Cheese. Steak. Sandwich
Wednesday, March 24th, 2010*twitch*
The ingredients are in the title.
All of them.
Every one.
In the title.
See if you can figure out exactly what’s on it.
Do you know what’s NOT in the title?
Onions, Mushrooms, BBQ sauce, hot sauce or fuckin’ peppez.
They’re also not in the sandwich. Now, you people with regional preferences are all kinds of allowed to say “yeah, but it’s better with…” to your hearts content. Frankly, it’s not pizza so I don’t give a shit what you put on it.
UNLESS YOU’RE THE GUY I JUST ORDERED A “Cheesesteak Sandwich” from, in which fucking case I expect (say it with me now.):
Cheese
Steak
Leavened wheat based thingie, cleaved in twain to act as a housing.
At WORST I expect “Yo you want peppez onat boss?”
I’m getting really sick (AND tired) of, as Bryon says, “people who’ve obviously never eaten a sandwich, making them for a living.”
Why the CRAP should “what I ordered” constitute a special order.
And if you do insist on putting half of the crap you’ve got behind the counter on there, at least put a line under “cheesesteak sandwich” on the menu board so I can say “Yo, don’t put nothin’ on it.”
So instead of doing ANYthing smart, I ended up with a cheesesteak with fuckin’ peppez and onionz that I had to take back to my desk and do fucking sandwich surgery on.
Do you KNOW how much I hate fuckin’ peppez? Seriously. Do you know? No. You don’t know. But I’ll bet you can fuckin’ guess.
Onions are good, long as they’re cooked. I generally don’t chance it.
NOW.
That being said. Yesterday I had the best cheesesteak sandwich I’ve ever had. I generally don’t consider myself an authority on them so get the hell out my ass about it. I’d walked out the door and down Broadway (from Wall) until I was down by Bowling Green (about a block north of the park.) There was a truck: “Dominic’s Sausage & Peppers.” Now, I generally don’t eat from trucks because most of them are, to put it delicately, Halal and well, fuck them.
But Dominic’s? Sounds right. I went up and ordered a cheesesteak wit no fuckin’ peppez. He proceeded to take a plastic bin of pre-sliced beef out of his fridge and put a bunch on the grill. I talked with the guy (Dominic) for about 10 minutes while the steak cooked and he took and made sausage & peppez orders (sausage was cooked and just on there for heat.) Cool guy. Seemed to be a dude who’d seen some hard shit but decided to flip off the world and sell sandwiches to wall street geeks; said he’d been there near 20 years.
I went for cheddar and, while talkin’ he said “ever had sausage on it? Ya know, I’m know for my sausage.” I let it go.
“Aright” and he held up his finger and nodded conspiratorially. He was gonna make me something special. He took my blessed cheesesteak, put mushrooms and onions on it and slapped an Italian sweet sausage in there as well. (Oh siddown Beavis.)
Yeah, some fuckin’ peppez got on there. But it’s only ’cause of where the onions were. There were few enough to pick off the edges and fling into the street.
Best.
Cheesesteak.
Ever.
