It’s been real quiet around the Lunch Encounter lately and I’m feeling it. A quiet shop kinda kills me. Not to say the extracurlunchular hasn’t been madness cause it has.
I won’t mention the T word (teenager in the house), nor the W word (work) since saying “the T word” or “the W word” puts it in your head anyway. Same as outright saying it, doncha think, while skirting the responsibility of causing a deep cringe.
At any rate, stuff is catching up with me and I’m squashed here in middle age with a situation. Nothing a little planning ahead while IN MY TWENTIES could have prevented. I had plenty of time for sandwiches then. Could I not have put pen to paper while living another languorous afternoon and done the math on time, money and biological clock?!?
Now, however, the chickens have come home to roost, and I don’t mean as Chicken Parm. Every day, day in and day out, a thought streaks through the pandemonium of my brain, naked and on a bicycle, screaming, “Get me outta here!” At the very least, let’s lock up on Sundays.
A daily dalliance to Bub and Pops would do me. I took one. A dalliance, with the fine, fine bf.
And healed I was. Quotidian reminder, “Enjoy every sandwich”, including the sandwich of the chaos. A mash up between yesterday and tomorrow.
Bub and Pops sticks out like a thumb sore from happily painting, pickling, fixing up, punching a cash register, frying, trying, smiling and serving ridiculously delicious sandwiches, Philly style. Right here in DC, thank the lord.
On the left, behold, Bulgarian Feta Sandwich. One could barely hold it with both hands.
Sheep’s Milk Feta, Arugula, Eggplant Caponata, Oven Roasted Tomatoes, Caramelized Onion, Caramelized Mushrooms, Grilled Zucchini, Grilled Fennel, Balsamic Vin Cotto, Hazelnut Gremolata, and Pecorino Romano.
I kid you not. A true Texas (hipster Austin) hold’em showdown and you don’t wanna let it flop…into yer lap that is.
And on the right, a whole in my estimation, masquerading as a half, Chicken Parmesan.
Marinara, Aged Provolone, Arugula, Caramelized Onion, Hazelnut Gremolata, and Pecorino Romano. There was chicken in there, too, tasty bird.
Bub and Pops is DOWN THE STREET FROM HIS OFFICE. With all due respect, the man has a regular job, can you imagine?! I cannot. The calm of routine might cause a delirium of happiness, so let’s pretend we would wither from tedium while downing sour grapes in the break room.
Kettle cooked. Lily gilded by homemade French onion dip with caramelized onions.
Bub and Pop’s supports No Kid Hungry, a well run and worthy outfit that feeds kids who need it. It doesn’t get much more essential, people. Click on the link below if you’d like to put some heat in your heart. And then dip it.
Smiling. Hell yeah. Bub and Pop’s is an ANumberOneHellYeah. As is the teenager and the cashflow, the bf, the time clock and all the bedlam in between. Not to mention the L word – the legs to get there on.