I guess I could just up and stop trying to find my feminine side. I guess I could let my pubes grow out again, get ‘em stuck in my fly a few times and grow back the snarling angry-man that we all so knew and loved… Sure thing there bubs, I’ll start standing erect, stop mopin’ about in a constant state of maudlinistic despair. As of today, I’ll start eating my toast raw, drinking my beer warm and my whisky straight. I’ll dig out my old porn collection and start falling asleep to that rather than those documentaries by Ken Burns I’ve been falling asleep to recently.
I’ll pay closer attention to Leni Briscoe and turn off Law and Order the minute Sam Waterson’s character opens his trap [even though we do see eye to eye on at least the death penalty]. You know, the best damned Cuban Sandwich is definitely being served up at a little place on 25th Street between 6th and Broadway. I believe the place is called “The Spanish Restaurant”, of course that could easily just be a sign telling you what it is.
This place is a classic, a classic midtown lunch joint with a counter a small seating section in the back and take out and delivery flying out the door faster than you can say “there goes another illegal alien riding a shitty bike”. I prefer the counter where the dance of the 17 waitresses spins out of control inches from your food, the salsa blares only to be droned out by the near constant barking of orders in a Spanish so raunchy I’m assuming even they’re using it incorrectly. Now, this sandwich, this Cuban sandwich is the best I have had anywhere I’ve been in the world. AND, unlike all you Yankee-doodle wing-nuts, anywhere in the world for me includes Cuba.
So listen up. This Cuban sandwich isn’t of the frilly willy variety, this bitch is 100% pure hardcore lunch-eating goodness, read, no frikin’ AVACADO! It’s got your pork, your ham, your cheese and pickle, BANG, that’s it, LUNCH. It’s made honestly, I mean the pork looks like it was carved off the roast with a hammer; the ham perhaps somewhat more delicately hacked off the bone with a dull tree-saw. The roll is an honest chunk of bread, crushed and burnt to perfection under the weight of the griller. And when I say weight of the griller, I mean the guy grilling the damn thing pretty near sits on top of it; these puppies are flat, fresh and filling.
So, if you want a good Cuban Sandwich, I mean really want one, you’re a tard, a complete frikin’ tard if you go anywhere else. Myself, I doubt I’ll ever eat lunch anywhere else again. I mean, I’m what you call a super-regular… I fell in love with a steak sandwich at a little diner in Toronto one day, afterwhich I ate lunch at this place every workday for four and a half years. Hey, when I got a new job in a different ‘hood, I made a point of going to this one diner for that one sandwich at least once every weekend. Matter of fact, the first time I went back to Toronto after moving here, it’d been two years, I went into this place to order the sandwich, the ol’ broad at the counter looked at me, asked why I hadn’t been around for a while and asked me if I wanted my usual steak sandwich. Best damned Steak on a Kaiser, Best damned Cuban on earth, guaranteed no sappy content.
My cheeks are clenched so tightly right now I’m afraid I’m going to suck a hole through my gitch just getting this damned thing out. 100% sap FREE content indeed.