On the stretch of Nicollet off where I live, the sixteen block stretch known as Eat Street, which I thought was a fine moniker when I was working in the hospitality/travel industry and now read with a dick-shriveled cringe, there is no dearth of banh mi. From Lotus To Go-Go up on Grant (and tucked back a block west on La Salle) down to Pho Tau Bay at the Midtown Greenway exit (that I haven’t been to in literally eons), everybody and his brother is gunning for that round eye dollar ever since Lu’s Sandwich came on the scene five? years ago and captivated all the white folks with the simplest sandwich ever made.
Back then, Lu’s was a banh mi shop that did two things: Banh mi and boba tea. That was it back in the day. Banh mi and boba tea. Nothing the fuck else, fuck you. The menu marquee was eight pictures of the same sandwich, somebody just changed the meat on it between shots. You could get three of the bastards for ten bucks. There was a mom and her son and some dude who skulked around the back looking like a Vietnamese Nosferatu that worked there, they had a delivery guy for two months that was never in when you needed a delivery and the one time he was, he was a ginger man on a three speed bike, stoned out of his fucking mind. The original location was in a plaza and when you walked inside, the place was always a mess. Tables and chairs in disarray, newspapers breezing by like tumbleweeds despite the lack of breeze. If you didn’t make it there by four o’ clock, they likely would run out of bread. I saw my first albino there.
After a while, Lu’s went from three fifty to three ninety nine. They moved to their current location, prices went up to four fifty, french fries popped up on the menu, they debuted the Vietnamese french dip (an Indochina dip?), there were egg rolls, a soda fountain, little Aryan girls who talked in question started working there. The four fifty was worth ensuring the continued success of a beloved banh mi shop done well. And their french fries were amazing.
They eventually introduced a tuna banh mi and jacked the prices up to four ninety nine. The place that once gave me steamed bacon because they ran out of grilled pork back in the day now was charging five goddamned dollars for a banh mi and the portions were shrinking.
By this time, I started noticing the number of places offering banh mi. It was a boom. Today, Nicollet from fourteenth to twenty ninth is lousy with them. Catty-corner from my apartment at Pho Hoa, you can pick up grilled chicken or grilled or shredded pork banh mi for three ninety five a pop. Down the block at Jasmine Deli, not to be confused with Jasmine 26 around the corner, you can pick them up for, according to an old Google menu listing, three seventy five a pop. That’s where I went today for lunch and found that the banh mi craze had reached its peak.
First of all, they had them stacked up on the counter, wrapped and ready to go, so freshness was not a priority. Thankfully, I ordered beef and they had none of those ready to go so mine were made fresh-ish.
Next, and I blame Google for this, after tax (and before the fifty cent up charge because I didn’t hit the twelve dollar debit card minimum), my banh mi was four sixty. There’s no sales tax in the world, aside from maybe Vermont, bunch of liberals, that ups the price from three seventy five to four sixty. An eighty five cent sales tax? Not possible. Except in Vermont. I live in Minnesota.
Did I want my receipt? No because I was a little miffed as it was that this banh mi, after my fifty cent penalty, was on some Lu’s price shit.
I took my banh mi home and what the fuck did I just pay for?
Holy shit did they skimp on some shit. I basically just dropped five ten on a goddamned shredded carrot sandwich garnished with cucumber.
There was meat. I saw meat. I couldn’t taste meat but I saw it. I couldn’t taste the pate, I couldn’t taste the daikon, I could tell there was jalapeño though I couldn’t see that.
I mean, for Christ’s sake, I’ve got Arby’s coupons in my bag. I could have picked up two for six on a couple market fresh turkey sandwiches (psst! They’re all just club sandwiches) or two for five beef and cheddars. No, Arby’s is not local; no, Arby’s is not healthy (no matter what the fuck they mean by market fresh); no, Arby’s is not a single-location restaurant that, during Saturday lunch, has only two tables occupied and thus needs to operate at a higher profit margin to stay afloat but, cripes, man, I need to save a buck, too. I mean, shit, Wendy’s charges five beans for their chicken sandwiches and that seems expensive as shit until you compare that to the banh mi I had today. I order a Wendy, I get a deep-fried chicken breast patty the circumference of my fist topped with their bullshit raspberry quinoa marmalade that they tell me is a vinaigrette but I know the fucking difference. I drop five beans on a Jasmine, I get a fucking shredded carrot sandwich after a fifty cent up charge.
And let’s be honest, I drop five beans on a Lu, I get some - I don’t know what it is but at least it has cilantro on it. I drop six beans on a My Huong and I get not a generous portion but a reasonable one (and they have the best banh mi on the block). I drop four beans at Pho Hoa and I get - OK, so I forget what Pho Hoa’s are like because it’s been a minute but I remember not feeling like I was getting schtupped sideways.
So, no, I can not recommend - and let me be very clear about this - just Jasmine Deli’s banh mi.
Go there and get anything else from their menu, I’m sure it’s good. I’ve had their pork and shrimp vermicelli salad and even though I’ve recently come to the conclusion that I’m never happy after eating vermicelli salad, their vermicelli salad, as I remember it, is good.
