"How Long Do I Have to Wait for You?"
"every hour is like a day/every day is like a year"
Some days you just need a haircut and a really good sandwich. The reason I only let women cut my hair nowadays is that they always compliment me on it, often throwing in how they wish they had hair like mine, unlike male barbers, who complain, with justification, about how hard it is to cut. After getting a trim I didn't need at World Cuts on Bancroft, I caught the 40 down Telegraph to the Genova Delicatessen, which I hadn't been to in three years: even though the last sandwich I had there was terrific, the wait was ridiculous. In the intervening time, the congestion had only worsened: I took the number 47 while they were serving customer 97 of the previous cycle. I clearly had some time to kill, so I took off across the road to Bakesale Betty's, thankfully now open on Mondays, for a couple of cookies to snack on while I waited (see below). It was a half hour before my number was called, by which time I had decided upon an eight dollar prosciutto, mozzarella and anchovy whole wheat roll.
It was fabulous. I think the ingredients in isolation were good but not exceptional. What was exceptional was the design: a thick, comparatively neutral-tasting layer of mozzarella separated the meats, the dry prosciutto and the anchovies moist in their sour sauce each creating their own interaction. And props to my sandwich artisan: without squishing, the construction held together until the last bite. Worth the 90 minute trip? When I'm in the mood, which isn't that often.
At the deli I also bought some salami to go with my fava beans. Now, fava beans can kill you if you suffer from glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase deficiency. So what better way to find out if I had this genetic disorder than by eating raw fava beans? However, after eating some of the beans, and not developing anaemia, I decided they weren't quite young enough to eat raw, and gave them a quick saute. That was much better.
The East Bakery Project: Bakesale Betty's
As great as my hair is, it's not blue. Not only does Bakesale Betty have blue hair, she also wears really neat glasses, thus satisfying the two publicly-mentionable fetishes I have. Plus she can bake. I got an oatmeal-raisin cookie and a chocolate chipper, a buck each; I preferred the former. The cookies do suffer from being crusty around the edges; I know some people love it this way but I want the outer rim to be as soft and sweet as the centre. Fortunately the cookie centres are almost juicy, rendering all objections insignificant. I would totally have a crush on Betty if she wasn't Australian.
Some days you just need a haircut and a really good sandwich. The reason I only let women cut my hair nowadays is that they always compliment me on it, often throwing in how they wish they had hair like mine, unlike male barbers, who complain, with justification, about how hard it is to cut. After getting a trim I didn't need at World Cuts on Bancroft, I caught the 40 down Telegraph to the Genova Delicatessen, which I hadn't been to in three years: even though the last sandwich I had there was terrific, the wait was ridiculous. In the intervening time, the congestion had only worsened: I took the number 47 while they were serving customer 97 of the previous cycle. I clearly had some time to kill, so I took off across the road to Bakesale Betty's, thankfully now open on Mondays, for a couple of cookies to snack on while I waited (see below). It was a half hour before my number was called, by which time I had decided upon an eight dollar prosciutto, mozzarella and anchovy whole wheat roll.
It was fabulous. I think the ingredients in isolation were good but not exceptional. What was exceptional was the design: a thick, comparatively neutral-tasting layer of mozzarella separated the meats, the dry prosciutto and the anchovies moist in their sour sauce each creating their own interaction. And props to my sandwich artisan: without squishing, the construction held together until the last bite. Worth the 90 minute trip? When I'm in the mood, which isn't that often.
At the deli I also bought some salami to go with my fava beans. Now, fava beans can kill you if you suffer from glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase deficiency. So what better way to find out if I had this genetic disorder than by eating raw fava beans? However, after eating some of the beans, and not developing anaemia, I decided they weren't quite young enough to eat raw, and gave them a quick saute. That was much better.
The East Bakery Project: Bakesale Betty's
As great as my hair is, it's not blue. Not only does Bakesale Betty have blue hair, she also wears really neat glasses, thus satisfying the two publicly-mentionable fetishes I have. Plus she can bake. I got an oatmeal-raisin cookie and a chocolate chipper, a buck each; I preferred the former. The cookies do suffer from being crusty around the edges; I know some people love it this way but I want the outer rim to be as soft and sweet as the centre. Fortunately the cookie centres are almost juicy, rendering all objections insignificant. I would totally have a crush on Betty if she wasn't Australian.
Labels: east bakery project, fava beans, sandwiches
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