"I want pizza rolls dipped in confetti frosting."
This is what I admitted to one of my co-workers at around seven forty five this morning, this morning being the morning of my cheat day, because there are only so many spring greens you can eat before you turn into a true nasty ho. For me, the upper limit of healthy eating is about six days, so on Fridays, I turn into a nasty ho and I do nasty ho shit. Doesn't matter how classy it sounds to say that two weeks ago I ate a sourdough boule with whipped butter. I basically ate a little tub of butter that happened to be accompanied by bread. True nasty ho hours.
ANYhoo, by about nine thirty, my cravings - which had also included a key lime pie with a grilled steak on top - had calmed to a more reasonable Cubano... served open-faced and topped with an open-faced Reuben. So, from bottom to top, it would go Cuban bread, pulled pork, ham steak, Swiss cheese, pickle, mustard, Swiss cheese - YES, BITCH, AGAIN! - Russian dressing, sauerkraut, corned beef, and topped with marble rye.
Suckin' on a fountain Diet Pepsi, no ice, like a true nasty ho.
But that's not a thing, so I settled for a Cubano and that's what lead me to Key West Bistro in the Standish Neighborhood, catty corner from Northbound Smokehouse, if you recall that absolute stage four cancer of a shit show. Somehow, that place is still open. But we're not here to talk about them and their bullshit everything, not here to bring up the general mean-spiritedness they inspired in me with the absolute cold, damp, insult-in-a-bag that they gave me in exchange for my actually-worked-for-money, we're not here to discuss how I hope every employee there has to endure the heartbreak of watching their child die painfully and miserably until they are driven to the point of considering smothering that child with a pillow to selfishly end their own pain and then having to live with that guilt for the rest of their lives and surviving every severe illness and near-miss injury so they can never escape the inner torment that prevents them from ever forming a loving, trusting bond with another person so long as they live, nor are we here to discuss how bad they suck, NO!
We are here to discuss how I looked at the menu for Key West Bistro and saw they were letting sandwiches go for ten bucks for a whole and seven dollars for a half and how I was like, "Say what?"
And they were like, "For real."
And I was like, "Oh, snap."
And they were like, "Bet."
I texted Kafe Nasty and Kath about it because I knew Kath was still in bed but she might like to have the intel upon waking up and because it's usually a very safe bet to assume that Kafe Nasty has been somewhere already.
He had not been here.
AND THEN there's the part where, right under the Cubano, there was a sandwich called The Robert.
Like this but with a "mischievous spread of horseradish mayo".
You know I'm torn, right? We are in the heart of spooky season, this is the last week of spooky season and all I've had for spooky treats this year is an orange Whopper (I'll tell you, later), and here they're handing me Key West's most famous haunted doll, in sandwich form, with my favorite condiment!?
Hm? What's that? Oh. It's listed on the menu as:
Cuban Pork, Provolone Cheese, Lettuce, Onion, Tomato, and a mischievous spread of Horseradish Mayo.
And it's not even seasonal. It's year-round, this thing.
So now I'm facing my greatest ethical dilemma since I went back in time and was about to strаngle infant Нitler and eradicate perhaps everyone who exists today because of butterfly effect shi -
Hm? What's that? No, I didn't say anything. No, I'm good. You good? I'm good. We're good. We're good, boo. You feeling good? Because you look good. Say hi to your mom for me. Peace.
See, I want the Cubano but I wwaanntt my horseradish. And it's while I'm on the way there that I realize that, for ten bucks, this will not be a very large sandwich, let me get half the one I'm craving and half the one I'm craving just a little more. Like a Ginger versus Mary Ann type thing.
And I get to the joint and - OK, first of all, I have questions about this bullshit:
Never has it been more obvious that the person who installed these has never had another person's mouth on their genitals.
Look at this. This person is just... angry. All the time.
And this man took the time to ponder my query before answering, "Mmm, you'll notice it."
I say, "Alright, let me get half the Robert and half the Cubano."
He says OK, rings me up, starts working on the sandwiches, and tells me, "It won't knock you on your ass but you'll know it's there."
