Gee, Street Food?

When a new lunch opens near the White House, it generates a decent amount of buzz, and generally crowds for at least a little while. Lots of folks work around there, and top lunch places are in high demand. As such, there was definite excitement when it was announced that a mediocre lunch place (Ecco Cafe) was being rebranded as a great-sounding “street food” place, featuring street foods from around the world.

As G Street Food (located on G near 17th NW in DC) opened recently, the buzz was still with it, and we quickly decided we needed to make it a priority to go there at lunch to try it out. When we arrived it was moderately crowded, but nothing more than Ecco ever got.

There's a big menu board when you first walk in to G Street Food and get in line. This contains specials, rotating features and staples. All of the stuff looked reasonably interesting, but we all agreed that there were not a lot of jump-off-the-page items and also not much that was very recognizable as street food. They have a sausage of the day with the highly recognizable Chicago hot dog on Tuesday, but the other days had bratwurst with kimchi and chorizo with an Indian-like sauté in a Middle Eastern saj bread. I find it hard to believe that those combinations actually exist somewhere on the street, as they seem a bit too cross-cultural.

There were lots of breakfast pastries, including tiny Montreal bagels, a tatine and pizza of the day, the Vietnamese pork sandwich bahn mi and a variety of other tatines, sandwiches and salads. Again, only several items really seemed like they would lend themselves to being street food (who gets salad on the street?). And absent were street food classics: burrito, quesadilla, crepe, Middle Eastern halal bowl, Asian dumpling and potsticker, Indian curry, samosa, Philly cheesesteak, Po Boy, Korean ba bim bop. I could go on. Instead what was there was eclectic if not esoteric, and just NOT ringing of street food to me. Even the presentation, in awkward paper bowls with no lid made portability – a street food must – very difficult and awkward.

What I ordered – the chorizo in saj – was actually very tasty. The chorizo was spicy and very flavorful, and served in the thin crispy saj bread with a terrific sauté of greens, paneer-like cheese, spices and chickpeas served with very good fries. It was a delicious meal, and the flavors melded together wonderfully in each bite. I was not complaining about that. Nine dollars for a sausage is a bit much, but it was tasty. But even this seemed like a combo of three cultures and a bit contrived for street food. Unfortunately, my compatriots weren't quite so pleased with the taste and preparation of what they ordered.

But for now, I'll say the taste and quality is good at G Street Food, but executing the key design – the design that's going to bring me and many others back again and again – is failing right now. Bring me AUTHENTIC street food treasures that I've never heard of from all around the world and dazzle me, but also keep me coming back with some of the street food that we know, love and identify with. Make me know – and not question – that its “street food” on “G” not just “food” on “G Street.”

Woe is Breadline

I totally foresaw Breadline's tragic fall from fortune. And there are witnesses. Or just the fact that I boycotted one of DC's formerly hottest lunch spots more than four months before its temporary August closure for health code violations. Only 2 months before my boycott, I even endorsed and lauded Breadline on this very site (see below).

My newfound complaints at the time were due to inconsistency in ingredient quality, taste and preparation. Sometimes the ham, turkey and Russian dressing tasted as divine as Breadline's high quality reputation and price tag prescribed. Other times the ham was gelatinous, the turkey full of gristle and the Russian dressing, well, rancid-tasting. I gave it more than enough chances before privately deriding the establishment to all the Breadline fans I knew, and ceased my patronization. But none of the other devout Breadliners (the witnesses I alluded to above) heeded my warnings, and before long I thought I was the crazy one.

Turns out Breadline didn't refrigerate its food properly. Among quite a number of health code violations. Whoops. Crow was eaten. My palette screamed for joy that its reputation was justified. And I was no longer the nut who thought Breadline was not worth its weight in, well, bread.

