A few weeks ago I ordered what I thought was a steak sandwich from Porto’s. It didn’t really look like steak when I unwrapped it (it wasn’t dark enough, and it was shredded), but it was kind of a crazy day and I decided to eat the sandwich without doing any is-this-my-sandwich? sleuthing. And MAN, was that sandwich GOOD.
All morning I was dreaming of that sandwich, and when I found out that we were ordering from Porto’s today… sometimes I’m really impressed with my mind-powers. In “Vampire Diaries” lingo, I must have “compelled” John to choose the Porto’s menu. (Or in “True Blood” parlance: “Sookie, can you feel my [sandwich] influence?”)
But then, weirdness struck… I could NOT find my dream-sandwich on the menu. There were only two steak sandwiches, and neither one sounded right. I ordered the Pan con Bistec, and when it arrived… definitely not the same sandwich. So… did I eat a pork sandwich last time? Probably. Do I eat pork? No. Should I start eating pork? Maybe. (Just kidding, God.)
That aside, this was a good sandwich. It included steak, grilled onions, tomato, and– surprisingly– those little fake French fry things that come in a canister. (I don’t know what they’re called.) I’m more of a fan of real French fries– or potato chips– on a sandwich. (Diff’rent strokes…)
It was also a very big sandwich, and I kind of dissembled it, as I am wont to do with my food. I mean, it’s not respectable to eat the quantity of steak that was in that sandwich, not in the middle of a workday. (Also, I’m being all work-out-and-and-eat-right lately… what a buzz-kill.)
So… good times. Good stories. Steak sandwiches.