This is the suburbs, man, there’s no need to pack in supplies. Everything is just down the street. But ritual dictates a stop at the local convenience for a sandwich wrapped in cellophane. There are better, more proper, cuban sandwiches to be had but then you’d have to wait five, maybe ten minutes to have it made for you, fifteen if there’s a line.
The bread’s not exactly cuban, but there’s the pork, ham, swiss, pickles and mustard. It counts.
I’m not prone to superstition, but when I’m on the road in Florida, eating one puts me in the right place for the task at hand.
Coming Soon: The Hungry Man. (A full hero loaded with three eggs, sausage, bacon, ham and cheese. Found in the delis of Long Island.)