OK, two things right at the top:
First, I know that doesn't look like much. A little sloppy, a little floppy, but that's because of the plate I put that on. Also, while plating and arrangement of a dish gets you 'gram points, sometimes appearances matter fuck-all if the damned thing tastes like a dream.
Second, I also know that I'm the guy who said this -
Don't go recommending a loved one go to a place that you haven't personally been to in the last three years.
- literally forty eight days ago but Marco's, you have to understand, are the reason I have my long-standing, obstinate qualms with the Italian sub that apparently the rest of the world knows and loves and leaves me the odd one who insists with a lycanthropic howl at the moon that Italian subs don't have mayo or...
As per Marco's menu, their Italiano consists of:
Ham, salami, cheese, banana peppers, tomatoes, onions and sub dressing
No mayo, no...
And there were a few times I almost pulled the trigger but I remembered the three-year rule and Marco's? I've not had them in probably twenty four years. I knew better than to bring it up to Kath when it turned out that Marco's had expanded beyond Toledo and there were now three locations in the suburban Twin Cities, the closest being New Hope (down the road from a place called Keng's Chow Mein that looked boss as fuck) but, see...
There's a lot of food from Northwest Ohio that Kath hasn't had, like a coney dog, and she just doesn't know how we treat pizza back there. The crust is fluffy and spongy and edible, the cheese is a yellow rubber mess that never quite browns, the pepperoni curls up into little crispy cups, shit's magical.
But I know, I know that I'm talking about a place that I haven't had since probably nineteen ninety five (and from then until two thousand five, it was all about the very similar Pisanello's) and I kind of don't want to go because nineteen ninety five Toledo, Ohio and two thousand twenty New Hope, Minnesota are very very different. What if we were to order and it sucked? I had to accept that there was a very real possibility that this location and this time were going to pump out a different product than what I remembered, if I even remembered it correctly.
...
...
...
And then something happened.
OK, so, I'm considered essential staff at my day job, meaning I'm part of a fifteen person crew whose jobs can't be done from home. And, boy, let me tell you, after that first week and a half? How long has it been? Well, what the fuck ever. Everybody's nerves are frayed. Mine are shot. Almost had a panic attack this past Wednesday.
Oh and everything's closed. Some places are just hibernating, others are closing permanently, some you wonder how they're going to reopen. There aren't a lot of options left. But Marco's in New Hope? Open for pickup and delivery.
So, Friday night being date night, Kath and I look over the menu and she's not that enthusiastic about it and I'm about to say we don't have to go out even though this could be our last time "going out" for a while (stay at home order went into effect at 11:59 last night) but then she sees the section of the menu that has boneless buffalo "dippers" and OK. Here we go. An Italian sub for me, some boneless buffalo dippers for her, a large pepperoni pizza to split and as long as do the six feet rule, we should be fine. Say goodbye to thirty bucks.
Before we get into the meat of this, let me say that when we got there, the place smelled like I remembered Marco's smelling. So that was a good omen. I mean, yeah, smells can be deceiving but I was digging it.
We grab our vittles and on the way back, I swear to god, we were on the highway behind this guy.
Of all the unfortunate license plates.
And then that guy came to a dead stop on an exit and angrily waved us past him.
And then we got back here and here's the part you came here for:
The sandwich, you know, the one pictured at the top of this post, tasted exactly how I remembered it. Salty, sour, savory, tangy. Toasted bread, thick melted cheese, rich Italian dressing, pickled banana peppers, not too spicy. It was the Italian sub I grew up eating back when I was a little kid and I wanted to be like my dad who ate Italian subs. This was what I remembered. And if it weren't for the half a pizza I ate and that my digestive system is just different now, I would've tanked the whole thing. (Other half is still waiting for me in the fridge this morning.) This was the standard I brought with me in my head to Minnesota, this is what people told me wasn't the norm for Italian subs the world over. And let me tell you, mon frer, it was just like heaven.
And then there was the pizza. Kath doesn't eat her crusts but she ate them this time because this was bread, not the "pinched crust thing" from Lucé. She was dismayed that the pepperonis weren't the crispy cups from the Google Image Search but I guess that bothered her naught. In the end, she said it was OK. My opinion was that it was standard franchise fare. It's really hard to fuck up a pepperoni pizza. So I won't rave about the pizza but I'll say it was better than Pizza Hut. I liked it. I probably won't ask my partner to drive out to a suburb for it again. And, really, the guy with the unfortunate CORONA license plate was worth the trip. It's like living in the time of cholera and realizing you're behind a guy with a vanity plate that reads KING.
Please tell me you get that. It's not that obscure.
As far as the buffalo chicken dippers, I can't vouch for those. See, I offered Kath a bite of my sub (she said it was good) but I dare not ask her for a buffalo chicken dipper because boneless buffalo chicken is her jam and it's unusually hard to come by. I'd think everybody would have those but they don't so when we find a place, I let her have them all because trying to snag one feels like taking a Ouija board into a cathedral or getting a VHS of a snuff film in your mail box: Something bad will happen to you.
Like Demi told me back in the day: "I would never watch a snuff film because you just know something bad is going to happen to you."
So when Kath finally gets her boneless buffalo anything? Back the fuck up. This is her moment. The Italiano was my moment, the boneless buffalo dippers were hers. If she wants to share, she'll say something. Don't go asking.
So here's the part where I'd normally encourage you to give them your money but there are a couple, uh, things about that.
First, it's a franchise. I might as well tell you to give Taco Bell your money. That won't happen.
Second, I've established that this fills a particular hole in my life, this might not do anything for you.
Third, we're in the middle of a pandemic. And while I've crunched the numbers and determined that, as of yesterday, there was a seven in hundred thousand chance of contracting this thing in Minnesota and a two in five chance of not requiring isolation after two weeks versus a one in a hundred chance of dying, I can't tell you to go out. Not now. Not until after a vaccine is developed, not until we're on the ass end of "the curve".
This review is more for me than you. This is more of a "last hurrah" before a temporary muting of Sandwich Bully. I know some Twitter folks might chide me for actively instigating the My Lai massacre, others might get preachy and call me "brother" or "my dude" during their two hundred eighty character sermon but - Oh, who am I kidding? Nobody reads this thing.
And, for real, I just wanted to [clears throat] treat my baby for what could be the last time for a little while.
If you've found yourself here and you made it this far, your state has probably instituted some safety measures. If you're Minnesota, yeah, we have to stay home now. But regardless of where you are:
• Wash your grubby ass hands. No, sanitizer doesn't work. Use soap and water. And dry them fuckers, don't just slap 'em off on your jeans.
• Stay six feet the fuck away from people. Except your boo, as long as your boo is healthy. And if people won't stay six feet from you, eat some cheese, get nice and phlegmy, and start coughing when they get too close. Fuck 'em. Scare the shit out of 'em.
• Don't touch your face. Why the fuck are you touching your own face? That's weird.
Can't say when Sandwich Bully will return but I'm optimistic, you should be too. Nobody ever got through shit expecting the worst.
Oh, and I made this:
Isn't that a fun little graphic?
Comments
Post a Comment