We walked out of the office into the warm humid heat. The very air laden so heavy that it was like walking through a thick fog. In the haze, I spotted my car; normally I ride with others, but today I have some business to attend to after lunch. I took a couple of riders with me. Upon opening the car doors, the oven like heat escaped slowly into the noontime. We embarked to Avon, my puny air conditioner trying its best to take us there in comfort. Isn't summer great!
We arrived in Avon in minutes (it's not far from our avocation). The Ultimate Sports Bar and Grill occupies a storefront built at the same time that a large discount grocer sparked the economic growth spurt in Avon. The grocer has long since went bust, but the rest of the strip mall struggles on. We climbed out of the car onto the parking lot and walked slowly into the bar. The first impression of the place was of darkness. As our eyes adjusted to the change in light, booths, pool tables, and a large bar in the back of the room appeared. Venetian blinds shielded the interior from the sunlight that managed to leak through the slats in places. The scents of tobacco smoke and stale beer wafted mildly in the air. Lights over the pool tables and the bar were the only artificial light sources in the room. Tire-shaped ceiling fans wobble as they turn and lightly wave the beer posters and flags that hang limply from the ceiling and walls. Except for our group, the bar was mostly empty.
An enthusiastic waitress seated us and took our drink orders. After bringing our drinks, she informs us they have the finest meatball sandwich and its equal can not be found. Despite her charm and persuasion, we each choose the Reuben instead. One of our group, in a moment of weakness, chooses the meatball sandwich. The waitress insists we will all be sorry. She leaves to set the order in motion. We chat and wait, and wait, and wait. Still waiting, we wonder (as eagerness breeds a vivid imagination) what could be taking so long. The waitress appears at our table to inform us, the cook doesn't have enough rye bread to make all of the sandwiches. Would one of us accept alternate bread? In a fit of hunger, another of the group decides on the meatball sandwich.
The food arrives several minutes later. At last! I ordered my sandwich with fries. They appeared to be hand cut. With a ketchup bottle close by, I settled into the work at hand. The bread was buttered and lightly toasted/grilled just right. The sandwich was cut diagonally with decorative toothpicks holding upper and lower slices together. The first bite revealed an excellent sandwich. The meat was sliced somewhat thicker than we normally encounter. It was grilled to just short of crispness and gave it a somewhat chewy texture. At last, enough sauerkraut to satisfy even my fussy tastes. In fact, the sauerkraut quite nearly masked the flavor of the cheese. I couldn't taste the Thousand Island dressing and remain convinced that it may have been left off mine. No matter however, it was still a good sandwich.
The heretics of the group (those eating the meatball sandwich) seemed to be satisfied with the waitress's suggestion, though not in a gloating manner. Each finished; we filed in order of height to the checkout. The cost of the meal was incredibly low. The waitress was still expounding on the excellent meatball sandwiches as we left the bar to reenter the summer heat, patiently waiting all along for our arrival.