Jesus Tapdancing Christ if you didn’t just write so amazingly eloquently exactly how I’m feeling right now. Fuck St Louis, there are people there who done me wrong, fuck that nasty excuse for a sandwich, and yay for you who are brilliant, amazing, gifted and generally wonderful.
Talia, please don’t ever quit the sandwich column. It’s so good. It is in fact a sword in a sandwich, which sounds like it could a historical number #273 from Edinburgh or elsewhere!
I’m sorry that your anxiety and grief probably fueled this column, but your writing is exactly why yours is one of two patreons or whatever we’re on that I won’t ever give up. Also, I grew up in SE Kansas, 6 hours away by Greyhound, and I would like some followup some day on fried ravioli, as I first encountered it in an Italian restaurant there in a tiny rural town (can name if needed).
First, don’t ever quit. I love your writing, be it heavy or light. I’ll take it. I need it. The world needs it.
As for the Gerber, “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of the bahn mi is not the baked bean sandwich, it is the Gerber.”
How this basic ham and shit-cheese became “notable” is beyond me. May as well put “bachelor grilled cheese” on the list then.
I felt this hard, even though some things in my personal life are going surprisingly well mixed in with the things that aren’t. And in world news, thank goodness for the election in Poland which seems (knock on wood) to be a glimmering spark of sanity returning
While the sandwich sounds forgettable, one I might have constructed in late night boozy need to silence my stomach enough to sleep, your essay about the moment you and we find ourselves in is *not*. Thank you, beautiful soul.
I lived in St Louis for a decade. I can imagine no better place in that long exogenous list of sandwiches you're writing through at which to call BS, send one back to the kitchen, and write about not writing about it instead.
Not only because the Gerber sounds somewhere between uninspiring and actually bad; mostly because in all my years there I never once heard of a Gerber sandwich, nor any of its supposed knockoffs.
The St. Paul sandwich, awaiting us multiple-sense voracious readers in the distant future, beyond the muffuleta and the po boy and the Reuben and yet possibly not beyond the choice of a presiding officer for this country's legislature? Yes. That is A Thing. I ate the toasted ravs and the burnt ends and the bagels sliced wrong and, yes, even the pizza while I was there.
The Gerber is news to me and its inclusion smacks to me of some eatery doing shameless self-promotion on The Free Encyclopedia That Anyone Can Edit.
This blog post is the essay for the current moment, and the Gerber, such that it may be, is precisely the sandwich for this essay.
There’s this expression, “The world is too much with me.” I think a lot of us are feeling that for a while now.
Jesus Tapdancing Christ if you didn’t just write so amazingly eloquently exactly how I’m feeling right now. Fuck St Louis, there are people there who done me wrong, fuck that nasty excuse for a sandwich, and yay for you who are brilliant, amazing, gifted and generally wonderful.
Talia, please don’t ever quit the sandwich column. It’s so good. It is in fact a sword in a sandwich, which sounds like it could a historical number #273 from Edinburgh or elsewhere!
I agree with nancyb. Please don’t give up on yourself or us.
Having eaten the Gerber at Ruma’s, an absolutely unremarkable empty strip-mall sandwich shop, this is the essay it deserves. And I LIKE provel!
I’m sorry that your anxiety and grief probably fueled this column, but your writing is exactly why yours is one of two patreons or whatever we’re on that I won’t ever give up. Also, I grew up in SE Kansas, 6 hours away by Greyhound, and I would like some followup some day on fried ravioli, as I first encountered it in an Italian restaurant there in a tiny rural town (can name if needed).
PS - never heard of Provel.
It’s perfectly ok to say “fuck this sandwich” sometimes.
This is my first foray into The Sword and the Sandwich. Apparently I have some catching up to do.
And if St. Louis still has an exhibit unironically celebrating Manifest Destiny, I am perfectly willing to say fuck them, too.
First, don’t ever quit. I love your writing, be it heavy or light. I’ll take it. I need it. The world needs it.
As for the Gerber, “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of the bahn mi is not the baked bean sandwich, it is the Gerber.”
How this basic ham and shit-cheese became “notable” is beyond me. May as well put “bachelor grilled cheese” on the list then.
I felt this hard, even though some things in my personal life are going surprisingly well mixed in with the things that aren’t. And in world news, thank goodness for the election in Poland which seems (knock on wood) to be a glimmering spark of sanity returning
Fuck that sandwich. Love the words tho
While the sandwich sounds forgettable, one I might have constructed in late night boozy need to silence my stomach enough to sleep, your essay about the moment you and we find ourselves in is *not*. Thank you, beautiful soul.
I lived in St Louis for a decade. I can imagine no better place in that long exogenous list of sandwiches you're writing through at which to call BS, send one back to the kitchen, and write about not writing about it instead.
Not only because the Gerber sounds somewhere between uninspiring and actually bad; mostly because in all my years there I never once heard of a Gerber sandwich, nor any of its supposed knockoffs.
The St. Paul sandwich, awaiting us multiple-sense voracious readers in the distant future, beyond the muffuleta and the po boy and the Reuben and yet possibly not beyond the choice of a presiding officer for this country's legislature? Yes. That is A Thing. I ate the toasted ravs and the burnt ends and the bagels sliced wrong and, yes, even the pizza while I was there.
The Gerber is news to me and its inclusion smacks to me of some eatery doing shameless self-promotion on The Free Encyclopedia That Anyone Can Edit.
This blog post is the essay for the current moment, and the Gerber, such that it may be, is precisely the sandwich for this essay.
Provel is awful.
“F” delivered, with alphabetical aplomb, an exceptionally notable sandwich in the Fricassé.
this is so damn funny