It doesn’t take much life experience to understand the unforgiving pendulum on which the sublime nature of a sandwich and its various noms de plume swing. Leave it in a schvitz and you end up with a soggy mess; leave it out at a get-together and the top of the bread gets crusty; have it roll around in a musty purse from 7am till noon playing bash brothers with a can of Dr Pepper and you get the picture.
Anybody can slap two pieces of bread together and call it a sandwich without much argument (although there was one case in Massachusetts where a judge had to rule on what legally constitutes a sandwich). Basically it boils down to two pieces of bread with something between. It doesn’t have to be fancy, nor does it have to be that great. It just has to be wonderful for the time it takes to eat it.
A person with a basic command of pre-school-level motor skills can work this dish out, though a sandwich – for all its egalitarian appeal – can indeed be something most brilliant. This brilliance is why we love them, argue about them and seek them out as our ultimate comfort food. A sandwich is seen as a solution to many of our basic problems. At a loss in life? Make a sandwich and have a nap.
Sonoma Hoagies, off Streets 63 and 278, kicks both the simple nature of the sandwich and its elegant potential up a notch without making you feel like you’ve been robbed by an overzealous concoction. The menu is short, with four or five different Asian fusion hoagies to choose from: Khmer pate, meatball, grilled pork, chicken, and pork roll. The sign outside had me at the word ‘meatloaf’, but sadly they were out of meatloaf the day I came. Instead of crying out to the gods, beating my breast and gnashing my teeth while running in circles yelling “SERENITY NOW!”, which would have been interesting but out of line, I took the more refined but risky meatball option.
Meatballs are hit or miss: they can be too large, gloopy and deceptively spring loaded, shooting out all over your pants on first bite. They also run the risk of tasting like a rolled-up ball of dense lint from the drier. The meatball hoagie at Sonoma was neither spring loaded, nor gloopy, nor dry. The meatballs were moist, appropriately portioned and looked like little bald men with sunburnt heads sitting in a crispy, chewy bread boat toasted in such a way as not to shred the roof of your mouth. The meatballs have this light and salty sauce, drippy but politely so, like a weepy best friend. Underneath was fresh cucumber, carrot, some good dark greens and a few thin slices of radish and a brooch of red pepper. Oh, that radish! That’s what did it for me, a lovely touch. I’m looking forward to eating hoagies through the hot season.
Sonoma Hoagies is simple and chilled out with a loft area and nice background music: think a comfortable, quick bite. Staff are cheerful, modest and cool. What really gets you is the price: at $2.50, it was money well spent for a little afternoon delight between two pieces of bread. As far as take-out goes, the sandwich travels well and can hold its own in a rowdy rucksack.
Sonoma Hoagies, #159 Street 278; 023 223617.