Drugstore Sandwiches, According to Girl

Drugstore sandwiches according to Girl: My first trip to New York City was to see and spend time with Mike. He was what I wanted. He was so easy to talk with. I loved that he had hopes and dreams. I knew I wanted to spend my life with him. The city, with its cracked sidewalks, smoking manholes, the wafting smells of garbage and urine—everything was wonderful. I was looking at life through the eyes of a girl in love. I was ready to make the break and be a New York girl—his New York girl.

I really think he liked me, too. I slept in his freshly laundered pressed shirt my first night visiting him. The next morning it was a bit (maybe a lot) wrinkled, and smelled like Estee Lauder.


It was an amazing night. His roommate was gone, so we had the place to ourselves. The room was about five stories up in a hotel that was leasing some of the space to NYU. It was a very small studio with just enough room for two twin beds, one desk, a hotel lamp, a small bath and refrigerator. The walls were painted neutral, while the carpet, which was a darker neutral, complemented it. Mike did not have any pictures on his walls, only a school calendar. I remember a gray typewriter on his desk. The most prominent thing I noticed is that there were books all over. Between the two guys, they had quite a library.

By 2 p.m. on the first full day we were getting pretty hungry. We put on our walking clothes, consisting of jeans and sweaters, and headed out. I had not seen the city in daylight. I was impressed with the elevator, with the hotel’s crest proudly displayed on the front. The lobby was set up with beautiful Persian rugs and dark rich well-cared-for furniture. The Queen Anne chairs were perfect for the little old ladies with their fancy hats and minks waiting for their rides to go shopping, or to get their hair and nails done.

I had not noticed any pizza places or McDonald’s on the way to his place. Mike suggested we head to the deli.

Now, I was not sure I knew what that meant. Grand Rapids did not have delis. We had restaurants, we had fast food, and we had Meijer. But as far as I knew, Grand Rapids did not have a deli.

"What’s a deli?" I asked.

"Well, this deli is located in a drugstore, and it has the best sandwiches in the city. You’re gonna love it."

I still did not get it. To me, drugstores were for pills and medicine. This seemed a little weird, but I was anxious to eat.

We walked across Fifth Avenue heading east. About three buildings down was the drugstore Mike was talking about. The large windows in the front had a display of everything you might expect to find in a drugstore in Grand Rapids. There were crutches, hot water bags, aspirin ads and cough syrup. Mike held the door for a lady with her poodle coming out, then I walked in.

Just inside the door, I looked up at Mike with my "where’s the food?" eyes.

I followed him to the back of the store where I saw a crisp clean white counter, padded stools, and a grumpy old guy making a fresh pot of coffee. Mike said that it was a good idea to know what you wanted before sitting down because Grumpy did not have a lot of patience. There were no menus, only a chalkboard with half scratched ideas on it.

I asked Mike to order me whatever he was having. We settled on roast beef sandwiches, with tomatoes, lettuce and mayonnaise on whole wheat bread. We also asked for a water and a chocolate shake. They had a slicer that the grumpy man put the beef on and thinly sliced off layer after layer for the extremely well stacked sandwich, and then he put some ice-cream, chocolate and milk into a metal container and put it on the mixing machine.

I took one bite of the sandwich and thought, "This is wonderful. Eat your heart out McDonald’s."

Now I knew it was in my heart all along—I was falling in love with Mike, my new city, and the wonderful deli. I even liked Grumpy. Everything was beautiful on that sunny November day.