Before we get into it, can I just tell you that I had an amazing playlist out on the bike today? We're talking Helmet's Betty (the hit: "Biscuits for Smut"), we're talking Harvey Milk's The Pleaser (the hit: "Anthem"), and we're also talking High on Fire's Blessed Black Wings (the hit: "Anointing of the Seer"). Nineteen miles of sweat, death, and fuck you.
ANYhoo, let's talk cheesesteaks.
That right there is the Philly cheesesteak from Sunny's Market & Deli, in the Holland neighborhood which marks our first Holland entry. Took me all the way until season seven to get to Holland, which is news to me; I could have sworn I'd done a Holland entry before.
According to the menu, the cheesesteak is steak, peppers, mayo, and Swiss cheese. I asked for no mayo. Not that I have anything against mayo, I just wasn't feeling it today.
I got in there and the guy at the register called for the guy in the back to come out and work the grill. I asked for the cheesesteak, no mayo. The guy said, "Excuse me?" I asked again for the cheesesteak, no mayo. He said, "Oh! The Philly!" I said yeah, no mayo. He asked me how my day was as he rung me up on his register and I told him I was sweaty - summer temps have finally come to Minneapolis - and he said, "Yeah."
I grabbed a lemonade from the cooler and waited for the other register guy to come back, bought my lemonade, waited another minute for my cheesesteak, saw it was coming on that weird two-bun sitch that I've encountered only once before. Not the world's biggest deal. It's kind of handy. I kind of wanted to eat one and bring the other home to Kath. (And I'm glad I ate both because I got home and found her with her friend smoking cigs in the backyard and it would have been awkward if I came rocking up like, "Hey, babe, I brought you a half-cheesesteak that you can now eat in front of your friend.")
Now, is this a top-tier contender against Pappy's? No. Pappy's is a high bar in terms of Minneapolis Phillies, higher even than Frank From Philly, which Kafe Nasty swears is authentic despite having never been to Philly. Or maybe he has been to Philly. How would I know? That dude is so full of shit forty percent of the time that I don't actually know his life. I know he's done salvia. I know he's done nutmeg. I know he likes Guided By Voices. And that's... kind of... it. I know his brother got started smoking because he used nicotine patches in place of speed to stay up and study for finals and then the next thing you know...
You understand my dilemma, right? The one dude in Minneapolis I can call a friend, who semi-regularly comes into my home, who I've cooked for, I don't know his fucking life. He told me Frank from Philly was good without ever going there. He's the man behind the infamous dollar taco incident. I cannot trust him yet I call him a friend.
ANYhoo, if I have any complaint about the sandwich, it's that the sandwich begged for more cheese. The pockets of cheese that were there tasted of sodium on the front, a little closer to a white American than a Swiss. It was still good, though. I made it a point to tell the grill cook as such when I went back inside to throw my trash away.
I guess maybe the experience was better than the sandwich. There I was, sitting outside on the corner of 22nd and University, the temp sitting just under eighty degrees (twenty six and two thirds for you Celsius freaks), having just biked fifteen miles (24km for you metric fucks) in windy conditions, enjoying a simple meat and cheese sandwich with a lemonade. A goddamned lemonade. And it's a Sunday in a three-day weekend. How can you beat that?
The laundry's done yesterday, the grocery shopping's done yesterday, I got twenty six miles in yesterday and today? Nothing needs doing except me getting on this bike and getting the fuck out and listening to metal and now I'm having a seven dollar cheesesteak and a two-fifty lemonade while it's a little overcast out so I'm not getting sunburnt in my favorite (and only) Flaming Lips t-shirt which I didn't even buy, no. I don't even own a Flaming Lips record. This... Was she a hippy? What do you call Flaming Lips fans? The ones that wear Rainbow Brite snowboots in summer and fairy wings and glitter all over? Anyway, back when I was running the hostel, this gal came through and she was following Flaming Lips on their tour I ran into her after she got back from the show while I was shit-faced and she seemed cool but that was that and I found this t-shirt in her room after she checked out the next morning and I thought it was cool because it had a naked lady on it with electrical tape Xs on her nipples and she was holding a skull and it said PEACE AND PUNK ROCK underneath the photo and it was real light-weight like a pyjama top and it's just kind of a good t-shirt to bike in, like my Jucifer t-shirt or my Harvey Milk t-shirt that I can't find.
So I'm sitting there, under a little cloudy sky, a little warm temperature, a flimsy naked lady t-shirt, eating a not-the-best-but-still-really-good cheesesteak and drinking a lemonade and I was like, "Man, life is kind of good, aint it?"
No, I was like that.
After I threw my trash away, I got on the bike and came home. I'm having a peanut butter beer now that tastes like... beer, I guess. I've had peanut butter beers before, this one is just kind of a beer.
ANYhoo! When I rocked up to Sunny's, they had NOW OPEN signs all over the parking lot so I think they might be new. I'm not sure. But I'll tell you the menu in the deli is more expansive than the menu on the website. They have a gyro. They have burgers. They have fried shrimp tacos. I didn't see anything over eight dollars (though that doesn't mean there isn't anything over eight dollars).
You know? I haven't said this in months and I feel confident saying it right now: Go give them your money. So this isn't the best cheesesteak, it's still a good cheesesteak. And, bonus, you buy one, you could feed two people. For real, go give Sunny's your money.
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