I’ve been to every place in the food court next door this week (I got my tax return, so I can afford to be sick of ramen, too) except the salad joint (lettuce-based salad is a between meal snack, not a meal) and the pizza joint and my booboo darlin’ sugar pea snuggleplum and I are doing pizza tomorrow night because we have app coupons out the wazoo, like nintey of them, so I’m not having pizza today.
But this joint across the street, Max’s Cafe, they got something called Bob’s Italian Panini. You know, basically a fancy Italian sub. They just grill the hoagie. I don’t know. Somebody tell me what’s so hot-shit about a panini.
Now, I told you who does an Italian sub downtown so when this Max’s says they have one, I’m all…
I don’t believe them, I mean, I believe that they think they’re making an Italian panini, but it probably isn’t. You think I’m playing? It took me eleven years to find one and it still didn’t have onions on it.
Anyway, I go there, I get the sandwich, I bring it back to the office I unwrap it, it’s greasy. I take a pic of it for Instagram because fuck you, I’m a twenty one year old white girl and it’s pumpkin spice season, and I look at it carefully, trying to determine what’s on it. Bob’s Italian Panini has no description on the chalk board (so I was taking a chance, like you would take if you just read the words “Charlie’s Tibetan Delight Ice Cream” on a chalk board with no description and decided to pull the trigger) and it doesn’t feature on their online menu, so here’s what I guess is going on with this sandwich.
It’s a panini which, we’ve just been over.
It has ham on it and salami. If there’s a third meat, it looks like more salami. A thick slice of melted white cheese, likely provolone since it doesn’t stretch like mozzarella. Tomato slices, lettuce and then?
Fuckery.
Is it bruchetta? Is it house made Italian dressing? Is it mayonnaise that they’re trying to tell me is aioli? Likely, it’s all three of these things and then, hot damn, just to confuse things even further, I notice something bright green oozing out of my sandwich. But it’s creamy. No, it’s not guac. It’s fucking pesto aioli. Fucking pesto aioli. Jumping Jehoshaphat, it’s pesto aioli, the fancy bastards. Pesto aioli intermingling with bruschetta.
Hence, the flavor profile was a little confused. Did it want to be sweet? Did it want to be tangy? No, it wanted to be everywhere and overwhelming. Sure, I got a lot of flavor (and a bag of Garden Salsa SunChips) for my eight dollars and I understand that, in order to stand out in the downtown lunch scene, you need a signature something but the Bob’s Italian Panini from Max’s Cafe?
No.
Not dissing the establishment, I may go back for one of their other paninis or maybe to ask if they just have a normal-assed sandwich, they’re close to the office and their prices are fair but I’m not digging the Italian.
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