There are very few things I miss about Millburn, New Jersey.
My family moved there when I was twelve. I started sixth grade 3/4 of the way through the school year and most of the kids in my class had known each other since kindergarten. I was painfully shy. A boy with a piggy nose nicknamed me "truck," ostensibly because of my "keep on truckin'" t-shirt, though I always suspected it was more because I was chubby like a truck. (Yeah, whatever, I was twelve and wildly self-conscious.)
I'll spare you the rest of my sob story, but my school life didn't exactly improve from then on. But one thing Millburn did have over every single other place I've ever lived in or even visited for one day, was the best motherfucking sandwich ever invented: the sloppy joe from the Millburn Deli.
They're not the Hamburger Helper type beef concoctions you're probably thinking of. These bad boys are crafted from three pieces of thinly sliced rye bread, the cold cut of your choice, swiss cheese, and a layer of of butter, russian dressing and cole slaw. This isn't that vinegar-laden coleslaw either. It's mayo-based and deliciously rich. I am salivating just writing about them.
Somehow I'd managed to forget about them until recently. But when my brother Jake showed up at my sis-in-law's hospital room with a bag of them to celebrate the new baby, all those memories came flooding back. Unfortunately, my dad, his wife and I had just eaten lunch at the hospital McDonald's—the only dining option in the hospital! (WTF? I guess planting an artery-clogger like Mickey D's in the hospital is a good way to guarantee business, but gah.) I was salivating, but still kind of ill from my Quarter-Pounder. So as much as it killed me I had to pass it up.
But for weeks, every time I got hungry, I thought about the sloppy joe. How that deliciously creamy combo would sate my hunger so much more effectively than whatever other crap I was tossing down my piehole.
Then yesterday, I got my wish. My brother Jake (aka The Nice McGuire) showed up at my belated birthday dinner with a bag containing two delicious sloppy joes. If I'd known that was coming I would've just insisted we skip the restaurant and hit a park to scarf them down (though I don't like to share). Instead, I waited a respectable amount of time after dinner and ate part of one for my dessert. As you can see, they're split into thirds. I ate another third for my breakfast and still another for lunch today. The BF is off on a job interview and I might (maybe!) give him a third for an afternoon treat, though I'm not making any promises.
Anyway, if you ever find yourself in Millburn, New Jersey, do yourself a favor and stop by the deli. Then speed out of town as fast as you can.
(Oh, and the answer to the question posed in the title: sacrament.)
