Does IGA Have the Best Sandwich in Town?

Not to indulge in whiny stereotypes, but one of the worst parts about being Jewish in the North Country is the lack of decent deli. I mean, for god’s sake, you can’t even get a good loaf of rye around here! And you’re more likely to find bird’s nest soup than a pastrami sandwich. 

Matter of fact, you can’t get any good sandwiches around here. Our only options are Subway and Jreck’s. 

The last time I was at Jreck’s, they shmeared my mayonnaise on top of the meat, rather than on the bread. And as long as we’re on the topic of Jewishness, it’s like $15 for a sub there. Add a drink and some mozzarella sticks, and you’ll have to liquidate your Roth IRA just for a wet, mediocre mess. Not that that’s a bad thing.

As for Subway, you go there for the cookies, and you order a sub simply because you’re there already. I seriously think Subway cookies have crack in them. When I worked there, for two weeks, I baked entire sheet-pans for myself. I think that’s partly why they fired me. That, on top of the fact I ate twice my salary in stolen sandwiches. 

Besides Subway and Jreck’s, a few gas-stations in the area also have a deli counter. Though with most, you’re better off just going to Subway. For example, Sunoco, which ironically serves the best slice in Canton, sells the sort of subs that’s like biting into a cold pillow, and not in a good way. The bread is hugely fluffy and crumby, and its insides are freezing and wet. Same with the sandwiches at Kunoco. 

That’s why I was astonished when my brother told me he got sandwiches from IGA in Potsdam--and that they were good, and cheap.

Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, so for the first time in god-knows how long, I poked inside IGA, hat and sunglasses on for fear of being seen, and made my way to the deli counter, which heretofore I hadn’t known existed. 

I’m certain the stupidest moments of any human creature’s life are spent in front of a food counter deciding what to order. 

“What can I get ya, sweetie?” the elderly woman asked me. 

“Uhhhhhh, ahhhhhh. Fuck. Idk. Hold on.” 

“Take your time.” 

She vanishes behind the counter, sensing correctly that I won’t come to a decision this decade. It’s not exactly my fault, though. I thought this would be like a shittier Subway! Instead, they have hot as well as cold subs, like philly or chicken cheesesteaks, chicken parm, buffalo chicken, and even specialty items like ribs. 

I decide for the sake of fair review to stay classic. Turkey, American cheese, lettuce, tomato (salted), mayo, onion, hot peppers (which Subway scandalously doesn’t carry anymore), oil and vinegar, and shakers on a full sub roll. 

It was killer. 

First of all, the sandwich was obese. It was easily twice the density of Subway’s, and I had to ruin the rest of my afternoon just to finish it. 

If anything, it was a little too big for its britches. You may think that’s solely a good thing, but in fact it’s a serious criticism. Each bite exploded out over the sides of the bread, and I had to eat its scattered shrapnel off the parchment like a neanderthal. Such degrading acts remind one of the importance of proportion when it comes to sandwich building, and why bigger isn’t always better. It’s like those delis that put a pound of pastrami on your sandwich, and even if that pastrami is very good, it makes for a bad sandwich. 

That said, and this is my second point, it was only eight dollars. At that price, I could care less if it’s a little disproportionate. If anything, I want as much as possible when I’m paying as little as possible. And in a depraved world where sandwiches now run you upwards of $15, this thing is a deliverance. You can also get half a sandwich for $4, which is just crazy. 

As for the quality, I mean, who gives a shit? It was 8 dollars! But actually it was pretty good.  Every component was better than expected, which for a convenience-store sandwich is remarkable. 

Aside from the gas-stations and convenience-stores, there’s little else of note in Canton-Potsdam. You can perhaps receive something somewhat respectable at the Best Western restaurant, but they carry the kind of soulless, uninteresting sandwiches designed for equally soulless, uninteresting WASPs who care more about golf than food. 

Buffalo chicken wrap. Grilled chicken on brioche bun with cheddar cheese and bacon. California burger with avocado and the sickliest tomato you’ve ever seen. These are just a few of the decent but dispiriting sandwiches at Best Western typical of what I call “rural elevated” American cuisine. You can find this food most prominently at low-end country clubs, or mediocre hotels. 

I’m interested in real sandwiches. The kind that put an end to the rest of your day. The kind that ejaculate meat-juice and grease and the acid runoff from pickled vegetables. The kind that leave your palms and forearms soaked. The kind you don’t serve to children, because they aren’t ready. 

