Gilly’s is not hard against the Williamsburg Bridge, nor is it boasting the triumvirate pedigrees of local, sustainable and organic, yet Gilly’s quietly carries the mantle of the the 9-letter A word. Need I e-utter it? Au, au, au…aaaw, don’t make me say it. Au-cough-cough-choke-thentic.
Kit-Kit–Katrina and I were there recently, following a class in the outre skirts of DC, the far out hinterlands of Rock-not-a-ville. To find it, you have to follow several left-turn-on-green-arrow-onlys, seeming to circle closer and closer until ~Bingo!~ Gillys!
Why am I deluging you with hyphenated hyperbole for a near-hole-in-the-wall off yet-another Pike? Cause Gilly’s knows what they are doing sandwich-wise. Come for a mixed-six, stay for a sandwich.
They get the bread-to-filling ration just right, a rarity in my sandwich safari roamings. The bread is good, need I mention that? A sandwich can rate on second rate bread, but the players have to compensate. At Gilly’s all players carry their weight.
Lastly, while listing criteria, the interior landscape of a Gilly’s sandwich is flat. Hooray hurrah huzzah for that. No hump of meat in the middle, no condiment-free zone at the crusts. Bite for bite, each one’s equitable – bread, filling, condiment, border to border.
Gilly’s is not new, nor hip, nor screaming for an icon on the map, thank the if-there-is-a-God-he/she-must-eat-sandwiches, Lord.