Between the Bread

This is the perfect time of year to check out the eateries that
border the University of Arizona. During summer session, they’re not
overrun by UA students and staff, so you can get an idea of what the
restaurants can do when they’re not under the pressure they suffer at
other times, particularly at the beginning of the fall semester.

Last week, I sampled two of the sandwich shops along University
Boulevard within a block of the UA Main Gate. They’re both chain
operations, which meant I was expecting corporatized food that
expresses values like easy preparation and high return on investment
over flavor. One of the places turned out to meet those low
expectations, although it did get points for its friendly, efficient
staff. The other establishment, employing a more imaginative concept
and perhaps superior ingredients, was much better than I’d
anticipated.

Its name is Which Wich? Superior Sandwiches, a franchise outfit with
locations in about 16 states. The question mark in the name is a clue
to the gimmick here: It’s all about choices.

There are 10 broad categories of sandwiches: turkey, ham and pork,
beef, chicken, seafood, vegetarian, Italian, comforts, classics and
breakfast (served all day). Within each category are five basic
refinements; “comforts,” for example, breaks down to meatloaf, egg
salad, chicken salad, Spam (!) and triple cheese. Once you’ve narrowed
down your possibilities, you customize the spreads, fillers and
seasonings you want—there’s usually a choice of toasted breads
(only white or whole wheat, unfortunately), cheeses, mustards, mayos,
oils and dressings, veggies and so forth. Almost every sandwich costs
$5.25, no matter how much lettuce and peppers and condiments you
request; the price goes up only for special items like avocado, extra
cheese or extra meat.

Instead of standing at the cash register—pressured to finalize
your decision while holding up the line and hoping against hope that
the clerk will take down your preferences correctly—you mark your
choices on an order slip that doubles as the bag that will eventually
hold your sandwich. There are separate slips for warm cookies
(chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin) and shakes (vanilla,
chocolate, strawberry, pineapple, Oreo). You have to ask for fountain
drinks the old-fashioned way.

A few special sandwiches cost $6.25, including the joint’s signature
offering, the aptly named Wicked. Its basis: turkey, ham, roast beef,
pepperoni, bacon and three cheeses. My cheese choices were provolone,
pepper jack and mozzarella; I also requested Dijon mustard, caramelized
onions, lettuce, tomatoes and garlic, on whole wheat. In the interest
of a thorough investigation, I also ordered a chocolate-chip cookie and
a small strawberry shake, which I got as a combo for an extra
$3.50.

The sandwich was terrific, with very flavorful ingredients (exactly
the combination I ordered) on good toasted bread. The shake was very
fruity and so thick that it was difficult to suck through the straw.
The cookie was warm, soft and delectable.

My wife ordered a small banana shake ($2.75) with malt and extra
banana (an additional 50 cents each), and was pleased with the result.
Her sandwich, she said, would have been rather tasteless had she not
spruced it up with the right extras. From the vegetarian section, she
ordered the black-bean patty, which contained corn and whole beans,
but, as often happens with vegetarian patties, it didn’t deliver a
great deal of flavor. Luckily, she chose the other ingredients wisely:
provolone, marinara, caramelized onions, cucumber (sliced rather than
shredded), bell peppers, mushrooms, oregano, parmesan and crushed red
peppers on whole wheat. The result was a good, crunchy, quasi-Italian
sandwich for which no animal gave its life.

The one drawback to Which Wich is the level of ambient noise from
the music system and the big-screen TV tuned to a sports channel. Add
the usual customer chatter, and it can be difficult to hear unamplified
staff members call your name when your order is ready. Pay attention;
the sandwiches are worth it.

In comparison, Silver Mine Subs is not bad, but it’s ordinary. It’s
on Tyndall Avenue, just one door south of University, and its gimmick
is an Old West mining motif worked into the décor and menu.
(Many subs are named after old mining towns.) The menu is more limited
here: 10 cold subs, eight hot subs, two veggie-only options, soups,
chili, salad, a few sides (potato salad, pickle and chips), a cookie, a
brownie and the usual array of soft drinks.

When I visited with my colleague Bill, the staff was pleasant and
well-drilled. The sandwiches were inoffensive things to put in your
stomach—not bad, but not distinctive.

My Frontier ($5.79) contained grilled chicken nuggets (not much
flavor there), pretty good barbecue sauce, a barely perceptible slice
of provolone, shredded lettuce and very little bacon. If it weren’t for
the sauce, it wouldn’t have made much of an impression. On the side, I
ordered a little pre-packaged potato salad (99 cents), which was
dominated by eggy mayo.

Bill’s Steam Engine ($5.79) was a meatball sub with a few slices of
green bell pepper, marinara and, again, not much provolone. Some onions
and mushrooms were lurking in there, too. Bill is a sandwich
aficionado—he’s systematically working his way through the menu
at Beyond Bread—so I took it as praise when he said that if he
found himself at Silver Mine in the future, he wouldn’t hesitate to
order the Steam Engine again. Still, he thought it inferior to the
meatball sandwich at Hogie House.

So, Silver Mine Subs is perfectly decent if you like the fare at,
say, Subway. If you want something more personalized and tasty, go to
Which Wich. And don’t forget another very good option in the same
neighborhood, over on Park Avenue: Paradise Bakery and Café.

This article appears in Jun 4-10, 2009.