Tell Mike His Sandwich Kicked Ass

So some poor bastard went without lunch today. How this could possibly be my fault is beyond me, just ask the Supreme Court. Here's what they'd tell you (and unanimously so): If you don't come pick up your sandwich after your name is called five times, it becomes a first-come, first-serve situation. Pure and simple Eminent Domain 101, for all the soon-to-be first-year law students out there.

Actually, that was meant mostly for Mike. See, he lost the opportunity to eat the Smith Point sandwich he ordered today from Jetties in Georgetown. You snooze, you lose. Sorry about that, Mikey. Maybe you should've taken care of #2 before you left the house.

Well, I'm just guessing that's what he was doing while the counter guy practically went hoarse calling after him to pick up his damn sandwich. Either that, or there's a secret glory hole in the men's bathroom at Jetties. The latter seems very doubtful.

I digress.

The Smith Point - presumably named after the beach comunity in Nantucket, and not the place in Georgetown where fratty-baggers and Sorority Sues try in vain to relive those salad days of college past - is a superlative sandwich. It consists of rare roast beef, havarti cheese, horseradish sour cream, red onion and tomato - all served up on pumpernickel bread.

There are many ways a sandwich like this could go wrong. Too much horseradish sour cream, too little rare roast beef, too many onions and stale bread are just some. No worry here, Jetties strikes a perfect balance with all the ingredients: just the right amount of horseradish sour cream, rare roast beef stacked high, just a few slices of the thin red onion and fresh bread.

Not too much of anything, and everything coming together in a harmonic medley of tasty goodness.

I'd say I'm feeling pretty sorry for Mike at this point, but hey, we're a country of laws not men, and rules are rules. Or something like that.