To Breadline's credit though, it took the wakeup call in stride. Its doors were closed for a month or so, the familiar manager/expediter seemed to have been replaced, and most noticeably, there were no more premade sandwiches and other items lining the prep tables behind the counter. All of the sandwiches are now prepared fresh. What a concept! I feel lucky the improperly-stored meat, cheese and dressing that I had previously eaten hadn't gotten me (or anyone I knew) sick. It sure tasted like it could have.

About a month after its reopening, I was finally convinced to return to Breadline – nearly 6 months since my last visit. I was pleasantly surprised by the changes I noted above. I ordered one of my classic favorites, the French ham and Swiss sandwich on baguette. They made it fresh right then – something I had never seen before with this cold sandwich – and the result was wowing. It was actually good again! Same ingredients – high quality ham, cheese, butter and bread – but completely different story, as these were fresh, plentiful and tasty. I went back again and got the same sandwich a week later and it was good again. What a start!

Now my third time back was just yesterday and I was finally ready to order the fresh turkey sandwich with Russian dressing, a sandwich I once declared a dream sandwich, but also one that nearly made me sick several times prior to my boycott. I believe it is the only food that I am repulsed by due to a bad experience. Unfortunately, while the sandwich was colder than before and did not taste rancid, that once-beautiful, fresh roasted turkey meat still contained ungainly fat and gristle and still REMINDED me of the rancid-tasting turkey sandwiches that I may forever associate with turkey or at least Breadline. The Russian dressing was still awful, though again, not rancid. I'm starting to think they have a bad recipe. The bread was good. As usual.

Breadline didn't lose me this time. I'm all for giving more chances, and I'm convinced that their violations are behind them and that they are still capable of making good food. Their turkey sandwich and its fall from fortune will perhaps be the lasting personal scar that Breadline will never be able to make go away for me. But the bigger scar for Breadline is the scar of the closure itself. Yes, diehard fans may have forgiven and forgotten, but when I've been in there recently the line has been noticeably shorter, the tables not close to the crammed-full of old, the crowd not even close to as dense an hour before or an hour after the main noon rush as it used to be. There used to be a line out the door practically from 11 to 3. No longer. We customers are fickle. Especially when their sky-high prices of old have not fallen a penny. Perhaps Breadline isn't off everyone's list, but it certainly isn't at the top of many anymore either. It's hard to get to the top in the crazily competitive lunchtime market in a large downtown area. Breadline was there in DC and they blew it. But kudos to them for lifting their heads back up and trying to grind away once again, this time the right way. It's what will likely keep them on my list at all in the future.

Implode Exploded Portions

I think we've all heard about how portion sizes in this country have exploded in size and proportion over the past twenty years. Sandwiches stacked higher. Burgers thicker. Steaks heavier. Biggie. Super sized. King size. Even our drinks! At Starbucks, all three sizes of drinks – tall, grande and venti – essentially translate to mean “large, larger and largest.” And it's not just with junk food. Even salads nowadays come with half a cup of dressing on the side – who knows how much is used when it's dressed for you. Bottom line, part of America's weight battle is recognizing and de-internalizing the portions that are now quite literally shoved down our throats.

I tend to avoid fast food and a lot of junk food, but I fall victim too. I noticed this a few weeks ago when going to Met Cafe in Washington DC to get my customary nigiri sushi lunch. Nigiri is pretty good for me. I hate soy sauce as a condiment, so with me we're talking some rice, some fish and some seaweed salad. I try to avoid the rolls that often have mayo or fried items and stick to plain, raw fish. I used to grab the container and fill it up to what I thought I needed for lunch. And I would eat it all. It usually cost a little over $10 by weight.

But then I noticed that these containers were enormous and that there were much smaller containers right behind them. I skeptically grabbed one and filled IT up – 6, maybe 7 skinny pieces of fish, and a little mound of seaweed. And it was a perfect amount. I did not get hungry and was completely satisfied. And ever since, it has been costing me only about $7 by weight. That's health and money savings!

