Walking into Piccolo Pete's was seemed like stepping into a picnic lover's armory. They seemed to have everything one could ever want for an indulgent day of eating stocked from floor to ceiling in every corner. There was no shortage in what they had to offer. A basket of bread towered on the deli counter, their deviled eggs consisted of three egg halves cupping an ice cream scoop of egg salad - even though I split one with AW, I was unable to even eat half - a long counter shelved multiple crock pots of soups, a wall was dedicated to the most well organized chip selection, and I can't even begin to talk about the drink selections (alcoholic and non).
I went wall-eyed, froze and chose the most basic sandwich I could think of, a Reuben. I should have been prepared for the what I got, after all, all signs pointed to over-the-top indulgence. The tang of the sauerkraut could not be enough, a layer of pickles had to be added for a bigger taste-y sourness. Or at least this is what I can assume, I would be remiss in my journalistic duty if I failed to admit I do not eat pickles and shortly after taking photographic evidence of my sandwich I passed them along to AW.
Once cleansed of pickles, my Reuben was ready to be devoured. Unfortunately, looking back, I believe the pickles were the key ingredient which set this Reuben apart from others, because in the end it was just a regular Reuben. This isn't to say that I would sway sandwich goers away from Piccolo Pete's. To the contrary, I think meat eating sandwich lovers need to experience this place for themselves! Set aside a day, because afterward one will want to revel in his or her bloated belly food-coma, grab a Cactus Cooler or broski and enjoy the meal in Piccolo Pete's cozy back patio.