It is only their banh mi that I’m talking shit about. Seriously. Just the banh mi.
Back then, Lu’s was a banh mi shop that did two things: Banh mi and boba tea. That was it back in the day. Banh mi and boba tea. Nothing the fuck else, fuck you. The menu marquee was eight pictures of the same sandwich, somebody just changed the meat on it between shots. You could get three of the bastards for ten bucks. There was a mom and her son and some dude who skulked around the back looking like a Vietnamese Nosferatu that worked there, they had a delivery guy for two months that was never in when you needed a delivery and the one time he was, he was a ginger man on a three speed bike, stoned out of his fucking mind. The original location was in a plaza and when you walked inside, the place was always a mess. Tables and chairs in disarray, newspapers breezing by like tumbleweeds despite the lack of breeze. If you didn’t make it there by four o’ clock, they likely would run out of bread. I saw my first albino there.
After a while, Lu’s went from three fifty to three ninety nine. They moved to their current location, prices went up to four fifty, french fries popped up on the menu, they debuted the Vietnamese french dip (an Indochina dip?), there were egg rolls, a soda fountain, little Aryan girls who talked in question started working there. The four fifty was worth ensuring the continued success of a beloved banh mi shop done well. And their french fries were amazing.
They eventually introduced a tuna banh mi and jacked the prices up to four ninety nine. The place that once gave me steamed bacon because they ran out of grilled pork back in the day now was charging five goddamned dollars for a banh mi and the portions were shrinking.
By this time, I started noticing the number of places offering banh mi. It was a boom. Today, Nicollet from fourteenth to twenty ninth is lousy with them. Catty-corner from my apartment at Pho Hoa, you can pick up grilled chicken or grilled or shredded pork banh mi for three ninety five a pop. Down the block at Jasmine Deli, not to be confused with Jasmine 26 around the corner, you can pick them up for, according to an old Google menu listing, three seventy five a pop. That’s where I went today for lunch and found that the banh mi craze had reached its peak.
First of all, they had them stacked up on the counter, wrapped and ready to go, so freshness was not a priority. Thankfully, I ordered beef and they had none of those ready to go so mine were made fresh-ish.
Next, and I blame Google for this, after tax (and before the fifty cent up charge because I didn’t hit the twelve dollar debit card minimum), my banh mi was four sixty. There’s no sales tax in the world, aside from maybe Vermont, bunch of liberals, that ups the price from three seventy five to four sixty. An eighty five cent sales tax? Not possible. Except in Vermont. I live in Minnesota.
Did I want my receipt? No because I was a little miffed as it was that this banh mi, after my fifty cent penalty, was on some Lu’s price shit.
I took my banh mi home and what the fuck did I just pay for?
Holy shit did they skimp on some shit. I basically just dropped five ten on a goddamned shredded carrot sandwich garnished with cucumber.
There was meat. I saw meat. I couldn’t taste meat but I saw it. I couldn’t taste the pate, I couldn’t taste the daikon, I could tell there was jalapeño though I couldn’t see that.
I mean, for Christ’s sake, I’ve got Arby’s coupons in my bag. I could have picked up two for six on a couple market fresh turkey sandwiches (psst! They’re all just club sandwiches) or two for five beef and cheddars. No, Arby’s is not local; no, Arby’s is not healthy (no matter what the fuck they mean by market fresh); no, Arby’s is not a single-location restaurant that, during Saturday lunch, has only two tables occupied and thus needs to operate at a higher profit margin to stay afloat but, cripes, man, I need to save a buck, too. I mean, shit, Wendy’s charges five beans for their chicken sandwiches and that seems expensive as shit until you compare that to the banh mi I had today. I order a Wendy, I get a deep-fried chicken breast patty the circumference of my fist topped with their bullshit raspberry quinoa marmalade that they tell me is a vinaigrette but I know the fucking difference. I drop five beans on a Jasmine, I get a fucking shredded carrot sandwich after a fifty cent up charge.
And let’s be honest, I drop five beans on a Lu, I get some - I don’t know what it is but at least it has cilantro on it. I drop six beans on a My Huong and I get not a generous portion but a reasonable one (and they have the best banh mi on the block). I drop four beans at Pho Hoa and I get - OK, so I forget what Pho Hoa’s are like because it’s been a minute but I remember not feeling like I was getting schtupped sideways.
So, no, I can not recommend - and let me be very clear about this - just Jasmine Deli’s banh mi.
Go there and get anything else from their menu, I’m sure it’s good. I’ve had their pork and shrimp vermicelli salad and even though I’ve recently come to the conclusion that I’m never happy after eating vermicelli salad, their vermicelli salad, as I remember it, is good.
It is only their banh mi that I’m talking shit about. Seriously. Just the banh mi.
Oh and also still fuck Lu’s forever for taking their french fries off the menu. You can’t introduce crack to Brooklyn in the seventies and just take it away.
Comments
Post a Comment