It’s a weeping shame these sandwiches can’t be found in Canton-Potsdam, because sandwiches are the greatest category of food in existence. They could be the greatest development in human history. Ask yourself this: would you rather have Penicillin, or the Popeye’s Spicy Chicken Sandwich? That’s what I thought. 

Sandwiches are so good that entire cities center round them. Chicago has Italian beef. NYC has chopped cheese. Philly has pork-and-broccoli rabe plus that other one no-one cares about. These sandwiches are the sole reason to visit those cities! Well, at least Philadelphia. 

From the best on the planet in the Tuscan countryside, to the worst-constructed atrocities devoured over the kitchen sink, I’ve had all sorts of sandwiches, and love them equally -- albeit in different ways. 

That sounds weird, but if you really love food, then you love all food. Just like if you really love humanity, then you love every human being. I don’t love humanity, but I do love sandwiches, and therefore it's impossible for me to be a discriminating bigot about them. That’s why I don’t understand food, or art, or movie, or whatever “critics” who whimper constantly about what they hate. I mean, I suppose you undertake criticism partly in order to encourage the artform you observe, and to improve its scene, so to say, but sometimes I get the impression these critics can’t possibly love what they cover. If you really love food, then you must love Kraft mac-and-cheese as much as craft mac-and-cheese. You must love the McChicken as much as the coveted Italian paninos. You must love the Peanut M&M as much as the valrhona chocolate truffle. Just like if you really love music, you must love your friend’s shitty guitar-playing as much as the NY Philharmonic. There is simply a time and place for each. 

For instance, if I’m sunburning beside a chlorinated pool, I would refuse anything that isn’t bologna on Wonder Bread with American cheese and Doritos. If sauntering the streets of Amsterdam, give me pickled herring on a hot dog bun. Ideally you’ll be too high to realize how terrible that is. 

If here in the north country, well, I don’t suppose we have a regional sandwich. I guess we specialize in bland, cold-cut deli, since that’s all there is.

But besides IGA, there’s one place in Ogdensburg that does it fairly well.

The Sandwich Warehouse, situated in downtown Ogdensburg--which apparently is not a contradiction in terms--makes sandwiches that aren’t fucking terrible. 

My friend Ben and I went one day before I moved when we decided we needed reubens for lunch. His family had been before, and tipped me off to the place. I would otherwise have never known it exists. 

We pulled up to the most charming little tabernacle. That itself was inspiring, since the north country architecture in general seems purposefully ugly. 

Inside, you are welcomed with an assortment of homemade pastries. These included no-bake cookies, perhaps the most underloved cookie of all, as well as raspberry tarts, chocolate-chip cookies, and a few other sweets I couldn’t discern but could tell were good. For a few moments I completely forgot sandwiches existed. Better men than us have buckled under lesser temptation, but we pushed forth, unwilling to be seduced away from the savory by the sweet. 

Here’s when I knew the sandwiches would be good: the woman at the counter was rather rude. I love that, because I hate fake niceties. I don’t want to be lavished with unctuous lies just because I’m purchasing something from you. I want to be treated like the annoyance I am.

You simply haven’t felt the crush of despair until you’ve had a customer walk into your minimum-wage service job. Whilst at Subway, I made a point of never smiling at anybody. That way, the customer could see in my eyes how much I wanted to kill them and myself. I think people found that endearing, and liked me more for it. 

That aside, the menu at Sandwich Warehouse is impressive. It’s somewhat long, which is often a red-flag, but not in this case. Everything on the menu makes you think, “Yeah, I could see myself ordering that.” Which is a pretty high compliment. Even at most good restaurants, you don’t seriously consider more than 2-3 options. 

I got the Reuben and the Remington. Ben got a turkey reuben, as he’s been trying to convince me that turkey reubens are better than corned-beef. I think I now agree, although pastrami might be better than both.

The sandwiches were great, but the best part was the bread. Everyone knows the most important aspect of any sandwich is the bread, and theirs was the best rye I’ve had outside a major city. 

They aren’t obscenely large, but they’re cheap. Nothing costs more than $10. Prices differ slightly, but whole sandwiches are all at or below $10, while halves run about $7.50. 

Just get the whole. It’s only a two dollar difference, and nobody thinks you’re skinny or chic for eating half a sandwich. Save the rest for later, when you’re stoned.