Good morning, everyone.
Last night, I went to Lauren Sherman’s Paris Fashion Week party hosted by Puck and ShopMy. Leave it to Lauren to gather Chris Black, Lauren Santo Domingo, Jalil Johnson, and Jacob Gallagher at Montezuma Café for sidewalk beers and cigarettes. The party favors were branded lighters. The snacks skewer Gildas and hunks of bread. Fun.
I slept through my 7 a.m. alarm this morning, so I had to shotgun a pot of coffee in my hotel lobby and rush out the door with a chocolate croissant like a cartoon character in order to make it to the Loewe show on time. The invitations came with ceramic (?) whistles, which made sense when the banana-yellow windbreakers and sporty ‘90s-aqua pleated pants came down the runway. It was cool to see Tim Burton in the flesh.
Today’s newsletter includes: Some titans of New York hospitality expand to West Palm Beach, a16z wants screenwriters to make movies with them, J Lee on grown up sandwiches (important), C.O. Bigelow gets a billboard, Bobbi Brown is a baller🏀 , a nine-figure real estate listing boom, and I want to read more newsletters by acupuncturists.
New York City is a city of sandwiches. By J Lee
Expense Account is a series on Feed Me by semi-anonymous restaurant critic J Lee. He hosts a podcast with the same name. This week he’s talking sandwiches.
New York City, more than most cities, maybe more than any city, is a city of sandwiches. It’s the birthplace of the Italian Sub (this is arguable, but let me live). Our most famous restaurant may or may not be a deli serving pastrami sandwiches. We invented the Reuben, the chopped cheese, the (turkey) bacon egg and cheese. We are the home of Court Street Grocers, the late great Saltie (RIP), and also Salty Lunch Lady’s Little Luncheonette. We’re the home of The Ocky Way. I’ll never forget the first time I tried No. 7 Sub. Even in this city of sandwiches, the East Village stands out. Like Harlem in the 1920s, Greenwich Village in ‘60s, and Soho in the ‘70s, there’s a wave of wild creativity coming out of the East Village at the moment. There are sandwiches being made that have never been made before. So many delicious monstrosities.
“Their Turkey Town looks like the sandwich you wish your mom had packed you for lunch. On whole wheat with just a tiny bit of romaine, it’s halfway toward a hippy sandwich, but instead of sprouts, for even more crunch you get fried green tomatoes.”
On First Avenue, there’s Sanwits, “A Filipino Sandwich Shop.” They serve a fried chicken sandwich covered in shrimp sauce and smoky eggplant aioli. I try to never use this phrase, but there’s no other way to describe it: It’s a “flavor bomb.” There’s, of course, Superiority Burger, where everything is delicious, and everything is wild. Their Yuba Verde, with yuba, chickpeas, and broccoli rabe, is a zany deconstructed and reconstructed vegetarian take on an Italian Hero; it’s one of my favorite sandwiches in the city. Recently, I ate the weekday-lunch-only torta from Carnitas Ramirez. While it doesn’t quite classify as “wild,” I have to mention it because it’s wildly delicious, you need to eat this sandwich. And then there’s the benchmark, the innovator, the original avant-garde East Village sandwich counter, Sunny & Annie’s. They’ve been making creative sandwiches on Avenue B since 1997. They got famous for their Pho Sandwich, and they haven’t stopped innovating. We’re now on Pho Sandwich #11, which comes with bulgogi or roast pork, tofu, avocado, noodles, bean sprouts, sesame leaves, red onions, cucumber, cantaloupe, cilantro, fresh jalapeño, kimchi, and red pesto (this ingredient list is a poem). You can get it as a wrap or as a hero. Somehow it works.