It's the same with plates. Use small plates at home, order them in restaurants or take them at buffets and you'll trick yourself into feeling fuller with less food. A full plate looks like a lot of food, no matter how small the plate. Plus, while our eyes may not be able to remember 20 years ago, our hardwired instincts do. It's not too hard to reprogram to smaller portions.

Take my friend from work. He has always loved going out to lunch and getting whatever he wants, be it healthy or not. A few years ago when he found himself a bit overweight he didn't stop his lunchtime habits. He simply started eating only half. He now shares his sandwich, quesadilla, burrito, salad, rice bowl, wrap, burger or whatever it happens to be with someone else. Anyone else. Or he saves the other half for another meal. Religiously. And guess what? He's 20 pounds lighter and has significantly lower cholesterol and body fat than he did 2 years ago. And he still eats WHATever he wants, every single day.

So do these mental tricks of slicing plates, containers or even the foods themselves in half sound ridiculous? Check out this article I read the other day comparing portion sizes now to portion sizes of the 1980's with some stunning pictures. Look at that tiny little French fry container! Don't you vaguely remember that little white paper container? That little container with twelve fries in it? None of these half gallon cartons that are served nowadays as a side of fries, just a few is all we needed back then. And go figure, THAT portion was only 210 calories – today’s is nearly 700, and I doubt that’s the maximum. This comparative article was more corroboration than inspiration for me to write this post, but I think it could inspire more than a few people out there to reevaluate what's making them fat, the burger itself – or the other burger hidden inside it?

Metro Sushi Answers

In the mood for a light sushi lunch? Well often times I am. And it can be very tricky finding good sushi anywhere in the DC Metro area, let alone affordable, high quality, interesting, (in walking distance from work) and delicious sushi. Most people don't often want to spend any more than $10 for lunch, and usually the cheaper the better. That's tough at nearly any sit-down sushi restaurant and unfortunately knocks out even pre-made/pick-up sushi places, which are either still quite expensive or just not tasty enough.

So lost cause? Not quite. There is one place that does lunchtime sushi right – Met Cafe in the inner courtyard area off G street between 17th and 18th NW. I've been aware of it for a while but only have tried it a couple times recently. The place has a hot buffet for Asian-inspired lunches but the real gem is the sushi buffet. It is manned by an authentic sushi chef who really seems to care about the bar being clean, fresh, beautiful and stocked throughout the lunch service.

So how does it work? You go through the bar and get as much or as little as you want for $10.99 per pound. You're given your own personal pair of tongs – that are cleaned between usages – to take the sushi that are laid on beautiful, wooden sushi boards behind some half-glass. The rolls are big, vibrant and deluxe. Plus, the sushi chef is replenishing constantly, so the sushi is always extremely fresh.

So what was on the bar? You name it. Big pieces of tuna, salmon, shrimp and whitefish nigiri, along with countless large rolls. Not just basic tuna or California rolls, but spicy rolls, avocado rolls and even rolls topped with raw tuna or salmon as an added, luxe sushi garnish. These are rolls that would cost $7-$13+ each at any restaurant are sold here at weight. You can take one piece of each, or 10 pieces of one, and it's all the same. It's great!

And how IS this dream sushi? Superb. As good as any restaurant sushi I've had lately in this area. The fish was fresh and cut very well. The rice was flavorful, and each roll piece was loaded with flavor, and no sushi filler (i.e. cucumber) could be found. It was almost addictingly good. Just couldn't wait to go back. I was thrilled!

So how much did I pay for this? I was so excited that I loaded up and got certainly enough to be a dinner portion. And yet – it was still under a pound and cost under $10 for the sushi. On a normal day (like my second visit), a lunch portion for me only cost $6 or $7. Now THAT is a place to know. Great taste, great quality, great variety, great price. Great sushi! Met cafe: go there, but leave a little sushi for me.

Ham and Cheese War

Two popular DC lunchtime eateries that I've mentioned and touted before: The Breadline and Cafe Phillips. One sandwich, the classic ham and cheese – one of my absolute favorites. Who wins the ham and cheese war? We shall see.

