A Hopeful Sandwich
+ Do Olympians "listen to their bodies?"
Just a Little Bit of History Repeating
Do you remember the Obama years when life seemed perfect and we could amuse ourselves with small things because we didn’t worry about Big Things like the end of democracy and western civilization? Just me?
There were cat videos, Buzzfeed quizzes and Gawker. There was a brief collective obsession with pirates and ninjas. I had a blog and a podcast about visiting historic mansions. The website AOL Style (r.i.p.) literally paid me for an article about the color purple. Not the book or the Broadway show, just the color.
I read other peoples’ blogs about lunch and something called Cupcakes and Cashmere — the name alone is peak bubble. I thought the country was done with sexism and racism, so I could think about nail polish.
When the big things are taken care of — or you’re under the illusion they are — you can appreciate the smaller wonders of the world, like people comically falling into wedding cakes. It’s Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs with self-actualization as niche Tumblr pages.
Since then — or more specifically since November 9, 2016, a night of dread I didn’t see coming — it’s been nonstop anxious vigilance. I raised my personal stakes in the future (along with my cortisol levels) with two kids, then COVID same soon after, and my phone went from being a gif-sharing device to a firehose of bad news blasting my face all day.
Taking Back Sandwich
A few weekends ago, I saw Edith Wharton’s country house, the first historic mansion I’d been to in several years. On the drive home, I heard the news about Biden stepping down and endorsing Kamala Harris, and I felt a jolt of life I didn’t see coming.
It felt like 2008, with the hard-earned counterweight of 2016. Plenty to worry about, but enough to feel excited again, too. And I wanted to enjoy myself. I wanted to blog about sandwiches!
So, welcome to another new series, where we discuss sandwiches with the carefree frivolity of the 2010’s, while enduring this mortal coil in the 2020’s.
Together. With sandwiches. Chewing forward, towards freedom.
I started with Brancaccio’s in Brooklyn. See the whole review — in video! — below.
📣 New Sub Shout-Outs 📣
Hellos and welcomes to new Mess & Noise subscribers Gail K., Meag, Jay, Mary J., Katie D., & Janet R.!
I hope you’re looking forward to deep thoughts and big sandwiches.
Brancaccio’s: A sandwich that surprises without over-striving
This week’s sandwich comes from Brancaccio’s Food Shop in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn. I’d had the Chicken Special there once before, and like an ephemeral dream, I was dying to go back and experience it again to make sure it was real.
My husband came along to document this pilgrimage on video, so enjoy!
The Stats ✅
Place: Brancaccio’s Food Shop
Location: 3011 Fort Hamilton Parkway, BK NY
Sandwich: Chicken cutlet with prosciutto, artichoke & fontina cheese with herb hot sauce, AKA “Chicken Special”
Price: ~$12 - $15 (I don’t remember, but it’s cheaper if you pay cash)
Since we’re not actual food vloggers who feel confident in the coverage we provide, we didn’t ask the owner if we could film inside the shop. So, it’s mostly footage of me eating on a bench down the street.
Closing thoughts: Kids & Olympics
I’m not the only parent who found the Olympic games to be a rich text for kids, but I’m a wobbly translator on its life lessons.
Both my kids say stuff like “I could do that” when they watch Simone Biles or Katie Ledecky, and I don’t want to shit on their little fantasies. I also don’t want to imply that they should (or could) be Olympic athletes. (Our DNA alone would imply the opposite.)
Some of the IRL metaphors are simple, like when an athlete falls and gets up again to finish the job, it’s easy to point that out to a 6 year old. I’ve explained that each contender strives for perfection because they are judged so harshly, and everything they’re doing is a result of hard work and relentless focus and sacrifice.
i.e., the Olympics are hustle culture!
My kids saw Simone Biles crawl on the goddamned floor between vaults because of a calf injury, then of course nail it. They saw the Brazilian gymnast smash her face and keep going. It was not a lesson in slowing down and “listening to your body.”
I know Olympians have a short shelf life that we could call burnout, but the belief kids have in their own greatness is also short-lived. I feel bad cutting it shorter, so I lean into the grit of it all.
I say things like, “Sure, you could do that! If you want to! And you work really really really hard.” (The extra “reallys” convey it’s a slog, but an achievable one.)
Just curious how everyone reconciles Olympic adulation with the current post-workaholic angst, backlash against perfectionism, life balance as a goal, etc.
That’s it for this one. Stay golden, people!
Phoebe- from Clueless to Obama years to Olympics. Never thought I’d stumble into all these topics and thoroughly enjoyed them all. Bravo-
This is hysterical. Our collective bliss bubble feels so far away!
Sandwiches over olympic education, every time.
I still find myself re-traumatized every four years by the memory of my Father's outrageous envy over 1. Not being an Olympian(or anyone extraordinary/special) and 2. Not being a kid with zero responsibilities and the ability to watch it all day. He'd be so mad when he got home from work and found out we spent those two weeks "playing outside." The far limits of human achievement are so out of reach for me most days, just knowing peak athleticism is still happening in a concentrated two weeks soup in a city I'll probably never visit, is enough to make me take to the bed until proper autumn arrives with cardigans and ghouls.