Sometimes, you just have to include an animated .gif from an inordinately sinister anime at the top of your post because it's good for a giggle and only you and your sick ass friends will get it. And, come on, you think we're doing Sandwich Bully: Season Seven: The Sevening* without one last Urotsukidoji reference? (If we ever made an Urotsukidoji reference in the previous six seasons.)
Similarly, it would be a great disservice to you, meine kleine tyrannjugend, if I never managed to get to Minneapolis' GOAT and it was already a damned shame it took me until season seven (The Sevening) to get to Our Kitchen.
No, not the me and Kath's kitchen, the restaurant called Our Kitchen, on 36th St between Aldrich and Bryant on the south side, saving me from Uptown and delivering me to East Harriet, marking the first East Harriet entry for Sandwich Bully.
I get there and the patio is crowded and there's no place to lock up my bike except for a half block down. I walk over to the door and I wait five minutes before somebody asks me how many are in my party and I say one and they seat me at a bench down from some dude who looks like Sean Byron from Junk Food Dinner and it sounds like he's watching hardcore pornography on his phone. Could also be a cartoon. Those two things sound the same these days.
The lady asks what I'll have and I tell her a steak sandwich. She asks me how I want it. I tell her medium. She asks, "Just a steak or would you like cheese, onions... ?"
I say, "Cheese and onions sounds good."
She says, "OK, we have pepper jack, cheddar, American, and Swiss."
I say, "American."
Then she rattles off the bread options. I opt for white and tell her I'll pay for that now.
She tells me there's going to be a fifteen minute wait because the cook is backed up, I say that's fine (I've got Pocket Camp on my phone and I need to check on my garden tournament anyway). She takes my card and rings me up and I leave a little more than a twenty five percent tip because they look hella busy and I'm trying to be polite as I am a guest in their establishment.
Fast forward to me coming out of my garden: I had just got done loading up Camo Frog with Bronze Level Cool Treats (fuck you, it's a thing) and was about to find another animal to off load some snacks on when my sandwich comes out and you know I was expecting chopped steak or thin-sliced steak folded into a wad (as opposed to a classic alternating double-shingle but no, I got this:
The steak was cooked right to medium and seasoned to perfection. Seriously, I'm saying that to be flowery, it was perfectly seasoned simply with salt & pepper. A lot of times that's all you need. Kath was cooking one time (in our kitchen) and asked me one time how I seasoned the chicken. I told her just salt & pepper and pan fried in olive oil. She seemed surprised that that's all it is but that's really all it is. That's how an old buddy of mine got me to start eating chicken hearts and asparagus stalks, by frying them in butter, salt, and pepper and telling me that that was the secret to getting most things to taste good. Now? You got a chicken heart in front of me, back the fuck away.
That's my snack.
ANYhoo, the texture of the steak? My teeth sank right through it. I didn't have to fight with this piece of meat at all. It was tender, like one of those butter knife steaks. I wish I knew what cut of meat this steak was but I also acknowledge that I should not know what cut of steak this is because, if I did, I would bankrupt myself in six weeks. Maybe four.
The white bread did its job soaking up all the blood and the American cheese melted just the way it was supposed to. The fresh (as opposed to grilled) onions gave plenty of allium bite.
Now, this was noon on a Sunday, hence they were busy with the brunch crowd, and it was a little uncomfortable for me because, hey, I'm one of those guys that doesn't believe COVID is over. But I was seated five feet from the guy next to me and four feet from the people behind me and I had a mask off long enough only to eat the sandwich, then, because I had paid up front instead of waiting for the check, masked up and got the fuck outside, so I should be OK, and, because it was a four ounce steak (as indicated on the menu), I went for a seventeen mile ride to work the little fucker off. Then I bought Kath some Sicilian chocolates.
Look, if you live here you already know about this place and you already give them your money. If you're not from here and you visit somebody who does live here, chances are they haven't told you about this place because it is low key super popular and Minnesotans have this weird thing about politeness like they don't want to inconvenience you with a long ass wait time even if it would mean meeting the contender for your new favorite steak sandwich.** But, say, next time you're visiting a friend in Minneapolis and they haven't taken you here yet and you really have nothing scheduled that day, make it a point to sit that friend down and say, "Cheryl, no, trust me. I read this blog by this guy who still blogs in twenty twenty two who told me the steak sandwich is worth the wait and I want to do like Bad Brains and pay to cum."
If you haven't been there yet, don't be a total boner*** like I've been: Go there now, at least sooner than later, and give them your money. I'll be going back to give them more of mine.
* Can't call it The Final Chapter because that was used by Friday the 13th Part IV, better known as the "The One With Cory Feldman".
Adorbs!
** Unlike my sixth ex (the Scrabble one, we've talked about her) who really wanted Victor's 1959 one day. In January. And there was no waiting inside because Victor's 1959 is about the size of a fuckin' Airstream. So instead of considering that maybe I didn't want to stand in negative ass temperatures for forty, forty five minutes to get some fried eggs that I could get ANYWHERE THE FUCK ELSE, she insisted - insisted - we wait forty, forty five minutes outside - outside - so she could enjoy her eggs with fried plantains or whatever the fuck she just Jesus Christ I can't fuckin' believe oh man so glad we broke up. Shit!
*** There's no way I'm not including this:
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