Thursday's Lunch: Blurry (and Large) Tomatoes at 'wichcraft

Apparently, water has seeped into my phone's already rickety camera. Things look a little fuzzy for the time being.

The BLT at 'wichcraft is featured at #7 on NY Magazine's list of seasonal foods to try before summer draws to a close. This sandwich features Greenmarket tomatoes, whose availability determines when BLT season (euphemism for the dog days of August) occurs.

Today's lunch comes from the first of two (been to the Dallas area recently?) sandwich shops on my radar that refuses to spell out "sandwich" to the bitter end... er, beginning. 'wichcraft, as we're all aware, was created by one of those Food Network personalities. This alone should price it out of my reach. There's one by NYU whose tenured-faculty/student clientele ratio is approximately three godzillion-to-one. The only other place in this area which such distinction is Knickerbocker Bar and Grill... because who doesn't need a three course steak lunch to spice up his boring Tuesday afternoons?

The sandwich place is, relatively speaking, for the rabble; so I can afford to shell out $14.50 for lunch when I'm feeling lucky. No, it's not absurd. But keep in mind I could almost buy three feet of BLT at the Subway across the street with that money. The sandwich itself comes with a price tag of $9.87, which sounds rather arbitrary until you realize that this makes for a round figure when tax is included. I do appreciate that. However, it also means I paid almost five dollars for a bag containing about four potato chips and a bottle of pop. Okay, so the bottle was made of glass, and the chips were kettle cooked... but THREE FEET, I say!

The tomato was certainly the star of this sandwich, and given the other ingredients, that usually means that the bacon just failed. Even without the delicious distraction of pork, I've never really remembered a particular tomato like I will remember these. It didn't hurt that these "slices" came in roughly the same dimensions as short stacks of pancakes at IHOP. Killer tomatoes, indeed (okay last time).

My only method for assessing how "organic" something (so often do I find this necessary) has always been based on size. I remember pulling toothpick-sized carrots from my grandparents' yard as a child. Never has an unnaturally large, store-bought carrot tasted remotely as satisfying as the shrimpy ones I used to nurse from seed to snack. Maybe the recent sewage spill acted as supercharged fertilizer for these guys, but these were notably large tomatoes. From what I can gather, the Greenmarket name-dropping only suggests that these were "locally grown," and I can find no stipulations about what kind of BLT experience-enhancing chemicals were used in these guys.

Verdict: Well, I didn't really want to like it. When I found out that the tomatoes weren't necessarily hormone free, it started to taste better. Still, if I'm not paying for "organic," then I don't know why I'm paying so much for this smallish sandwich (it could have been three feet long!). Still, at the end of the day, I can't say I don't approve of anything that uses bacon in a constructive way. Constructive and tasty.

Do you have Coke... in a glass harmonica?

Good things come in small packages glass bottles. That's what my mother told me when I reached for my last undersized gift one Christmas morning as my brother was tearing off the paper on a gargantuan sized box. At least neither small packages nor glass bottles usually contain socks. I don't actually remember what was in that enormous box, so I've chosen to believe that it was just pairs upon pairs of boring socks. I digress. On to glass bottles....

The bottles above came from the Mast General Store in Valle Crucis, NC. This is what's left from the two cases I bought in January of this year when visiting my mom in Lenoir, NC. Yes, I threw two cases of pop in the back of my car before driving back to New York. It's surprisingly rewarding to know that I have a stash of Cheerwine and RC Cola in the city. A bottler in West Jefferson makes these varieties with (mostly) real sugar instead of the usual high fructose corn syrup. A six-pack of this assortment was also my contribution to a recent party... because the only way to make a bigger splash than the guy who brings Swedish Fish is clearly to be the guy who brings pop in glass bottles. There was no Lingonberry pop, so it was still a bit of a gamble. Point being, pop tastes better in glass bottles. This is a fact.

High fructose corn syrup is a somewhat controversial issue. My stance is best described here, but to summarize, I think anything is fine in moderation. Putting the fork down once and a while would go a long way.

Pepsi has responded to the public outcry by issuing the Throwback line in plastic bottles. I tried the Pepsi and Mountain Dew, and I really wanted them to taste better. Maybe they did, but the experience was sullied by the lack of glass involved. I'll restrict future discussion to pure cane colas that also happen to be packaged in glass bottles.

Changing camps, the only way (I know of) to get sugar-based Coca-Cola is to buy from Mexico. There's a short list of reasons why you shouldn't go into any given Bodega and start asking about "Mexican Coke," but the fact that it is produced in 355mL glass bottles does make it a worthwhile gamble. There is a website, but I've found that it's woefully uninformed about the vastness of the present marketplace. The scientist in me should come out at this point and note that this HFCS/cane sugar taste difference could all be total nonsense. The "glass bottle" effect, however, is entirely real.

Whether the cane sugar makes a damn bit of difference or not, glass bottles certainly improve the soda pop experience. See also Dublin Dr. Pepper for another example of people not letting the dream die. Long live the long neck bottle!

