I hate it when my
food tries to attack me. At least, that was my most naïve of
misconceptions, when in the past my worries chiefly consisted of angry,
snapping lobsters and the omnipresent
fear of my steaks coming back to life after being seared for a full 3.5
seconds after death. Now I have to worry about plants. The dumbest of plants in
fact – wheat. Now instead of inspecting
my steak tartare, I’m cowering at the slightest mention of a goddamned
sandwich.
I’m a firm believer
in attacking things head-on—internet stalkers, daddy issues, and allergies
alike. As a child, I endured test upon test to see if I had a cashew
allergy after a breakout of hives while eating lo mein. After the tests, I ate
a PB&J. I’m stone-cold tough, natch. So this gluten allergy, or intolerance,
or irritability has been getting me down. This is the eighth beef product I’ve
eaten this week. And of course, of course it would be that every single fast
food establishment near me would start rolling out pretzel buns. Dunkin’ Donuts has started, but it is I who
shall finish.
The new Roast Beef and Dijon sandwich is literally perfect. It succeeds on almost every front
where Wendy’s new Pretzel Cheeseburger did not—a balance of savory and sweet
flavors, plentiful meat, and an exceptional pretzel bun. I mean, look at that
wrinkled, delicious bastard.
It’s got a
top as greasy as a Real Housewives of Jersey audition, and has an immediately
sweet, fresh aroma. I had to run an errand before I got home, and as soon
as I opened the car door to retrieve my sandwich, the Honda was filled with a
bready, slightly salty scent.
The sandwich has roast beef, Swiss cheese, and the Dijon
spread popular in other sandwiches, most recently, the Cuban sandwich, which
this seems to have replaced.
The only
peeve I could find was that the beef was overcooked and on the chewy side.
Having
had Nick’s of Beverly, I’m more partial to rare deli meat now. But the Dijon
had a sweet flavor and surprisingly, neither the meat nor the cheese were too
salty. The real star was the pretzel
roll. I wouldn’t be surprised if these were from Pretzilla. The rock salt
on top absolutely made it, giving each bite a little extra depth and tang, and
the roll didn’t shy away from its roots, carrying
that iron-heavy, honeyed quintessential flavor. I could eat one of these
alone – if the first bite didn’t almost immediately give me a terrible
stomachache and knock me out cold for an hour. Damn you, gluten. At least this will be a good treat for the
Bedfellow. And for me, vicariously.
Labels: 9, fast food, sandwich