The other night C and I were lounging around his parents’ living room, half-watching a Travel channel show featuring the best sandwiches in the United States. We were stoked to see Paseo made the cut at number five, and the number one voted sandwich was at a place called Primanti Brothers in Pittsburgh. Since we were flying out of Pittsburgh we figured we’d swing by and experience what a number of enthused interviewees described as The Best. Sandwich. Ever. We didn’t make it to the Pittsburgh location since we found out that there was another one more on the way to the airport… right off the highway and mashed between an Enterprise Rentals and a stupidly busy outlet mall. Noon on a Saturday with a restaurant beeper in hand, we dutifully waited our turn for a spot amidst the noisy families and garish Stanley Cup decor. And it was worth it.
True, there were ten (TEN!) TVs blaring football from my booth’s vantage point, the bartenders donned tightly fitting referee jerseys, and an 11-year old in the bathroom had the inch-long acrylic nails of a middle aged divorcee, but, really, did you see that sandwich? Hand-cut pastrami, provolone, signature fries, and sweet and sour coleslaw delightfully squished between two pieces of thick cut French bread (though, by the time the toppings were mashed in there, the bottom piece was about as thin as a fingernail). Hot and messy and probably a million billion calories, but NOT eating Pittsburgh’s most famous sandwich wasn’t an option.
Now we’re stationed in an airport bar since we arrived approximately 2,000 hours early… looking forward to six or so hours of air travel with a pleasant two-hour stint in the romantic Houston Airport. Oh boy. At least we’ve got two bellyfuls of sandwich to fuel us.