Searching for Subway

I’m back! I know its been a rather lengthy hiatus, but here I am and ready to tell you all about it. So cue up the Curtis Mayfield. (I don’t know why but the theme from Superfly came to my head the instant that I got “inspired” to “get my blog on” again.) As fate would have it, I’m back in the state (no, not Confusion, but Colorado) that produced my last two entries. Correction…my last entry. The other one didn’t make it past the proverbial cutting room floor. I got caught up. It didn’t flow the way I wanted it to. It was arguably too much for my amateur abilities to adequately articulate. (Wow, I alliterated twice in the same sentence!) I had such big plans for it..such high expectations. I mean, really. Have YOU ever sat and talked shop with the members of the cast from your favorite movie? How ‘bout this? I’ll put it up after this one and you decide.

Back to the here and now. I’ve been away. You were afraid I wouldn’t be back. You were worried. You were…weren’t you? Did you even notice I was away? Were you even slightly concerned with where I was? Well, suffice it to say that I lived to tell about it. I survived the hustle and bustle of Roosevelt, Utah moving at the breakneck pace of the Uintah Valley. That was nothing compared with the international fare that I dined on at the Flying J in Willcox, Arizona. And how bout the bullet hole in the window of my fine accommodations at the Best Western there. It was a street level room, mind you, and (oh…the horror!) a door that lead not to a hallway but to the parking lot. But I really got the Z-List celebrity treatment when I waited in a line 17 deep to eat at the deli counter of Eddie Basha’s “grocery” store, on consecutive days at both the San Carlos Apache Reservation and Tohono O’odham Reservations, respectively.( I use the word grocery very loosely here. Who ever heard of a supermarket with no produce? All they offer the poor folks on the Reservation is junk food. I could get off on a whole rant about the crimes against humanity perpetrated by the U.S. Government here, but that’s a story for another day.) A far cry from Souffle’ing in Saigon, certainly.

Blame it on my day job (no, you’re too kind..and flattery will indeed get you everywhere, but I do in fact have a principal occupation that brings in oh..about 99 to 100% of my income. Really! I do) but on this day I was craving some good ol’ fashioned American fare. A burger to be exact. I’ve actually had a hankerin’ for a hamburger a lot lately. No, not anything that is served in a drive thru (although In N’ Out deserves special mention above those other despicable places…what with their Golden Arches, regal mascots, and red-headed, tree kicking little girls). Quite to the contrary, I have been trying to nail down the best gourmet burger around. Anywhere. Bar none. Period. I’ll give the full run down on the burger wars later. I know. My bad. I’m apologizing for sounding like a network television news or gossip show (what’s the difference?) that lures you in with the hot story in the opening credits and then proceeds to string you along with “coming up after this commercial break” for the next 40 or 50 minutes only to deliver a very anti-climactic tidbit that even you already knew. Look on the bright side. I’m setting the table. I’m giving you the table of contents. I’m whetting your proverbial palate with literary hors d’oevres. Just listen.

So, fresh off United Flight 154, and after dashing past the Hertz #1 Club Gold board to my usual road chariot (spelled F-O-R-D T-A-U-R-U-S) I found myself heading west on I-70 toward Vail, CO. I managed to inhale a breakfast burrito at the gate before boarding, but that was about 630am so I was definitely ready for lunch. Being mindful of the time schedule that I was supposed to be on, I figured I would stop at Subway, grab a sandwich and eat while I drive the 126 miles from Denver. Seemed simple enough. You can always find a Subway. Furthermore, all of the signs that I passed told of Inns, Gas Stations, and seemingly a Subway amongst the myriad of other usual fast food suspects at every exit. Following one of those signs, I got off the highway, drove to what was probably the only stoplight in this town and pulled into the parking lot where the McDonald’s, the Home Depot, and the Sinclair gas stations were, certain that Subway would be in this same little traveler’s oasis. Nothing. I left that parking lot and drove across the street to what looked like a recent addition to this collection of strip mall stores. Still no Subway. Feeling the pressure from the angry, hungry mob that raged within my stomach, I decided to cross that same intersection and search for the Subway over there. There was nothing over there but an old forest fire station, and a sign that said “The World Famous El Rancho”. Now, the fact that it was attached to the Best Western made my inner cynic a tad skeptical about its actual renown outside of say…5 miles in any direction. I had to remind myself of the “world famous” bar that Tom Hanks makes his way to in The Terminal, beneath a Manhattan Ramada Inn, in search of a performance and ultimately an autograph from jazz great Benny Golson. What the heck. The place had some character. I parked the car and walked in.




