Hey, everyone! Gothamist has the thrilling true story of my adventures in foodstuffs last night. So exciting!!! Here’s the gist:
My boyfriend Brian and I stumbled into the 215 Fine Foods bodega on 4th Ave. in Park Slope last night in search of snacks after trivia at the Sackett bar. Imagine how delighted we were to find sandwich No. 4—the Douche Bag—on the menu.
Remember when “douche bag” was like, not something you could say in mixed company? Or at all, really? (In the ’90s, my Spanish-teacher mom once gave someone detention for calling a guy in her class a douche bag.) Now we not only bandy it about to describe brokers and frat boys but also SANDWICHES. WE NAME SANDWICHES AFTER VAGINAL CLEANSERS. (In other news, the Douche Bag actually sounds pretty good. Though, it does seem like a missed opportunity for tuna, mayo and vinegar on super-yeasty bread. Ba-zing!)
Gothamist went back to the source for additional reporting and also noticed some (possibly even) worse sandwich names, like the Baby Gravy (which is what I have started calling Brian). (I’d like to note, also, that the peeps at the 215 deli are very nice and helpful!)
Enjoy (being a woman)!