When last we left, your intrepid hero (and his equally intrepid companion Els) were about to get into a car with a strange man named Kiya, who was taking us to an undisclosed location in Hunter's Point. What followed was one of the most punishing, physically exhausting fights of my life, one that tested every one of my limits and left me on death's door. A battle in which I was forced to admit defeat, despite my most valiant efforts.
It was a battle against a giant-ass sandwich.
Kiya, naturally, turned out to be a really cool guy. Actually, I knew before going on this adventure that Kiya was the proprietor of
Self Edge in the Mission, so I was pretty sure that this was not an elaborate kidnapping attempt. It turned out that not only is Kiya an expert in denim, but he is also extremely knowledgeable about under-the-radar destinations in SF (dude was telling me about a bar that has been open continuously (like 24 hours a day) for like 30 years or something?? like they only closed once for the '89 earthquake? what??). He also knows his shit when it comes to sandwiches.
(resident bxb scientist JPP did the math on this dubious factoid and it came out to an average of nearly 550 sandwiches sold every day. uh, really???)
piccolo pete's, bayshore blvd & tunnel ave, san francisco
Piccolo Pete's is a liquor store and deli out in Visitation Valley, just off the Caltrain stop and near the ball park. But, as Kiya pointed out on our way there, this isn't like the gourmet liquor store sandwich counters that are spreading around the Mission like the flu after a
Bridez show. This place is strictly old school, offering cheap and hearty meals at a reasonable price. And HOLY CRAP you could you could get virtually anything you wanted at this place! They had a full deli case offering salads and beans and puddings and stuffed eggs and whatever your cholesterol-clogged heart desired. They had sausage and lasagna and short ribs. They had, like, six different hot soups! Not to mention the typical offerings of a liquor store. Oh yeah, and they had sandwiches.
This thing was a beast! Called "The Godfather", it was Piccolo Pete's specialty sandwich. It had basically every kind of deli meat that you could want: salami (6 slices), prosciutto (2 slices), cappicola (3 slices), and mortadella (2 slices). The menu was VERY specific about what came with this sandwich. It also featured provolone (2 slices), as well as all of the regular sandwich adornments (AND artichoke hearts!!). Now, I don't usually back down from a sandwich. I eat entire sandwiches from
Mr. Pickle's with gusto and then fantasize about going back for another. I'm reasonably sure I could take on a few sandwiches from
Ike's Place in a single go. I have
stared into the face of madness and laughed (actually, that one might have taken more than one sitting)! But oh lord, this sandwich beat me. I tried my very best, I ate and ate and ate and yet the sandwich remained. If you come to Piccolo Pete's, bring an appetite. And hey THANKS AGAIN KIYA! Everyone should go buy some nice clothes at Self Edge, and maybe you'll find about some rad SF spot you've never heard of.
From hell's heart, I stab at thee!!
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.
