This week I have a requiem and a celebration.
First, the requiem: Big-Ass Sandwiches has sold its last whimsically titled, inhumanely gigantic, unquestionably delicious sandwich. They’re closed forever, shuttered. I don’t know if it’s right to call this place a Portland institution, but had it been given the time, or had it existed in a different time, it could have become one. Lord (and any doctor I’ve ever had a serious sit-down discussion with) knows Portland has no shortage of sandwich places. We’re blessed with so many delicious sandwich options THAT ONE COULD SWEAR THERE IS A LETHARGIC, FAT BELLIED GOD SMILING DOWN UPON US CHILDREN HE MADE IN HIS OWN IMAGE. We have many hella delicious sandwiches, but we didn’t really have anything like Big-Ass.
I hope I can say this without sounding insulting, but Big-Ass Sandwiches wasn’t “cool.” Don’t get me wrong—it was cool, the people who worked there were nice, and the food was delicious and affordable, but it wasn’t “cool.” Their logo was a pin-up girl with a big ass, not some stripped down, meticulous, Brooklyn granola shop, dime-a-dozen, minimalist logo that you see on every business in Portland now. I mean, their name was fucking Big-Ass Sandwiches. That’s not a “cool” name. It’s a descriptive name, but it isn’t “cool.” It’s way more hair metal than indie rock.
Maybe that doesn’t matter, but maybe it does. I realize how fucking ridiculous it is that I’m getting serious and wistful about a sandwich place closing, but I am. Maybe it’s because the place reminded me of a slightly older, dying (dead?) Portland. A Portland that didn’t need to scream the myth of Portland at you. A Portland that was just as much for nurses and steelworkers as it was for image-conscious marketing executives. A Portland that wouldn’t notice I just knocked out a couple of fragment sentences. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe a place can just be good and not “cool”—I hope I’m wrong. RIP Big-Ass Sandwiches.
Now the celebration! Bridgetown Comedy Festival is here.