In general, both places can be fantastic, but both definitely have their down days, so this is not a battle of the establishments. That would have to be a longer discussion.

The Ham: Breadline's is Madrange French ham, a thinly-sliced, deli-style ham with a lot of smoky, savory flavor. However, once or twice the the ham tasted old, and that's a real turn off. Usually it's moist and very flavorful though. Phillips' ham is made in-house, fresh-daily along with their turkey and roast beef, and is carved thickly and generously as you order it. It is moist and very flavorful but is not sweet at all and still has that deli smokiness. This is a must. ADVANTAGE? Phillips.

The Cheese: A deep, pungent and high-quality Swiss cheese is the only option they give you for this sandwich at the Breadline, and it is a very nice one. The powerful flavor of the cheese works well with the tang and smoke of the ham. At Phillips, the cheese is your choice of a menagerie of pre-sliced, deli varieties including Swiss, Provolone and Muenster. None are too exciting, flavorful or memorable. ADVANTAGE? Breadline.

The Bread: The most underrated portion of a great sandwich, Breadline realizes this, and true to its namesake bakes a great assortment of breads fresh each day. The ham sandwich comes on half of a French baguette. Crusty and flavorful outside with a moist, fresh inside, it is a great bread. It's never stale and plays well as a house for the rest of the sandwich. You have to be ready for a lot of bread though, as the bread-to-innards ratio is pretty high. At Phillips, the bread is not baked fresh there, but it is usually fresh and not packaged-tasting if you choose the right one. The hoagie roll, sub roll and Ciabatta are a sampling of the good bets. I get it on the Ciabatta, and it was surprisingly good bread, crusty and tasty. Plus it packs its punch while still being only a thin layer compared to the rest of the sandwich. ADVANTAGE? Breadline.

The Condiments: The Breadline keeps it simple and French and serves it to you with a small amount of some high quality butter. And that's all. This is certainly a tasty and rich addition, but not something I look to eat all the time. At Phillips, they offer to cover your sandwich with any of probably 20 toppings, but only a few usually look that enticing. I like the hot, whole-grain mustard. Theirs isn't that hot, but it’s a nice calorie-free complement to the ham. ADVANTAGE? Phillips.

The Cost: Breadline's notoriously high prices do not bypass the ham and cheese. At roughly $9, that can be a little steep for a sandwich, no matter how good. Phillips' ham and cheese runs around $7, which seems like an overall more reasonable price for a sandwich, especially considering they do their own ham. ADVANTAGE? Phillips.

The Size: Both sandwiches are huge. Big enough for two lunches, and I'm not just saying that. I almost always save the other half of either for another meal. ADVANTAGE? Push, but with a slight lean toward Phillips due to theirs costing less.

The Verdict: While both are terrific sandwiches that do the ham and cheese proud, Breadline's occasional dud (due to non-fresh ham) and higher cost despite overall slightly higher quality is enough for Phillips the Underdog to pull ahead and squeak out a win in the Ham and Cheese war. Ham & Cheese ADVANTAGE? Café Phillips over The Breadline for the title.

A Tale of Two Half-Sandwiches

I went to Heidi's, a New York-esque deli on H street near 17th in DC, and ordered the salami and provolone sandwich on fresh ciabatta with red onions, spicy mustard and lettuce. I had been here before and knew they made good sized, good quality, good tasting sandwiches. I had even gotten the salami before and quite enjoyed it. I actually eat salami and related meats quite rarely, but quite enjoyed my Heidi's version enough about 6 months ago that I randomly decided to get it again. Plus all of their sandwiches are easily large enough to really be two lunches, so in a cash and calorie saving move, I already had the second half wrapped up and in the office fridge for the next day's lunch before I even cracked the first half.

