Italian Sub Reviews Round-Up

 For lunch, I had a sandwich at Lindsay's Boulder Deli called the Italian Stallion and it reminded me that I owed you some Italian sub reviews. Not because it was an Italian sub, of course, but because it had pretensions of being an Italian sub. I'll get back to that in a minute. First, some actual hoagie reviews.

A few weeks ago, my younger son was called upon to play, I am proud to tell you, in two different baseball games. One of them, against St. Mary's College High School at a field in Richmond, California, was near a Jersey Mike's. This particular Jersey Mike's was near the San Pablo Casino. The Casino had a light-up bulletin as big as any you would see in Las Vegas, but instead of advertising David Blaine or a Magic Mike Revue, it warned of the dangers of fentanyl overdoses. The Jersey Mike's was in an adjacent strip mall, and since I got there at 11:00 am, I ducked into the Goodwill store nearby first. I found a Donna Leon novel I hadn't read that cost 50 cents and then headed into JMs.

Jersey Mike's Subs proudly advertises its 1956 birth in Point Pleasant, New Jersey, on the wall of each franchise, of which there are 2000 locations. The bathroom code for the San Pablo store is 1956, if you're in a pickle and you find yourself nearby. 

Here's my review of the #13 Original Italian: It gets a 9.6 out of 10 with points taken off for 1) the rolls are not made with New Jersey water and 2) the kids at the register were unmoved by my stories of working in an actual New Jersey deli when I was in high school. It gets a point added back on because of the bathroom door code. Why do I like it so much? It has five different types of meat. It has shredded lettuce. It has "the juice," which is red wine vinegar, salad oil, and Italian herbs. It's delicious. Probably the #2 Jersey Shore Original is just as good but I didn't order that, so I don't know. At a certain point, processed meats in bulk lose their distinct flavors but I will not hold that against the Original Italian. As important as the flavor is the fact that the bread held its shape and chewiness for a couple of hours before I could eat it, at the second baseball game in Pittsburg, California. Or was it Antioch? I don't remember. 

The next sub up for consideration is a homemade Italian sub that I devised because there are not enough places that make Italian subs in Northern California, despite its supposed Italian immigrant history. (White people did not move to California to retain their European ethnicity. Shedding it was part of the point. California immigrants with European ancestry sought the assimilation that their forebears and friends on the East coast had not achieved. One of my former law partners once said, "They're so white, they aren't even Catholic," and that has stuck with me for 20+ years).

Anyway, my sub. I bought French rolls because they are sweeter than sourdough and less crunchy than Dutch rolls. I got thin-sliced ham, Italian salami, and provolone. I bought iceberg lettuce and quartered it. Each time I made a sandwich, I'd lay the wedge of lettuce on the cutting board and slice it against the grain. I got some hothouse tomatoes, and again, I'd slice them, thin. I mixed my own juice. I'd assemble the parts, put some juice on that puppy and dig in. Very very good. Probably an 8.5 out of ten. I take points off for 1) rolls not made with New Jersey water; 2) the poor structural integrity of my sandwiches; and 3) the fact that I had to do any work to make them. A major part of a deli sandwich is the fact that someone else makes them, as though you were East coast royalty and all your food was prepared by others. I will make these again, though, pretending that I am both deli owner and Queen of New Jersey.

Finally, back to the Italian Stallion. Taken on its own terms, this was a good sandwich, don't get me wrong. It had two kinds of processed meat, sliced mozzarella (not provolone but I'm not going to die on that hill tonight), iceberg lettuce, red onion, and tomato. So far, fine. It has a balsamic vinegarette, so not perfect. But then the menu offers it on marbled rye. I'm sorry. How are you going to put vinegar on marbled rye? Just structurally, that makes no sense. I ask for a roll. They have a ciabatta. The mind reels. Fine, I'll take ciabatta, it's in the same vague cultural landscape, I guess. I ask for no-mayo-no-mustard and they accommodate me. As I said, it's a good sandwich. It has no pretension of being a sub. It's living in Boulder, Colorado, so it doesn't dare. What that means, however, is that calling it an "Italian Stallion" is sort of offensive. The phrase is intended to conjure Sly Stallone and John Travolta knock-offs. Gym, Tan, Laundry. On its face, you are not supposed to take an Italian Stallion seriously. If it were an actual horse, it would parade around as though ready to stud but then bolt back to pasture if a mare appeared. I don't like the name. So Lindsay's Italian Stallion gets a 5.75 out of 10 from me on an Italian-Sub-O-Meter. It has decent ingredients and flavor, the wrong bread, and an offensive name.

The search continues.