There is something about the inside of a Reno Casino that is always depressing to me. I can't quite put my finger on it.There I was, Saturday, the day of my nieces graduation. The only day I had to see her through the right of passage from childhood into adulthood, and also the only day I would have to find and satisfy my 10 (plus) year craving for a delicious, scrumptious, roast beef, tomato, and cream cheese, pretzel bread sandwich. The bread would look dark on the outside, perfectly brown, dusted on the top with rock sea salt, and filled inside with yummy goodness.
My mouth watered at the thought of it. We went to the only restaurant that served the delectable delight. Down long hall ways. Down an escalator, up an elevator, down a hall way, down an escalator, and to a sports bar. A what? I remembered a cafe, with booths and waitresses. But apparently, 10 plus years are a long time and things have been moved around a bit. My restaurant memories were now replaced with a deli style setting and sports bar seating. Oh well. As long as they still had my sandwich.
I know you all must have been praying for me, because yes! There it was! Proof that I wasn't dreaming of such a delicious delight! A sandwich made from my favorite food.
I ordered this manna from heaven, no onions,, extra tomato, cream cheese please...and got...and got...This.
It didn't look like I thought it would at all. I thought the bread would be darker...I thought the tomato would be redder...still thinking positive I took a bite.
The bread tasted like a sweet kaiser roll with rock salt on the top.
I shook my fist high in the air and shouted in despair, "Damn YOU! Damn YOU!"