Somewhat unfortunately, this sandwich was not quite as memorable as the first. The bread was crusty but quite brittle and stale, and didn't even seem like the same bread as the pillowy, chewy “fresh” ciabatta I had had last time. The lettuce was kind of wilty and added nothing to the sandwich, and they forgot the provolone. They also went way too heavy on the mustard. The salami was generous and nice and tangy, and red onions make everything better, but the complements were not making this a truly enjoyable half-sandwich. I dreaded the next day's lunch a little and knocked Heidi's down my list of lunch places near the White House.

When it came down to eating the other half of the sandwich the next day, I was none too excited. I decided that it really could not be messed up too much more than Heidi's already had, so I decided to go out on a limb and try to make this sandwich better using my limited resources at work.

First I needed to make that bread moister – it was barely even edible the day prior. I also needed to bring out some lacking flavors and lose a little of the mustard. So I discarded the lame lettuce and with it about a third of the mustard. I also sprinkled a little water on each side of the sandwich bread and decided to go for a hot sandwich to help the bread moisten with this added water and draw out the flavors of the salami more by heating the sandwich. So I wrapped this now-wetted hunk of weird sandwich in its paper and stuck it in the microwave on high for over a minute. When it was done, it was hot and sizzling. I let it cool and opened the paper....

To my delight, the bread was nice and moist, and the now-cooked salami and onions were as well, with the help of the added moisture that sort of steamed and sizzled the sandwich within the confines of its paper cooking vessel. The salami tasted richer, tangier and deeper and played great with the tender and flavorful onions, the remaining mustard and the way-less-stale bread. It tasted more decadent now, even though the only thing I added was water. It actually turned into a really tasty half-sandwich. Really tasty! And the texture was nice as well – it even appeared quite appetizing after the mangling it went through.

While my “MacGuyver” cooking tactics might have been a little low-brow, the ultimate sandwich reminded of something of a much higher quality, but at the very least was far more edible and enjoyable than the “fresher” first half from Heidi's the day before. Sometimes you do what you have to do to enjoy your lunch. Or maybe I'm just weird and got lucky this time.

Dream Sandwich

Every once in a while I come across a dish at a restaurant or other eatery that literally impresses me to the point of sheer happiness. Something as simple as an incredible soup or inventive pizza can make me remember a place for a lifetime. A dream dish, so to speak.

Take Bread Line, a popular soup, sandwich and salad joint near the White House (near Penn and H). They use fresh, top line ingredients in creative uses and have different menu items each day. However, the place is overwhelming to say the least, as its always packed and zooey, yet the order taker seems to only be focused on you as soon as you're within his eyesight and he's barking for your order ten people back. Some people don't have the heart for it. Or the wallet, with most orders coming to at least ten if not fifteen dollars for lunch.

Needless to say there is still a lot of hype around it and it is one of the best lunch places around. But to this point I've never been all that impressed. The soups seem lazy, the salads heavy and most of the special sandwiches a little overdone. So lately when I have ended up there, I've found my niche in their regular menu items. Often overlooked, this section contains some of the finer and simpler sandwiches than their far more hyped "special" brethren.

Which gets us to the turkey. The very first regular sandwich on the menu is so hidden away by all the specials and other garbage that my colleague, who has been going there for years, was unaware of the existence of the turkey until my recent discovery of it.

And oh what a discovery! It is so simple, so well done and so mouthwatering. It is a sandwich I'll be craving for a long time, and I'll have to restrain myself with lunches brought from home so as not to go and order it for 8 or more dollars several times per week.

Just imagine. Moist, fresh turkey, roasted daily in house – white and dark meat, piled high on Bread Line's own freshly baked, soft and pillowy ciabatta. Add a big pile of wild greens and a squirt of flavorful, delectable Russian dressing (no cheese needed) and it's done and perfect. It is a simple, delicious and masterful delight. The perfect meld of flavors and textures. Unparalleled in turkey sandwiches I've ever had before.

