Three years after Apollo 11’s lunar module eased on the moon, the roast beef sandwich landed at John’s Cafe. Like our moon, the sandwich hasn’t changed much since 1972. It’s still filled with carved bolts of roasted beef blasted to a crisp at the ends, with jiggly, melting-to-juices fat, lettuce, tomato, and mayo between toasted bread. Here’s the change: it once was triangles of white bread, not a hoagie roll. The strips of charred beef fall everywhere, my hands butter-lacquered like I just gave a massage. The paper towel roll hooked at the table takes a hit.
This is not a “viral sandwich.” It’s not a over-stuffed wow piece, nor neatly-layered and served with a Home Depot bucket filled with jus for slo-mo dipping. This roast beef is speared with two cellophane-tipped tooth picks to keep everything from slip-sliding apart.
You might go as far to say that, compared to the behemoth chicken Caesar wraps packed with grated Parmesan you see everywhere, John’s Cafe roast beef looks low-key ugly. I promise you, like many of the best ugly, somewhat sopping, sandwiches at neighborhood joints, its flavor is big as the moon…