I'm a Food Blogger and I Ate a Sandwich!

Sorry for the sarcasm, but I haven't had anything interesting to say lately. That said, I'd like to announce that the other night, at Jodough, the new sandwich shop and second restaurant from chef and owner Joe Dobias, I ate a sandwich. I know, I know, this was a very important occasion, wholly worth writing about. I probably would have just gone on with my life, keeping my new-found sandwich wisdom to myself, had I not experienced a few minor irritations with, what on the whole was a good sandwich.

It was pouring outside when I walked into JoeDough, Dobias was cooking in back and a woman took orders at the long counter up front. Being a conflicted Jew myself, it seemed natural to order the "Conflicted Jew" sandwich which comes with chicken liver, bacon and onions on challah. However, I'd gorged on my grandmother's chopped liver over the Thanksgiving weekend, and was feeling momentarily less conflicted. Instead I went with the "L.E.S. French Dip," which comes with griddled tongue, a horseradish mayo and au jus (menu here).

I asked for a glass of ice water and the counterwoman replied, "we can't really give you water if we're selling it." Touché, I guess. Also be aware that it's cash only, and all sandwiches are $10 including tax, which makes me wonder what the value proposition is with the "Wedge Sandwich" of iceberg lettuce and blue cheese dressing. Someone else is going to have to order that to find out. (Just found a picture here. Doesn't seem worth it, does it?)

Anyway, after a few minutes my sandwich was complete and ready to be devoured. Alongside the sandwich, the au jus sat steaming in a tall, narrow "We are Happy to Serve You" cup. Not an ideal jus delivery system. The realization that I couldn't actually dip my french dip hit me hard, so I resorted to more drastic means. First, I tried to simply pour the jus over the sandwich, but this did little, as the salty jus simply flowed out the ass-end and onto my tray. Then I hit on a better idea, I'd take a mouthful of jus before taking a bite of the sandwich, ideally injecting the jus into the bread intra-orally. This worked slightly better, but was awkward as hell. It would help if the sandwich, served on a brioche-like roll, was cut in half (or better yet, served on a long baguette or roll like the classic French Dip), because once I was actually able to dip the bread, I got some excellent bites.

Regardless, I enjoyed the sandwich. The griddled tongue and horseradish sauce raised the obvious comparison to an Arby's roast beef sandwich, but the quality of the ingredients made it far superior. Being a tongue lover, I could appreciate the meaty bite of the sandwich versus the weak, almost paste-like consistency of a crappy Arby's roast beef. All that's needed for sandwich nirvana are a few minor adjustments. Seeing as they've only been open a few weeks, hopefully Dobias is still toying around with sandwich components and will hear my jus problems.

Joe Dough
135 First Avenue (btwn St. Marks and 9th St.)
New York, NY 10003 (212) 780-9222

The Spotted Pig: Go Often, But Go Early

To call The Spotted Pig "popular" would be a gross understatement. Ever since opening in 2004, this West Village gastropub has been perpetually packed to the gills with hungry diners. Backed by an array of music industry titans, Chef April Bloomfield and her business partner Ken Friedman, lay claim to one of Manhattan's more popular restaurants-- and most sought after stools. Boasting an impressive beer selection and Bloomfield's refined approach to English pub grub, one would be wise to visit the Spotted Pig during off hours or risk hour-plus waits. But while dinner may indeed be worth the wait, multiple visits have taught me that the best option is weekday lunch.

A Summer Snapshot of NYC: Cheeky Sandwiches

White peeling paint everywhere. Caricatures of random people covering the back walls. Black guy behind the counter in a dress shirt and tie, still steampunk cool and taking lunch orders despite the oppressive heat. I quickly place my order for a 1/2 and 1/2 po' boy, fried oysters and shrimp. Two heavily tatted men working the fryers start preparing my shrimp and oysters for the hot oil.

I grab a Big-Shot Cola and sit on a tiny, unbalanced stool at a creaky, white bench which serves as a makeshift table. My t-shirt sticks to me as sweat drips down my back. There's an air conditioning unit at the back of the shop, which is about the size of a tiny studio apartment, but any circulating air does not register even a mere five feet away. I look up at the corrugated metal roof, which adds to the mood but seems to radiate more heat. It's so hot that my glasses steam up, barely balancing on my nose. I grab a bunch of napkins to stay dry. Sticky everywhere.

A tourist family from the Midwest is asking for restaurant recommendations. They want to go to Lombardi's, but as usual, more knowledgeable folks steer them in other directions.

Through the small window on the street, I could be anywhere: New Orleans, Brooklyn, Orchard Street on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. It's like a time/space warp. Everything seems to move a little slower, but my sandwich comes out quickly.

The po boy tastes like the sea-- sand and the ocean floor. Briny. I was going to ask for hot sauce, but I took a bite and realized that the perfect amount had already been added. The batter has a slight peppery kick and plenty salt, with a splash of lemon and mayo bringing everything together. I momentarily forget the heat and focused completely on this incredible sandwich before me.

from http://cheekysandwiches.com/

I debate a second sandwich, but the girl sitting next to me steals my thunder when, after wolfing down a po' boy, she orders a chicken biscuit, sparking the counterman's interest as they start to chat. I figure I shouldn't cramp his style and head outside, leaving New Orleans and returning to the Lower East Side sun. City still too hot, I need a cold beer.

Cheeky Sandwiches
35 Orchard Street (btwn Hester and Canal)
Lower East Side, NY

http://cheekysandwiches.com/

Quick Bite: Lunch at No. 7 Sub Shop

In the past six months the Ace Hotel on 29th and Broadway has become the epicenter of the hipster foodie scene in Manhattan with the opening of The Breslin (and the rumored return of the John Dory), the first New York outpost of Stumptown Coffee, and now No. 7 Sub Shop. One of the first things I was taught in law school was the importance of defining one's terms, but with "hipster" and "foodie" the labels are fraught with so much peril and negative connotations that I will just throw up my hands and say "fuck it!" Having said that, there's definitely a vibe around the Ace Hotel which causes most people to immediately scream "hipster!" (never in my life have I overheard so many conversations using the term "social media" in one sitting).

No. 7 Sub Shop itself is located on Broadway, around the corner from the main entrance to the hotel. Walking in, the tall ceilings and dark wood-paneled walls dominate the room, making the cooks working feverishly behind the long counter look tiny in comparison. The expediter wore a Rushmore Academy Beekeeping Club t-shirt as he casually called out order numbers to the packed, steaming hot room. The menu is almost impossible to read in the dimness of the shop. Each sandwich (all are $9) is described on an individually framed poster, and the glare off the frames means anyone debating their order is forced to lean forward and squint to read each sandwich description.