Bep Bep Bep.
It’s like a sound you make when you cut somebody off in a scolding manner.
Bep Bep Bep Bep Bep. Nah-ah. Nope!
Couldn’t think of where to go for lunch and I’m over the food court next door, so I just walked a block down Marquette to Bep, even though I don’t want to because they put mint on their banh mi.
I get up to the skyway and I see a line out the door at Bep Bep Bep and I say nope and I walk over to whatever is supposed to be on the other side of the mezzanine level, passing one-time mayoral candidate LA Nik, the man so proud to be from and represent Minneapolis that he named himself after another city, and it looks like some suburban pack-of-Black-Cats-in-the-spice-rack fusion joint like Roti, so I said, “Fuck it,” passed by LA Nik again, went to Bep, and stood in line behind a guy whose gym shorts and shoes were sticking up out of his open backpack.
Anyway, the line moves pretty quick and I ordered a steak banh mi and the guy on diazepam making my sandwich seemingly can’t understand what I am saying or remember what I had said before that.
BUT they now offer the option of not getting mint on your banh mi, that’s cool.
However, instead of paté, they use a sriracha aioli and they don’t seed their jalapeños. The bread was stretchy but crusty, most of the crust crumbling on the wax paper, and the meat was chewy and bland, despite having marinated all day in a sauce I can’t remember the name of.
In fact, not to be a hater, but it was just bland overall, now that I think of it. I basically had two options: Cold bland and warm bland. The vegetables weren’t mushy but they weren’t crisp and the meat was just chewy. This is the third time I think I’ve had Bep and I had sworn them off after the second time because of the mint thing and now I can have cilantro without the mint and it’s still not worth it.
But now you don’t have to have mint.
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