Irish Cuisine

After a week in Ireland, I figured I had to mention some of the food I sampled. I'm not a difficult person, and most of it did come in the form of fish and chips. It was delicious. Even the crummy stuff (the Kennedy Fried Chicken of fish & chips, shown below) was a life changing experience. Irish fried food is still fried food, but the slight rush of trying it somewhere new really makes the experience.

The best way to begin a day is with a full Irish breakfast. This is the real deal: potatoes, bacon (rashers), sausages, a fried egg, beans, and the somewhat unsettling black (blood) and white pudding. Yes, I ate it all. Multiple times. I don't know what this says about me, but I found the beans running into my eggs more disturbing than the blood flavored portion of the meal. My favorite version might be the one I had at the Portuguese greasy spoon I discovered in Cork. Who knew?

This is beef and Guinness stew: it's meat, potatoes and braised vegetables (which just taste like beef and Guinness). Another repeat offender on my list of things I consumed. I'm a big fan of any dinner that can be served in a big, spanking bowl.

Some locals in Cork asked me what I thought of Irish food. I explained that I had gorged myself on fried food, breakfast, and some beef/Guinness concoction. Their response: try the bacon and cabbage. So I did. This is apparently the dish that sends the message that you aren't a wussy tourist (because eating the blood pudding isn't a strong enough signal). The server at the pub seemed reluctant to let me order it, and he kept asking me if I was enjoying it. Also, it's quite tasty.

Tuesday's (pre-Ireland) Lunch: Ostrich Sliders

In light of the fact that I'm hopping on a Dublin-bound plane in six hours, it seemed wise to use lunch as an excuse to savor some fine, American cuisine. A full blown "burgers and fries" style lunch also makes it less likely that I'll shell out seven dollars for a can of stale peanuts... because that's your only choice when you're thirty thousand feet up, halfway across the Atlantic.

BareBurger is one of those places that just crops up around NYU when no one is looking. It's fairly popular, so maybe it's just that I wasn't looking. If you can get past the simple facts that (1) they're really proud of what they do, (2) they offer agave nectar in lieu of sugar, and (3) so many things have "organic" stickers that it would really be more organic if they just noted the three things that weren't, then you can really appreciate this meat and potatoes experience.


I went here on a whim with my roommate a few weeks ago, and the ostrich had sold out that day. I appreciate a place where your backup choice can be elk. Don't get me wrong, the elk was delicious; I probably wouldn't have ended up adding elk to my list of conquered animals if they'd been well stocked that day. Such a serendipitous experience encouraged our second trip, and wow-e, ostrich was worth the wait.

When done properly, a big slab of meat is a spiritual experience for me. However, variety is the spice of life, and sometimes the same quantity in smaller pieces is just more satisfying (M&M minis, anyone?). I went with the sliders, and they're absurdly good. Rob and I made a respectable dent in that mountain of fries in the background, too. Though not pictured, the recommended beverage pairing for any burger is the (translucent) sarsaparilla.

If bison burgers are the gateway drug of wild game, I think ostrich is something along the lines of cocaine (cokeheads who are also acquainted with ostrich: feel free to call me out on having no basis for saying that). Point being, ostrich is certainly different from your usual grass-fed cow. Gloriously different! I blurted out to Rob that there was almost an essence of jerky, and he nodded in agreement while busily devouring his portion. Thus, that constitutes my official review of ostrich meat.

Verdict: this place makes great food. The service is also disturbingly good, compared to most NYU area restaurants. My advice to anyone is to go find a new animal to eat. It just might be delicious... plus it always makes you feel important when you can buy something on the menu that's labeled "market price."

Thursday's Lunch: Peanut Butter & Co. BLT

So this is the first post. Basically, I needed a hobby... and here we are.

I've decided to document the fabulous sandwiches I encounter in the tri-state area in the spirit of NPR's "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me: Sandwich Monday." There will surely be other nonsense to come, but let's start with modest goals.

It was Thursday afternoon, and I needed a bit of a pick-me-up. I wandered down to PB & Co. to grab lunch. Ten minutes later, I walked away with a brown bag that contained this:

This, my friends, is a BLT with PEANUT BUTTER. Note the bag of carrot sticks and garnish of potato chips that come standard with any sandwich from this place. I appreciate that after serving you enough protein to bench press twelve llamas, they have the restraint to only give you 75 calories worth of chips on the side. Recommended beverage pairing: Stewart's root beer.

Perhaps you've seen the Five Hour Energy Drink commercials that speak of this "2:30 feeling." I had no idea what they meant until I ate this sandwich... at 2:20pm. This is heavy. Only after walking five miles in the evening could I bring myself to even think about dinner. Even then, steamed chicken & broccoli sounded intense.

Verdict: This is incredible. Bacon makes the world a better place, and the only possible way to improve a BLT is by adding peanut butter. It totally works, but if you have any self respect, you'll share this with someone. I have none, and I look forward to trying this again. Soon.