discusses how”…residents of one town in Indiana continue to eat a local delicacy, the fried brain sandwich” in spite of current health concerns. (Psssst, mad cow disease.)

Those who know me, and many who don’t, have probably been unfortunate enough to be bludgeoned with my rant on brains and other offal. The rant goes, if you need me for food, please don’t eat just the parts that our American mores say aren’t icky. Please don’t eat my tenderloin and toss away my liver.

Please don’t bury me down in that cold cold ground
I’d rather have ’em cut me up and pass me all around
Randy Newman

Use my ears for sausage, my bones for nice hot soup
All the tough and chewy parts cook slow and low for stew
Fry my brains for sandwiches, with beer to wash em down
BBQ or smoke the stuff that folks don’t eat uptown.

If anyone gets up close and personal to my brain I would like the lights to be dimmed, corner bar style. A tall cold one on a cardboard coaster, too please, and make it the third round by the time you get to inspecting my brain. It’s madness in there, alright.

Who needs to blog?
I’ll just let my friends do the thinking and typing. What the heck? I did all the legwork anyway. Now I can coast, eat a few sandwiches…

This just in from my main sandwich man in NYC, JAF:

Hey Lisa,

JAF

And why did the chewing gum cross the road? Cause it was stuck to the cingale’s foot!

From that tall, handsome sandwich man in Ohio:

In Columbus, those who seek sandwich nirvana may find their enlightenment at Katzinger’s Delicatessen in ye olde German Village, right at the edge of downtown.

Consistently rated the best sandwich shop in the city, it does not disappoint. Entering the establishment, one is greeted by a vast array of accoutrements. Cases full of fish salads made from scratch, various pastas of all varieties, none-more-kosher meats, salamis from destinations far and wide (and the taste is worth the carbon footprint), cheeses to enchant the patate. But that is not all. Oh no. That is not all.

There is also… the sandwich menu. Can one have too much of a good thing? Is such a thing possible? To enjoy every sandwich here would take you a month. A well-fed month.


Where to begin? Well, in this political season of treachery, one’s heart may long for a reminder of a simpler, more prosperous time. In 1994, then-president Bill Clinton entered this fabled room… and designed his own sandwich. #59 on the Menu = President Bill’s Day At the Deli.

A very simple yet elegant ‘wich with all the elements in place. Corned beef, a generous but not too-ample serving. Swiss cheese, in a similar fashion. Spicy mustard. Just the right spice. On pumpernickle (edited). Of course. Digging in, all is right with the world. Ever so briefly.