By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
Lunch special: No. 1 hero plus chips and a drink for $8
People behind the counter looking like they're moving fast, but really moving kind of slowly, but at least they're smiling count: 100
Hovering straw caddy count: 1
Empty table count: 0
Why is Jared the Subway guy still fat? He's been eating that shit for years now, claiming that it's totally good for you and helps you lose weight, but the bastard's still tubby (I'm not one to judge people for how much etcetera they're carrying around, but when your whole thing is that you're Losing Weight Guy and you're not losing any weight, Imma call you tubby). All I'm getting from those ads is that eating a Subway sandwich makes you look all pudgy and pasty and doesn't make you any less annoying.
Sure the price of a meal at Subway is less than $10, but it's also shit, which I'd be fine with paying if they advertised it that way. If they called it the 10-Dollar Brick o' Shit, at least I wouldn't be surprised when it came out tasting nasty. I'd probably even add peppers just for giggles. Besides, can you really call it a "meal deal" if a little bit of your soul dies every time you eat there?
Instead, in an effort to avoid the pasty future that Subway affords, I trucked on over to Great American Hero on 4001 Lemmon Ave.
I ordered a No. 1 (but there are several similarly cheap choices on the menu), which is a cold hero with salami, capicola (After I ate it, I was like, "What is capicola, anyway, Wikipedia?" and Wikipedia was like, "Oh, it's a kind of salumi, which is not a misspelling of 'salami.' Salami is a specific kind of salumi. And salumi is an Italian meat product, usually cured and made from pork." And then I was like, "Wikipedia, you're so smart.") baked ham and provolone cheese, everything on it plus pickles, mayo and spicy mustard. Oooh, and I got it on rye because they had rye bread, which is the best kind of bread ever invented besides money.
While I was waiting for my sandwich to be born, I picked up a page of jokes from the meat counter, which was a highlight of the whole experience. Just after I read the best joke on the page ("A dyslexic walks into a bra"), my sandwich was ready. I picked out some chips, ordered a Coke and paid my $8.
At this point, I should mention that if you're Abraham Lincoln, The Great American Hero does not want to see your face. They think Jefferson, Washington and whoever's on the dime are way cooler than you and they don't take pennies. I think the logic behind it is that pennies are ridiculous.
My sandwich from Great American Hero was, however, not ridiculous. It was really good. The service was really good too. I even got a free refill delivered to my table. All in all, it was worth every penny I didn't spend.