So now I can believe a little of the Bread Line hype, as long as they never get rid of the turkey sandwich. My dream sandwich. It's not every day I find a dish anywhere I'd be willing to dream about. So Bread Line deserves the credit – finally.

Soup & Sandwich Economics

Probably the first two things that pop into most people's minds when they think of what to eat for lunch – soup and sandwich. Not surprisingly, lunch places have cornered their market in large part due to their reliance on soups and sandwiches. It is why we often think of them in tandem. But if you really think about them, a soup and a sandwich could not be more different.

It takes me a solid hour to make a good pot of soup from scratch and even longer if not using store-bought stock. A sandwich? It takes me about two minutes, probably far less if I had an assembly line in front of me. But when people come in to a place for lunch, they expect fresh, homemade soups and sandwiches. A pot of soup would have to serve at least 60 people's lunches to even out soup and sandwiches in terms of time resources spent. And I know that at least my big pot of soup won't feed 60.

So simple answer, right? Soup should just cost more than a sandwich because it takes more human resources to prepare a single serving. But it never does. Most often, a sandwich far exceeds the cost of a soup, and people have come to expect that.

So it must be the cost of the ingredients that matters then? Maybe not. With a sandwich you have veggies, bread, condiments, cheese and meat. Throw out bread from the equation, as a soup nearly always comes with a hunk of bread. So now we're comparing a few slices of deli meat and cheese, lettuce, tomato and mayo to ingredients in a soup. Water/stock, veggies, herbs and spices, butter/oil, maybe cream, maybe cheese, maybe seafood, maybe rice/noodles, maybe meat. With a good soup, you're going to be getting quite a bit of “stuff.” But let's also assume that this is a good sandwich, and thus it will probably be piled fairly high. I would give the slight edge in terms of cost of ingredients to the sandwich, but not by as much as you might naturally think. With human resources costing more for a soup and components costing more for a sandwich, why does the sandwich still cost more?

Could it be perception? People kind of think of soup as low-brow, right? Well that might not be the case. Just take a look at fancy restaurants and perhaps rethink. Soups are a mainstay of nearly every level of cuisine in nearly every culture – even in the nicest of restaurants, you will find gorgeous soups and rarely a sandwich. But where have I had the absolute most gorgeous soups? On the street at little soup stands and other lunchy type places! They make their money only by standing out from the competition, which is why I have seen some of the most creative, tasty and high-brow soups at lunch places.

Then people just think that soup is less filling and simply less than something like a sandwich, right? Again, maybe not. With a big hunk of bread and all the liquid in a soup, I myself find that I get full faster when I eat soup and am just as satisfied if not more. Considering that low-fat and low-calorie stock-based soups are fairly commonplace and this soup satiety phenomenon, soup could actually be a healthier option and actually provide you with too much food.

With soup actually being more food than you need rather than less AND being more high-brow than low, why is it still costing less than a sandwich?

Even when you throw in capital resources, it doesn't help the anomaly look more normal. Making a sandwich requires a fridge, sandwich paper and a knife. Making a soup requires a kitchen complete with fridge and knife (and stove, pot, ladles, spoons, bowls and cutting boards). Plus you might actually need a chef or cook to make a soup or come up with a unique recipe, whereas a sandwich, as said before, can be made by anyone. So a soup requires much more overhead than a sandwich, and yet it costs less than the sandwich.

So it must simply be demand. Stupid demand. People, for whatever anomalous reason, must want sandwiches so much more than soup that they're willing to pay more for something that should not be priced any higher than the higher-costing soup. For the soup makers, this leads to profit minimization and eventual exit from the market (i.e. going out of business). I know that I would not be thrilled about paying more for soup, but I would do it because I don't want my favorite soup spots going under. If we, as consumers, cannot adjust to this truth, then the market for high-quality lunch soups will no longer exist (unless subsidized by the higher-profit sandwich). Either all soup will be junk or there will be no soup option at all. Failed economics leads to failed industries, and sometimes demand can't simply be the excuse. I mean, we might actually miss our soup if we're too laissez faire and let it slip away.

