South Lyndale Market, 27 June 2026

    So, nine months ago - like exactly nine months ago, I said this:

    Also, since the economy is what it is right now, this sandwich was twenty even after tip, so if I want to go back to investigate the mortadella-pesto-focaccia thing to give them a positive review, that's going to be a ways in the future. Money's tight at Sandwich Bully HQ lately.

    Hence, why I haven't been here in, uh, nine, uh, months.

    But I was down that way on Saturday and I figured it was time to investigate this mortadella pesto thing and it turned out that even though, exactly nine months ago, I said this: 

    I think this might be the worst Italian sub I've ever had.

    This is probably the best mortadella sandwich I've ever had. I honesty can't tell which is more delicious, the sandwich or the irony that they gave me the (perhaps deliberately) worst Italian sub I've ever tasted but also the best mortadella sandwich.

    Now, this isn't the mortadella pesto, they've changed up the menu in the last (exactly) nine months. This is, instead, listed as:

    ricotta, roasted peppers, balsamic, pistachio

    Looking over those ingredients, I know exactly why this works. Firstly, we know that I've been conditioned by years of pistachio ice cream to expect something sweet with pistachios and the sweetness of the roasted peppers sweetened the pistachios. But then they went a step further with it.
    See, mayo (or a better choice, aoili) would be sort of a standard choice and you would have the garlic in the mayo (or aioli) enhance the garlic in the mortadella, and you would have a tangy, savory sandwich that had some peppers on it and it would be a bog-standard cold cut sandwich. But, no, they use ricotta, relatively mild, creamy, cold, spreadable... It not only lets the sweetness of the pistachios & peppers shine through but lifts them over the meat and - bitch, let me cook - turns this into - I said let me cook - an ice cream sandwich.

    That's right. This is essentially a pistachio ice cream sandwich. With greens dressed in a modest (thank god) amount of balsamic vinegar, sure, yes, I will admit to that, they are in the picture.

    The focaccia, before I forget, was big and light and fluffy inside and spongy on the outside.

    But, yes, it's the best mortadella sandwich I've had to date because it delivers on precisely the flavor profile I associate with pistachios and because of all of this, I will tell you to give them your - wait. Let me check something... Ah, yes, it says right here, this is a sixteen dollar sandwich.

    Will I get this again? Yes.

    When will I get this again? In exactly nine months, which will be... Ah, yes, the twenty seventh of March, twenty twenty seven.

    What? I can't justify continually repurchasing sixteen dollar sandwiches. You know I can get two cheeseburgers from Burger King for five oh eight before tax? Or, check this out, I go to Wendy's on Double Points Mondays and order the Biggie Bite but get the points for the Biggie Bundle and because I paid three dollars for it at the top of the year, I have the keychain that gets me a free Frosty with every purchase. So, for four dollars and thirty six cents in the twenty twenty six economy, I get a JBC with everything on it, a junior fry, a junior Frosty, and eight and a half dollars worth of points in the app. And? I'm on baby status at the Wendy's by my apartment.

    You know baby status, right? You walk in and they greet you with "hey, baby" or they hand you your food and say, "here you go, baby".

    It takes time to get up to baby status.

    Hell, do you know how long it took me to get up to hon status at the Cub (back when Cub was affordable)? A year and a fucking half. It took a year and a half before the lady at the register gave me a "come on over here, hon".

    So, yeah, while the sixteen dollar sweet meat sandwich is made crafted with superior ingredients, it doesn't come with any sides or freebies and nobody is calling me "hon" or "sweetheart" or "my dear" or "darlin" and they sure as hell aren't calling me "baby".

    I'm not saying you should go to Wendy's instead of this place. I'm saying I'm having a hard time these days recommending sandwiches weighing in at US$15.95 that don't come with chips on the side or something but I will also admit this was a big sandwich and, for real, look at that wad of mortadella. That is a healthy wad of mortadella in there. And that's the pistachio mortadella, too. Like they added pistachios to the pistachio mortadella sandwich. This thing can not weigh in under its price tag. I have to admit that that price tag is justified.

    I'll put it to you like this: If you have a twenty dollar bill you were otherwise going to blow your nose into - Wait, I've used that one before. Also talking 'bout a mortadella sandwich.

    OK, if you have a twenty dollar bill you were otherwise going to fold into a little air plane and throw around the park - Wait. Who the fuck throws paper airplanes around at the park? Did somebody slip me an olanzepine or something? Because I'm just coming up with absurd... I mean, sure, it's good natured but it's absurd. What do you do? Go running into the kitchen and tell your mom, "Hey, mom, me and the fellas are going to ride our bikes down to the park and throw some paper airplanes around!" And then you run out the back door in your cuffed blue jeans and letterman jacket, get on your bike, and just fucking crank "96 Tears" and "Louie Louie" up on your AM transistor radio, while Missus Jenkins down the street in her robe and curlers shakes her newspaper at you on her front lawn because you're a neighborhood nuisance? Is that what the fuck is going on here?

    Well, if that is, in fact, exactly what is going on here and had twenty dollars to spare in the above-described fashion, consider disposing of that twenty dollars differently and buy yourself the best mortadella sandwich in the Kenny Neighborhood, maybe in all of Minneapolis, maybe in both of the Twin Cities.