Kath needed to get her oil changed so we sat in line at the Valvoline forever and when it was her turn, it took forever to change the oil and we were both hungry so she had me find something to eat. Where we were, it was a toss up between Firehouse Subs, which looks plastic as fuck on the website, and this other place called Heather's.
I mean, no, but yeah.
I look up the menu (in dreaded .pdf format) and they have a roast beef listed as:
With Horseradish Aioli, Watercress and Grilled Onion on Baguette
... which has my attention and a buffalo chicken sandwich, listed as:
With Honey Blue Cheese Mayo, Shredded Carrots, Lettuce, Celery and Pickles
... which has Kath's attention.
So we skedaddle out of the Valvoline to this little place in Hale (marking our first Hale entry) that used to be Mario's Pizza to see what the fuss is - not that there was ever a fuss, it's just a figure of speech.
First thing's first, they have the little order window on the front of the building and a tent in front so their customers can wait in the shade. They also have - and check the fuck out of this shit out - a cup for pens customers have just used and a cup of sanitized pens ready for the next customer to use. That's some next level shit. That's giving BDP a run for their money.
Kath and I got our order and headed to a little spot of greenery on the Minnehaha Parkway and sat in the grass and ate our sandwiches. She let me try a bite of hers and it was light and airy and crispy and spicy. She was not wowed by her fries.
I liked her fries.
My bacon-potato salad - essentially "American" potato salad with bacon added, not "German" potato salad - was a little onion-strong on the front end and I felt like the lil taters could be cooked a little longer but I liked it overall.
My only complaint about the roast beef - and if you've been here before, you know what my complaint with it will be - is that I could have used a lot more horseradish. Like a lot. Like imagine what a lot of horseradish is, you're like twenty percent closer to what my idea of a lot is.
Still, the sandwich was excellent. The aioli was tangy and creamy. The baguette was chewy without being rubbery. The grilled onions were sweet and almost a translucent raspberry-jam hue. The watercress? I don't know what to tell you about watercress. But the real - hold on, we haven't done this bit in a while. BUT THE REAL stuntman in the rubber monster suit (in this post-war sci-fi horror that paints astronauts as disposable gun-toting morons and turns to the townsfolk of Potter's Hollow to defeat the alien menace planning to herd humans into livestock pens after learning said aliens can be defeated by the condensation gathered on the outside of Old Man Pfeffer's still out past the creek) that hasn't seen his baby since he don't know when but he's counting on the pay from this picture to put a rock on her finger and settle down in a nice trailer park somewhere is the roast beef. Buttery notes against metallic notes, savory and garlicky, chewy and dense, ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh, I was in heaven, meine kleine tyrannjugend.
Kath and I agreed that we're going back, mainly because I want to see about what else is on their menu and because Kath wants another buffalo chicken sandwich. Until we can give them our money, you should go give them yours.
Shout out to...
Los Ocampo, 15 August 2020
Lil shout out to Los Ocampo where Kath and I got (real) gorditas last weekend, as opposed to cheesy gordita crunches, which Kath had only had for the first time the weekend before that. Kath got chicken and I got beef because I wanted to see what a real beef gordita tasted like. I can see where Taco Bell got their inspiration from but nothing compares to a tortilla you see made right in front of you. This also doesn't have some shit called "spicy ranch" on it.
I'm still addicted to cheesy gordita crunches, don't get me wrong. They're the fentanyl of the fast food world, but now I've had the real thing and I'll admit the real thing is better. Like heroin. Heroin is better than fentanyl.
If you learn anything from Sandwich Bully, let it be that heroin is better than fentanyl and fentanyl is already pretty fucking good.
Oh and in case an IT guy is still forensically bugging my work computer, One: heroin and fentanyl jokes are just jokes; Two: believe it or not, what I think of sandwiches does not reflect on my employer; Three: I still have a minute and a half left on my lunch break.
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