I should’ve had the special. Perhaps it sounded a little too down home. A little too greasy spoon. It was more likely that I had very low expectations for the place when a gravy-smothered, open-faced roast beef sandwich was probably precisely the thing that they did well. The potatoes made my decision more than anything. I was expecting some KFC quality, just-add-water-and-stir, fluffy , yet fake, mashed potatoes. I got suckered by the Kobe Beef Burger with the crumbled, smoked gouda cheese and heirloom tomatoes. You know how it is. Everytime you’re offered Kobe beef on a menu, you’re almost obligated to get it. Its like getting a filet mignon burger or so they’d have you believe. The Kobe cows are pampered for all of their natural lives, getting manicures, massages, sipping lattes. It would be like stepping up to the United Airlines counter and having them tell you, “for $5 more, we can seat you in first class….” You HAVE to do it. I’d love to be able to tell you that this was like the full service intercontinental first class flights on Cathay Pacific or something, but I can’t. In keeping with my metaphor, this more closely resembled getting the first class upgrade on a flight from LAX to SFO. A whopping 45 minutes of luxury. No food. No hot towel. No hot fudge sundaes. Just a little leg room. I shouldn’t be so hard on the El Rancho. The service was World Famous. The staff was very courteous and friendly. The place was very clean. It just wasn’t the best burger I’ve ever had. What I should’ve done, however, was stay around for dessert, because it sounded really good. I try not to order dessert at lunch too often though. Hey, I’ve got to exercise SOME discipline, or I’ll be racing Screech up some stairs in one of the challenge rounds on Celebrity Fit Club. (Yeah, I know that being a Celebrity is kind of a requirement, but why are you trying to burst my bubble?!)

I finally made it to Vail and began to carry out the orders of my latest mission. I was to collect data, using my laptop , from the wireless access points that were scattered most inconspicuously around the village, sitting in the car since the thunderstorms were in full effect on this Monday afternoon. I’m sure that I looked every bit of the CIA agent that my friends suspect me of being, going on all these mysterious trips to all of these mysterious locations, and quite frequently, I might add. There I sat, trying to blend in, in my American full-sized sedan, being mysterious once again. I got a call from a co-hort asking me to move my operation to the main testing area 30 miles away in Eagle, CO so that we might collaborate and take care of the very mysterious mission. All of this mystery is enough to make a guy hungry again. Don’t roll your eyes. It had been a full 3 hours since I left the World Famous El Rancho. Again, my thought process was to just find a Subway to save time, and hit the road. I found out that finding a Subway in Vail Village is a little like trying to find a Spago in Itta Bena, Mississippi. Luckily, I stumbled upon yet another establishment with an international following. I hopped down the steps to Joe’s World Famous Deli and Ice Cream just below street level and marveled at not only the very inviting menu, heavenly smells of freshly baked bread, and array of eclectic ice cream flavors, but also at the many pictures of folks both locally famous( a few autographed pictures of some cat on a snow board doing a flip) and world famous (athletes, musicians, etc.). Each of these pictures seemed to contain a message about which sandwich it was endorsing. All of the choices sounded so good, but I decided to keep it relatively simple with the roasted turkey on ciabatta. Otherwise, I could’ve stared at the menu for an eternity, mouth watering the whole time, as I tried to make sure that I had an amazing dining experience. Again, I had to remind myself that time was of the essence, and , well…its just a sandwich! I am happy to report that when I become “famous” I vow to bring Joe a picture of me doing whatever it is that I do (probably holding a fork and sitting with a napkin in my lap) and plan to give my own endorsement of his absolutely amazing sandwiches. This was no ordinary roasted turkey on ciabatta. Joe topped it with a tomato, sliced mushrooms, and provolone cheese before pressing it in a big device that looked like a fancy George Foreman Grill, sans lines, and garnishes with a substantial pickle slice. The pickle is always a nice touch. It is like the ginger slices that they give you with a plate of sushi, priming your pallet for the spicy tuna and rice roll that will follow. Its like a fluffer that gets the…um…Did I mention that I’m going to autograph a picture for Joe one day?

Dodging raindrops now, I hurried back to my conservatively colored non-descript 4-door American full-sized sedan with my roasted turkey on ciabatta and jumped on the freeway. I’ve never been so happy to see traffic, and everyone knows how I feel about traffic. It’s a lot easier to steer the vehicle with your knees when the flow of traffic is going at about 5mph. The road construction crew had the highway merged down to a single lane, allowing me to put both of my hands on either side of this deli dynamo. I’m sure I had some mayonnaise on my cheek as I passed by the guy in the orange vest and hard hat, holding the SLOW sign. I didn’t care. All I could think about was the marriage of the mushrooms and the provolone cheese, laid gently on the bed of roasted turkey. I not only have Joe to thank, but let’s not forget Jared from Subway for indirectly leading me to these infinitely more intriguing dining experiences.

I did finally make it to Eagle, and got a little done. Pretty soon, it was time to eat again. No, I wasn’t looking for Subway anymore, but my luck continued as I opted for cajun Italian at Bagali’s instead of chicken wings and fries at the sports bar. Call me a food snob, but Crawfish cakes sounded (and tasted) much better than a basket of chili fries.