Each week, Justin Bitner goes hunting for DFW's most interesting sandwiches. Have a sandwich suggestion? Leave it in the comments and he'll check it out.
Venue: Sid's Rainbow Grill
The Sandwich: The Club ($6.75)
Bread: Wheat seared by an angry toaster
Toppings: Ham, Turkey, Lettuce, Tomato, Bacon, Swiss, American Cheese, Spicy Mustard (a dicey audible)
The Case: Sid's Rainbow Grill, hunkered down in the center of the action in old timey Carrollton, is the type of joint you expect to see in every little Southern town. Norman Rockwell-style prints hang in nicked-up wood frames, while Troyer-sized statues of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe cast their gaze from atop the antique soda bar. The servers are the types of ladies who coat you in so many "Honeys" that you feel like you're in a Winnie the Pooh wet dream.
Gripped by the familiar sensation of menu anxiety, I asked my particular honey lavisher to lend me a sandwich recommendation. "The Club is really good, Sugar," she offered, changing up my saccharine epithet. I accepted the friendly suggestion and was pleased when my sandwich was delivered by the owner of the Club himself, Sid. Served with a smile beneath his Paul Teutul-ian 'stache, I had high hopes for the exclusive entree.
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The sandwich arrived dressed with a stout pile of homemade chips, made from a combination of sweet and Russet potatoes. Not to be outdone, the sandwich brought its share of girth, with layer upon layer of turkey and ham, the lettuce and tomato creating a barrier between the two proteins. It would be great to see all sandwich places practice the latter of these habits, as tomatoes should never be within one layer of touching the bread.
Despite the ebullient charm of the staff and surroundings, the Club's taste couldn't live up to the hype. The meat and vegetables were fair, but the toast laid down a texture too dry to overcome. While I expected the American cheese to be of the single wrapped slice variety, I didn't expect the Swiss to come from an individual plastic sheath as well. The bacon and chips both shared the same overly singed crispness, with the chips marginally benefiting from a dash of salt I threw on them. I felt a strange drop of water leave my eye as a fleck of bacon fell out of my sandwich and I didn't even feel the urge to eat it.
The Verdict: With a few tweaks (untoasted bread and better bacon would be a good start), Sid's Club could be above average and a fun place to have lunch during weekend suburban errand-running. Otherwise, it's time to drop it off at the sandwich farm to run and play with all the other sandwiches of yore.