The Number Four

“So, do you take all of your first dates to your work?” She asked as she looked around the closed sandwich shop. The limited seating area was at the same time clean and heavily used; the decor hadn’t changed in over a decade. Glow from the kitchen lights accentuated a coating of dust on the very top of the beverage machine.

A.J. pulled a hoagie bun from a bag and sliced it open. “Just the special ones,” he said with a smirk. “Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” Shiloh said, reiterating. “Bonus points for you.”

“You are scoring me on my sandwich skills?” he asked. “Or are you ranking this date overall?”

“Perhaps both,” she said and pulled a delivery menu from beside the cash register before scanning it over as she sat on the front counter. Shiloh began to watch him as if he was her entertainment, swinging her legs like a kid on a swing. “Just eight sandwiches on the menu?”

“Just eight. Oh, and build your own options. Hot or cold.” He double checked his pile of ingredients on the table; it was always difficult without the stations set up as they would be during business hours, as if he was painting with all the colors tossed around on the counter instead of precisely on a palette.

“Number one. The Big Izzo. Double meat and double cheese. Thinly sliced ham and turkey, with Applewood smoked bacon, Wisconsin sharp cheddar and baby swiss. Dressed lettuce, onion, tomato and pickle with Izzo’s sauce. Try it hot,” she read aloud.

“I thought you wanted the number four,” A.J. clarified.

“I do,” Shiloh said. “I’m just reading. What is dressed lettuce?”

“Well, we toss the shredded lettuce with Italian seasoning, olive oil and red wine vinegar,” he responded, paused and began to elaborate. “It holds the moisture better. Normally if you pour vinegar and oil on your sandwich it makes everything soggy. If it’s dressed lettuce, it holds it almost like a sponge.”

“Mmm. Soggy bread,” Shiloh said sarcastically. “Makes sense, though. You have a degree in this sandwich science here. Two bonus points.”

A.J. turned the heat on the griddle and slapped a layered row of salami on it haphazardly, but into a perfect oblong shape to fit a hoagie bun. Then, he layered pepperoni and thin sliced ham on top.

Shiloh twirled her curly hair with her index finger and could hear the deli meat begin to sizzle. “Number two,” she continued. “Philly. As close as it gets to a real one in Wisconsin. Cheese Whiz, of course. With or without onions.”

“I like it with onions,” A.J. said, without looking up from the sandwich station.

She snapped her gum and read more from the menu. “Number three. Same as number two, but with chopped chicken. Pro tip: try it with our spicy mayo.”

“You should always get spicy mayo with the number three. It needs a bit more sauce in my opinion,” A.J. said.

“Noted,” she said, finding his sightline and locking eyes with him for a moment. She added a smirk. “What’s the difference between that and Izzo’s sauce?”

“Both are aioli. Izzo’s is more garlic heavy with a little bit of mustard. Spicy mayo gives you a little bit of burn.”

“I like it spicy.” Shiloh flirted.

“We’ve got good spicy peppers, too,” he said, pretending to be oblivious, before giving a little wink. He flipped the lunchmeat and slapped a few slices of white american cheese on top of the ham.

“White american cheese, huh? Not Provolone or Mozzarella?”

“Yeah. Melts nice,” he replied as he sat the sliced hoagie bun on the griddle, crust side up.

“Fair enough,but I docked you a point for not being authentic,” she joked. “You said the number four is your best seller?”

“By far our best seller,” A.J. quickly replied.

“Salami, pepperoni, ham and american cheese. Dressed lettuce, onion, tomato, hot peppers and mayo. Trust us, you’ll want it hot,” she emphasized the word hot, to draw his attention.

“You definitely want it hot,” he said, again with a wink, as he put the cheese away in the refrigerator.

“Number five. The sausage hoagie. Sausage patty, red sauce, mozzarella, hot peppers and a smidge of house-made pesto.”

“That’s a good one,” A.J. said. He removed the bun and slathered mayo on the bottom portion. “It’s in the top two for me.”

“Tied with what?” She asked.

“The number six,” he said. “I like them all, but those two are at the top.”

She looked down at the menu. “Number six. Same as the five, but chicken cutlets.”

“Yup,” he said. “Depends if I’m feeling cutlets or sausage.”

She snapped her gum again. “If those are so good, why didn’t you persuade me to have one of them?”

“Didn’t feel like making a fresh chicken cutlet this late at night,” he chuckled. “I suggested the number four because it sounded equal parts easy and delicious.”

“You shouldn’t tell a girl you aren’t willing to cook them your favorite sandwich,” she said. “I’m reducing your score by a point, for that.”

He tossed shredded lettuce in a bowl and Shiloh could see the oil and vinegar splash less with each toss.

“Number seven, the BLT. You know, the usual. Applewood smoked bacon, dressed or undressed lettuce, tomato and mayo. Kinky sandwich innuendo, A.J. I’ll give you a point for that.”

“I’ll take that point, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Shiloh said. “Number eight. The grilled cheese. Pick up to three cheeses. Add bacon for two dollars more.”

“Sometimes I add avocado for myself. Pretty solid,” he said as he laid the onions and tomatoes on top of the melty cheese.

“Nice,” she said. “I bet that’s good.”

A.J. then scooped some peppers and smothered the sandwich in the dressed lettuce before squishing it together. He carefully rolled it up tight in butcher’s paper and cut it in half.

“Why’d you wrap it if we are just going to eat it right away?”

“It brings it all together. It makes it its own thing, rather than a pile of ingredients. Trust me,” A.J. said.

“Ok, I trust you,” Shiloh replied. “You’re the sandwich expert.”

“Just give it ninety seconds,” he said, before cleaning up his work station.

“How very specific,” she said.

“Ninety seconds is all it needs. You can go longer, but you don’t need to.” He wiped the counter and washed his hands.

“As a performance art, this has been impressive,” Shiloh said.

He handed her half of the sandwich with two napkins. “If you think the performance is impressive, try the sandwich.”

They each took a bite, crunching into the toasted bun. The flavors popped from each ingredient, standing out on their own, yet complementing the others. “Holy shit, A.J. This is good.”

“Right?” He said. “I don’t know if I could make this any better. Just being honest.”

“It’s an all-time great sandwich. One hundred bonus points,” she wiped the corner of her mouth.

“What do I get with all these points?” he asked.

“Well, we know it won’t be a sandwich, that’s for damn sure,” she said. “When you drive me home, I’ll show you though.”