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The commercials during NFL games often celebrate action, which I appreciate. It’s not always clear what these actions mean—why all that cracked concrete is strewn about in the bed of a pickup truck whose palm is designed to please the look of a police officer. cool, why are people so excited about different medicine businesses. to show it to the party it was just shown to. But since these ads are made so that people can see that they are doing nothing, or have nothing to do other than sit in the awkward and disrespectful situations that are often associated with older dogs, it’s pretty cool. . “This looks like your kind of thing,” the ad says to viewers who will discover, one hour later, that a tortilla chip has been lying on their stomachs for an unknown amount of time. . “Yes,” I think, sitting quietly as the sun sets outside, watching the dusty men pat each other on the back and use their trucks to haul things, “it’s really my bad things there.”
Add enough of this kind of stuff up over the course of the day and it can’t help but have an effect. And so, after an afternoon in the Sunday blog chair, I knew it was time to celebrate my own activity, and work. I don’t do this by dancing at a wedding while someone recites a list of emergency situations out loud or by driving a truck to the end of the fence, but by going to the next one. side street to the store is my most unique and best. favorite specialty sandwiches. After a hard day at work, I find that nothing hits the spot like a sandwich with three samosas squished on top.
This is a special sandwich to me not because it’s expensive, but because it’s not expensive; the samosa sandwich at Punjabi Junction costs $8, and can be upgraded to a hero roll for an additional dollar. It’s not a special sandwich because it’s satisfying. I don’t know how many calories it has, but it’s not as obvious and bloated in that way as some of the large Italian sandwiches available in my neighborhood. It’s special to me because I like the light, heavy, mysterious flavor, but also it seems like something one shouldn’t eat all the time. It’s hard, as it happens, because I’ll eat it for lunch every day if I can change the way I think. If there had been a sandwich like this twenty years ago, when I didn’t think about this kind of thing and did that kind of thing all the time, I probably would have made it. But it was never done. This is not the kind of thing that can be rushed; the universe will provide when the time is right, and it’s never too soon.
“I only know each other in town,” says Eater critic Robert Sietsema in a certificate the sandwich back in August of last year. Until then, Punjabi Junction was open for several years, and I knew my order; I don’t know where the next samosa sandwich is, but I feel happy with the sandwich I have. Other things are good too; the steaming trays of Indian specialties heated to order were fine to me, and I’m not ashamed to say that seeing a board with “Sunday Biryani” written on it It’s simple, it inspired me to buy and use a bunch of them. biryani, like Sunday Biryani and all. But the quiet avant-garde sandwiches have always been top notch for me. Everything about them will be familiar to someone who has had a popular sandwich from a restaurant or Indian restaurant, although someone who has done a lot of both never crossed my mind. can make such a sandwich. , say, a square of paneer cheese that sits inside for the classic cold cut.
I resisted the samosa sandwich for longer than it seems possible, not because it wasn’t something I wanted to eat—I love sandwiches, and I love samosas—but because I struggle to imagine how it would work. It’s like reading the words “dumpling burger,” or “pastrami calzone.” These are things that I like, but not in an order that I can fully understand. The nauseous feelings that resulted from my interactions with those fire words even when the persnickety higher part of my brain started to post about “useless” or “scary and weak British” seemed to stop. eat what is more or less a sweet pie in/on a sandwich. I asked, and was told what the sandwich was, that it had some samosas on top, and “everything,” which was everything that could go on a sandwich, depending on the size. everything is behind the counter. This helped, but not; in any case, I made the decision, and now most try not to do it three or more times a week.
This is it. A deli roll, very typical, goes into the diner. The crust is then stuffed with whatever typical deli sandwich is behind the counter—the sandwich is usually, maybe always, a little different than it is. I remembered. Sometimes there is yellow mustard on top, usually not. Sometimes there are pickles. Sometimes they give you a freezer bag of green chutney, and those were the good days.
None of that matters much; these supporting players hang around the corners or hide in the dunker’s area, sometimes clapping their hands more than others, but the rest of the sandwich does the job. Weight lifting is done with ingredients cooked on the grill. These samosas, punched on top, scored on both sides, then placed on top of the sandwich and sprinkled with a few shakes of the masala heat These are green pepper slices, onions, and small rounds of hot green chilies, to put on top. It’s more faithfully organized than you’d expect, as much text as you can dream of – there’s cake, and potatoes, and nasty green beans, and mushy lettuce like paper – and retain the power to confuse and delight for a long time. when the original novelty wore off.
Some of that is because it’s not the same, and some is because it refuses to come close to any other type of sandwich I’ve had anywhere else. It is reliable, but there is something reliably unstable about it. This, I think, is a good way for a sandwich – good enough to call you back, hard not to give you what was given to you before. After a long day at work, or a rainy Sunday debating whether I should write about Zach Wilson throwing for 300 yards, I couldn’t think of anything else. I’m hungry.