Sandwich Sitch

Things have been mighty busy in this household... not much time to try new restaurants. Our Freedom Fridays have gone on temporary hiatus, while three different musicals swirl in my head and I try to keep them straight. I don't want to end up throwing cheesy 80's choreography into "Little Women", period promenading into "Tommy", or traumatic druggie twitching into "The Wedding Singer". So far, so good.

Stan and I did have the opportunity to try a brand new sandwich place recently, aptly named "Which Wich?" This adorable little factory replaced our local La Salsa, so that was okay. I mean, with Loteria right around the corner, who needs fast-food Mexican? I also happen to be a sandwich devotee, so I'm all for a new sandwich place. I crossed my fingers and hoped Which Wich was going to be not only tasty, but popular... as even good places tend to disappear quickly in Studio City if they don't catch on.

After having one of Which Wich's wiches, I will never go to Subway again.

Not that I ever really went to Subway. I'd say the only time it would happen was when the family found itself in a state of emergency. Kids starving. Blood-sugar levels plummeting. Need food STAT. Subway nearby; only eatery within a three-mile radius. Call it. Going to Subway always felt like a resignation. Am I really going to waste a lunch on this crap? I was always disappointed with it. The meat was rubbery, the mayo tasteless, and I sort of dreaded the whole assembly-line thing, where customers are forced to dictate their sandwich needs to three different sandwich makers as their creation makes its way down the line to the cash register. "White bread. No wait... what's the three-cheese artisan Italian bread? Never mind. Wheat. Yeah, I guess, bell peppers. No, not that many. Um... mustard. Wait. Could you put a little more on there? Not... that much." I swear I saw judgment if I ordered too many onions. And God help me if I had multiple orders.

At Which Wich?, customers grab a long brown paper bag and mark their desires on the outside of it. There are different brown bags for every make of wich. I grabbed the turkey bag, and ordered my wich on toasted white bread with cheddar, lettuce, red onion and mayo. I handed them my bag, paid for it, and then they hooked it up on a sort of factory clothesline and slid it down to the wichmakers. The only criticism I had was the Waiting of the Wich, which takes longer than it probably should... but the Wich Wait was worth it. What emerged from the counter was the melt-in-your-mouthiest concoction I've had in a long time. The key is the bread. Crusty on the outside, chewy on the inside. The turkey is thin-sliced and stuffed heartily, the produce fresh, the cheese melty... heaven.

Stan ordered "The Wicked", which basically means they take everything they have back there and throw it on the bread. A meat-lovers paradise. We went back a week later, and this time I had a breakfast-wich (served all day!)... scrambled eggs, cheddar, bell peppers, onions and bacon on the same toasty bread. Dee-lish.

I anticipate that Which Wich will become a weekly thing for The Chandlers Four. And apparently there is no danger of it closing... at lunchtime, the line is out the door, every day. Whee!