This post originally took place on December 29. I basically wrote the whole thing on the 29th. So why am I posting it nearly two weeks later?
I thought it may have been a bit too negative and crazy-sounding for a post about the rage begat by a sandwich (a...a sandwich!), in addition to it being poorly written. My intention was to tweak it a bit before slapping it on the interwebs. But I didn't get to tweak until...[looks at watch]...January 10 at 2:40 a.m. Time management fail.
Actually, I'm still not happy with this post, but as my standards are quite low at this hour in the day/night/whatever and I didn't want my blog to continue living in 2010 (oh yeah—happy new year, guys!), I bring you...thiiiissss.
- Rageguy explanation for the uninitiated.
So. That happened. How'd it happen?
I had a craving for tomato, basil, and mozzarella, between bread. SO FULFILL THIS CRAVING, I DID. Or tried. While browsing through the Sandwich a Day archives on Serious Eats NY in search of a sandwich within walking distance of the office, I found Bluedog Cafe, whose #4 sandwich was described as such:
"Fresh Mozzarella, Roasted Tomatoes & Basil Pesto On Baguette"
And this is what I got.
I didn't find out until I got back to the office and unwrapped my sandwich with foaming-at-the-mouth anticipation (it was nearly 3 p.m.; by that point I was hongry, which is one step beyond "hungry") that the bread was wrong, but even if I had noticed it earlier, I would've felt like a dick asking for another sandwich. Granted, blogging about it so the Internet can read about my sandwich snafu is sort of dick-ish also. I don't feel too bad about it though—when I ordered and paid for the sandwich, no one told me they either ran out of baguettes or didn't feel like using one for my sandwich. And there's a lesson to be learned about all this. Maybe.
I don't hate whole grain bread, by the way. If it complements the filling, it's perfectly fine. I ate half of a turkey sandwich from Joseph Leonard the day before that came on great whole grain bread that was probably the best part of the sandwich. (Admittedly, I wouldn't order that sandwich again, but that's not the bread's fault.) But in the case of this tomato, mozzarella, and basil pesto sandwich, the flavor of the whole grain bread didn't complement the fillings; it almost completely overpowered them, meaning every bite basically tasted like...whole grain bread. The texture was wrong too; instead of the chewy heftiness of a baguette, the bread lacked body, chew, and a top and bottom crust. There's a time and place for this kind of bread, but not on this sandwich.
The fillings were lacking as well—they tasted like bland. A bit of salt would've helped, perhaps with a side of salt and an infusion of salt. I didn't want my sandwich to go to waste, but I couldn't finish it.
In conclusion: This sandwich left me sad. But merely saying "sad" doesn't really capture the feeling of the sandwich-shaped void that tormented my soul...er, torment that ceased when I ate dinner later that night in Chinatown. My advice if you run a sandwich shop or are thinking of opening one: Don't replace the bread listed on your menu item's description without warning customers. And don't make sandwiches in the tomato, mozzarella, and basil family with sliced whole grain bread. And don't give me any more of those sad sandwich-shaped void things.
Next time I want a sandwich near the office, I'll go to Milanese for a cuban.