Where the Flavor Lives

I surveyed the expanse of meat options as the counterman’s eyes bored into my very soul. Why did I stand paralyzed with doubt at the prospect of cooked meat products? The story begins, as frequently does these days, with meat bits. There is at least one good reason why a slab of meat is more expensive than meat in bits, and it’s not the taste. I haven’t had a McDonald’s hamburger in 28 months and 12 days, but I still remember how tasty that slim patty of processed meat was. Certainly tastier than, for example, the completely bland 12-ounce steak I had at the Eat’n Park just past Falls Creek, Pa., on Interstate 80 just about a month ago. Is the Eat’n Park supposed to be a place where you can eat and park, or is it perhaps an eating park? This same question distracted me enough throughout my meal on that dreary morning that when my attention re-focused on my plate, I found it empty, even though I had no recollection of the savor of flame-grilled blood and protein that is the trademark of the cut of beef known as the T-bone. Interest piqued by this wholly unremarkable meal, once back in Cambridge, I visited the restaurant’s website and learned that the Eat’n Park is “an institution.” This informative tidbit aside, I remained unenlightened as to the meaning and provenance of its name, as well as the technique by which Eat n’Park chefs drain all flavor from 12-ounce T-bone steaks. Perhaps they sell it by the bottle, like Liquid Smoke or ReaLemon. Regardless.

Readers—such as myself—of Eric Schlosser’s Fast Food Nation resist the seduction of a flavorful McDonald’s hamburger not just out of a morbid fascination with the steak-cooking techniques of the family restaurants of the tri-state area, but also because we know that ground or shredded meat is generally the disturbing equivalent of mystery meat. With the possibility of them harboring everything from nervous tissue to salmonella, processed meat of any variety seems less like a food product, and more like a recipe for illness.

So it should be clear why I found myself frozen with doubt before the counter at Saigon Sandwich, conveniently located just down Washington Street from the Mass DMV. Luckily, the process of creating a savory lunch is almost foolproof. The friendly folks behind the counter will stuff a seven-inch loaf of French bread with vegetables, cilantro, chili peppers and mayonnaise. These ingredients are irreproachably fresh and attractively arranged to best advantage behind the counter. They cause little doubt. Paralysis only sets in when it comes time to choose the meat that will complete your sandwich. Viewing the marinated pork or chicken (shredded to little bits and a veritable festival of unidentifiable components), teriyaki chicken or beef (in slabs and almost painfully boring) and a combination of ham, pate and headcheese (“Originally made entirely from the meaty parts of the head of a pig or calf, but now can include edible parts of the feet, tongue and heart”) introduces a profound dilemma. If you’re anything like me, you will be torn between conflicting emotions—scorn of anything flavored with teriyaki and fear of permanent incapacitation by listeria, salmonella or Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease.

As the line behind me grew restive, I threw caution to the wind and ordered a shredded pork sandwich, heavy on the chilis and cilantro. While all you really want to know from here on is whether I spent the next week in a universe of gastrointestinal pain (answer: no), the more important question you should be posing is, “Was it the best sandwich you’ve ever had for under $3?” (answer: yes). The bread was fresh, both crusty and chewy, and the meat was aromatic, flavored with pepper, garlic and other delightful things. As I paid, I asked the owner if he bought bottled meat flavor from any tri-state area restaurants, but he quickly refuted my Eat n’Park hypothesis with a blank stare and a handful of change. I strongly recommend jacking up the cilantro and chili pepper quotient, getting one of their fruit smoothie-shakes (the lady manning the blender is generous to a fault with the fruit, but ask her for less syrup unless you want a serious case of the shakes) and retiring to the nearby park just up the street to smirk at hapless fools with patties lurking in their upsized Super Value Meals.

Saigon Sandwich

Corner of Washington and Kneeland, Boston

Irregular hours, but apparently almost always open on weekdays during lunch hour.