Subs

My first sub was probably that iconic Midwestern special from Kmart, featuring baloney and red onion, embalmed in more plastic wrap than a major league infield during a rain delay. Only archaeological finesse got through those layers, and once the treasure was unearthed, the smell of those onions filled the room, your house, and most of your neighborhood for at least a day.

Then there was the sub from Little Red Hen.  Like most chicken joints after World War II, they supplemented their menu with this newfangled thing called pizza.  Riding its coattails was an item that somehow got about 85 different names.  Submarine sandwich.  Hoagie.  Grinder.  Hero. 

Little Red Hen offered one sub, with salami, ham, and perhaps (sigh) bologna, served grilled, for $1.98 plus tax.  This became a staple for Friday lunches fall of 12^th grade, and I lived to bite into a grilled banana pepper, convinced it was the hottest thing one could possibly eat.  (Ah, the pallet’s limitations of being raised on Irish cooking.)

I consider myself a sub maven, or at least smart enough not to refer to Philly cheesesteaks or Po’ Boys as subs (but a muffaletta? Yup).  My humble offerings on what makes a submarine sandwich worthwhile, and what to avoid:

Peppers            Friends mock my banana pepper preference, as they were built to withstand far more heat than I.  But the hint of hot is more than enough for me, and it’s likely is a bit of epicurean nostalgia, as I can’t help but think of Dwayne, Kristan, Kelly, Rob, John, Jane, Mike, Don, and the rest of the high school crew when its pungency strikes.

Grilled               It’s been said a cold sub is just another sandwich. Agreed.  Many sub meats (salami, capicola, mortadella, and, if you’re lucky, soppressata) contain herbs and spices, and grilling brings their inner oils and the peppers to life. 

If a social occasion leaves you no choice but to go cold, see if there’s Italian dressing around for dousing.  Or a microwave.

Bread  Too much bread also makes the sub sandwichy, especially if it’s fluffy.  Grilling tends to solve this problem, but if you’re tasting bread more than meat, save your money, and make a PBJ instead (extra crunchy peanut butter—do I really have to say that?) Better yet, try a stack, basically a sub made on folded flat bread, typically with twice the meat—but be careful. The balance is so perfect, you may swear off subs for good.

Meat    Like deli sandwiches, subs with more than an inch of salami et al is an homage to meat, not a sub, and that’s not the goal of an ensemble entree. And little bologna.  It means well, but compared to the spicier options, this is the pablum of cold cuts.

Lettuce If you must, but only if it’s shredded, and light.  Otherwise, double up on the cheese, and leave lettuce leaves to the BLTs of the world.

Tomatoes and Onions  Sure to the first, if they’re thin—gotta love a grilled tomato.  Yes to thin onion strips, with the first preference to Vidalias, the second to thinly sliced whites, and third to forget it if it’s red.  Kmart subs show they too are an ensemble killer on a sub.

Gas station subs  Mom often warned about eating anything containing produce at a gas station—and I’ve seen subs at petrol stops where the meat was gray.  If it’s a storefront in a gas station where subs are made to order, with freshly sliced meats, sure.  Otherwise, stock up on vacuum-packed jerky, and drive on.

Ratio

Forty sap gallons
For one gallon of syrup?
Sure
If
It’s a normal year
The tree is healthy
It wasn’t too hot
In October.

And now you want odds
She’ll say yes to asking her out?
Sure
Since human hearts
Are far more certain
Than the science of pancake sauce.

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