Lowry Hill Meats, 21 October 2018

It’s October in Minneapolis, which means a number of things depending on who you talk to. Some people refer to it as pumpkin spice season, people who like to shit on other people’s fun talk shit about pumpkin spice season, people over nine years old marvel at the way leaves change color like that’s some shit they’ve never seen before on an annual basis, errbody in the club gettin on Tinder for cuffing season, and scarf enthusiasts are losing their goddamned nut over their time to shine, but mostly, it just means shitty, pissy weather, night and day.
When it’s not windy, it’s raining; when it’s not raining, it’s just gloomy; when it’s not gloomy, it’s windy; and when it’s not some combination of these bullshit elements driving me to - Wait, did they say the words “trap house jazz” on NPR? Whatever, when it’s not windy, raining, gloomy, shitty, pissy, or some combination of those, it’s fucking freezing and the landlord doesn’t know to turn the fucking heat on. “But, Charlie,” you say, “the leaves change color.”
Say that shit to me one more time and I’ll strangle your ass. I swear to fucking god.
Anyway, that’s just why there hasn’t been a Sandwich Bully for three weeks; it’s just been too shitty to go outside. You know what I did yesterday? It was 42°F, you think I conducted any urban exploring in 42°F? (That’s 5½°C… That’s right, I’m flexing my alt-code muscles.) I baked a frozen pizza (chicken pesto, if you’re curious, and it was meh) and watched a couple Shane Black movies.
You know what I did last weekend? No, I’m seriously asking. I don’t remember what the fuck I did. It probably involved staying inside because it was shitty, gloomy, damp, pissy, and nut-shrinking cold outside and you’re right I’m angry, we got shorted on our summer this year, we had a blizzard in May. That shit aint right. Why did the settlers think establishing a major metropolitan hub up in this motherfucker was a good idea? It’s cold all the time, mosquitoes are the size of cats, gnats everywhere, fucking winter lasts eight months, everybody’s obese because of that, suicide rates seven thousand percent higher than the global average, really!!
But today it’s 55°F, sunny, not a cloud in the sky. I had to take to my bike and get out and just be out. And then I realized that I hadn’t done a Sandwich Bully in a while, so while Ophira Eisenberg wrapped up Ask Me Another, I started Googling delis and then just sandwiches and I narrowed it down to a few choices:
Broder’s Deli (next to last one in that link and frequently mentioned in our hallowed halls)
Lowry Hill Meats
Northbound Smokehouse (top one in that link)

I also considered just walking to Icehouse, where I never go, because they have a Reuben that - and check the fuck out of this shit out - consists of pastrami, “pickled cabbage”, fontina, and remoulade on rye. There are so many places to start there that I kind of want to hold off on my bloviating over the theory and principles of the Reuben until I actually eat one of these damned things and seeing, “Could it work?” (Preview of my own thoughts on the subject: If they can’t commit to just sauerkraut and have to go with “pickled cabbage”… Uh… Nuh.) †

Now, going to Broder’s would be fine and dandy but it wouldn’t be anything to write about because I can’t keep praising them. And the more I thought about Northbound, the more I didn’t want to go in, alone, get spotted by neighborhood regulars taking a picture of my food and have to explain to them what a blog is nor did I want to wait, so I went to Lowry Hill after a ride around Cedar Lake, went in, asked young Jason Priestly looking homie if he recommended the mysteriously titled “French Exit” which is really just your choice of meat and some fancy cheese with mustard and aioli on a baguette or the Turkey Melt which, you guessed it, is a grilled cheese with turkey on it, here billed identically on the website and in the physical space (psst! Will every other deli in Minneapolis catch up to that? Please and Thank You.) as turkey (obvs), house made American cheese (you read that right, hell, I read that right), aioli, and mustard on brioche.
Jason Priestly tells me the turkey melt, if he has to pick between the two, nothing wrong with the French Exit, it’s just that he likes hot sandwiches and the French Exit is cold. I say let’s do that and grab a Mexican Coke.
Wow, that’s kind of a catchy line. Take it a different way and I could employ that in multiple situations. “Let’s do that and grab a Mexican Coke.” Yeah. I like the way that sounds. Going to put that on a t-shirt, man.

LET’S DO THAT AND GRAB A MEXICAN COKE

Look at that. That’s US$24.95 on Etsy, baby. That’s a moneymaker.
ANYhoo, after I remind you I exist and drag you along on this journey, I’m sure you’re wondering how this sandwich tasted, especially since last time I went there, I disparaged them a little as all I could taste on their roast beef was vinegar.
Well, I want to make a musical reference. Will this work? Get it? Because they’re redeemed, see, and - Wh- No? No good? Not working for you? Fuck you, then.
So the turkey itself was I want to say oven roasted as opposed to smoked as it was perfectly juicy and they seasoned it just right, to get rid of that cardboard turkey taste. The cheese was mildly tangy and didn’t have the same sodiumtastic flavor of, say, Kraft Singles. It paired nicely with the turkey. But the real socially progressive third party candidate embattled by their controversial past in this key battleground state during a midterm election whose discourse has largely been dominated by muck raking and accusations (and acknowledgments) of scandal is, surprisingly, the sweet coarse ground mustard paired with the aioli.
This is a study in the condiments steering the flavor of the sandwich away from just a hot turkey & american, though these were quite good turkey and american, to something semisweet and complex. However, I will note that I didn’t find the sandwich complete until I added the seeded jalapeño slices on the sandwich, giving it a mild kick.
Now, was this anything to lose my mind over? Nah but I was pleasantly surprised. Would I pay nine dollars for this again? Mm, like if I was on a date but I remember where I’m from: I’m from being broke. So twelve dollars for a sandwich and a pop? That’s not something I want to make a habit out of. But considering they probably slaughtered this turkey and they actually made their American cheese and their aioli and their mustard (and Cecil’s charges you the same price for shipped in and say they just don’t have the space to do that themselves), that’s the price you pay for - I hate to use this word - artisanal. That’s what’s going on there: Artisanal meat craft. Their meat case? Has actual parts of animals in it. Not smoked and wrapped in plastic, no. Just bare-assed parts of animals. Pink and red flesh on white bones. It’s the real deal.
It’s just too bad they don’t have kielbasa.
Go give them your money.

† Update, 27 October 2018: Icehouse doesn’t have a Reuben anymore for reasons unknown. They tried to sell me a pastrami and egg sandwich instead and I was all, “Nah.”

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