That Place

Every so often I discover a place that just makes me feel good when I eat there. It's a strange phenomenon, since the aspect of people that cause them to enjoy food is probably pretty similar, but the aspect that makes us truly fancy something is very personalized. It digs deep into our personal preferences, our personality and even our current situation and surroundings.

If a place makes a good hamburger, the majority of people who eat hamburgers will enjoy that hamburger. But it takes a lot more for a person to truly have a tiny, little warm place in their heart for that burger joint. Most would write it off as a good burger and remember that if they ever considered returning. But for a select few, this place becomes the place they associate with a great burger, the place that reminds them of the best burger they've ever tried, the place they secretly would love to eat at daily, or even the place that somehow redefines their image of a burger in a novel and exciting light. That is their comfort place. For no explicable reason. That feel good place.

We all have a few. We never know where they came from, or why, or even which old one they replaced. They just form. It's that place that no one else “gets” as much as you do. It can be comfort food, but it doesn't have to be. It usually just has some unique aspect that only you appreciate, but it's everything to you.

Having just moved to a new area, I was fully expecting to develop one or more new places. In Ann Arbor, I couldn't tolerate B3W, but was over the moon for these Buffalo wings at a smaller joint because I always went there as consolation for a big exam. When I was living in Manhattan, there was a tiny sushi restaurant on MacDougal Street near my Soho apartment. It was usually nearly empty, but I thought the sushi rice tasted better than any other sushi, the rolls were more creative, and above all, their brown rice sushi (and the fact that they even had it). I went there as often as I could, and brought people, but few others thought it was much more than a pretty good sushi joint.

Now in the DC-NoVA area, I think I have found my first new place. It is a deli sandwich place called Phillip's. There are supposedly four Phillip’s in DC; this store is located on G Street between 17^th and 18th. After I started my job, several coworkers brought me and another new co-worker, Rebecca, to Phillip's for lunch. I wasn’t expecting much, but when I got in, I noticed something quite novel. Behind the glass, next to the bread and the toppings was a bona fide carving station!

There was a guy with several large carving knives handling the meat, and if someone ordered a turkey sandwich, he would carve off a big pile of meat off the fresh, roasted whole turkey and pass it to the sandwich compiler who had prepared the bread selection with any cheese, condiments, lettuce, or tomato in the meantime. And then the sandwich was sent to the third member who offered a myriad of other sandwich toppings – all for $6.95. If the next person ordered roast beef, the carver turned to his roast and carved off a gorgeous offering of rare and succulent roast beef. And they had a whole chicken for chicken sandwiches, and a whole ham. You get the point. All of these were freshly cooked, and they looked and tasted tremendous.

Don’t ask me what was so special about this place. The bread and cheese and toppings were all fairly typical, maybe even mundane. I’m not even a huge meat eater, and I don’t eat deli cold cuts very much at all. Maybe that was the thing. This was a deli sandwich with REAL, warm meat, not processed, salty cold meat. I was hooked immediately, and my face now lights up any time anyone mentions going there. I have tried all of their main offerings and approved of them all. But the roast beef takes the cake by far. Killer!

Rebecca on the other hand, true to her New York roots, thought Phillip’s was “okay – nothing to write home about.” She would take a standard Jewish deli any day of the week over this more nouveau take on a sandwich. And I don’t blame her. This is not HER place. This is MY place.

I even thought I was going there for lunch today, and this became a great morning in anticipation. And then my lunch buddies did a total 180 and decided to go to Baja Fresh. Threw Phillip’s out on the street! And why shouldn’t they? They like Phillip’s, but Phillip’s is not THEIR place. There’s just no way they would ever give that place – MY place – its just desserts. It’s just another lunch place in their rotation. They just don’t understand. No one ever will ever quite understand ANYONE’S place. But everyone needs their place nevertheless.