Believe me, friend-o, that's all I'm asking for: To feel something again.
So I grab a spot at the bench by the window and look out over the neighborhood. Long-haired dads aren't afraid to hold their sons' hands. Nose-ringed moms carry their infants in papooses. Little Latin dudes carry thirty rocks of Pepsi. They even have a Lance Henriksen dressed like a sixties New England stevedore who never got the memo that it's the seventies now. And they have that bullshit restaurant on the opposite corner where I wish everyone would just bleed.
And while I'm sitting here, I realize that since I've never heard of this place before, I have no idea how long it's been here. If Key West didn't occupy this physical space, this would be some overpriced curio shoppe (yes, with the double P and E) or a "community center" (notice where I bolded the quotation marks) where six people get together to share one warm six pack of Corona and kvetch about CNN. And, yes, Key West does have the random ten gallon buckets just on a table in the back of the dining room like that community center would have. But I think that's what I like about it.
I think that's what I like about this neighborhood.
But you didn't come here to listen to - listen to? I mean read me going on about neighborhood vibes.
NO, CHARLIE, NOBODY CAME HERE FOR THAT. TELL US HOW THE FUCKING FOOD WAS!
Well, first let me say you need only the half sandwich size. That is a perfectly reasonable single serving size for a regular person and it's only seven bucks.
I had my Cubano half first and it was OK. I was not disappointed but I was not wowed. I felt the pulled pork could have used some cumin, a dash of cinnamon, some paprika, some Mexican oregano... The salt in the (thinly-sliced single slice of) ham, the mustard, and the pickle were doing all of the heavy lifting on this sandwich. It wasn't very savory or spicy. I'm going to make a lot of people mad but I DON'T OWE ANY OF YOU FILTHY RAT BASTARDS A GODDAMNED THING when I say that this is kind of an Arby's Cubano. Like if you lived in the middle of the Great Plains, far from a metropolitan center, and you had to run errands in the city one day and you stopped at the Arby's there and saw they had something called a Cubano (that you pronounced Cuban-Oh) and you ordered it because it had two kinds of pig meat on it, it would blow your mind like Private Pyle's at the end of the first half of Full Metal Jacket. And you know what? That's allowable. If you're not surrounded by sandwich shops, you won't know that there's better than Arby's. I'm not mad at that hypothetical you. I'm not making fun of that hypothetical you. I'm just saying that this sandwich is only exceptional if you consider Arby's exceptional and I, as we have been over before, I like Arby's. But I'm also the first to admit that Arby's is pretty low-tier. I've had nearly everything on the Arby's menu and I have, every time, found it better elsewhere. Even the horsey sauce.
Which brings us to our next victim.
The Robert.
You don't scare me, bitch! I live paycheck-to-paycheck and literally half of my friends are dead! I've never known success. You think cursing me would make my life worse!? If you got me hit by a bus, you would be doing me a favor because my settlement could pay off my student loan once and for all. You're a doll; I'll rip off your head and drop-kick you into the ocean! Fuck you!
Ooh-hoo-hoo! Pink onions?
Pink onions?
Are we talking about pickled red onions? Let me do my best Obama impression to say yes we are.
And then you know how I love my horseradish.
Uhh...
I mean...
The guy was right.
I noticed it. I should have asked for extra.
To be very honest about it, I would recommend this over their Cubano. While it's using the same pulled pork as the Cubano, I feel like the combination of the horseradish's heat and the acidity and (what's left of the) allium bite of the pickled onion combined with the crispness of the lettuce and tomato do a better job of uplifting this sandwich than the Cubano's ham-mustard-pickle combo.
You know I'm going to tell you to give them your money. I'm not going to tell you to not get the Cubano, I just think the Robert is better.
Fuck you, pussy!
Or, you know, you can look at the rest of their menu and see if anything looks better than either of the ones I tried. You can always, you know, make up your own mind and stop leaning on me to make all of your decisions for you. Though I do stand by the half sandwich being really all you need. I'm still full and I ate these four hours ago. Go give them your money.
Oh, right, you wanted to know about the Jack-O-Lantern Whopper.
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