I grew up in a suburban town in Connecticut. Italians and their amazing propensity for delicious food and sandwiches seemed to flood the streets.
A brilliant chicken salad melt that truly melts in your mouth.
A chicken parm from D corner deli that would energize you from lunch through dinner - a classic among rabid pubescent football players.
Adding “con papas” to any “BEC” meant you were in for a filling treat. It was the insider’s secret menu item, and the man behind the counter knew you had good taste.
What happy memories.
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Bryan lives somewhere at the intersection of faith, fatherhood, and futurism and writes about tech, books, Christianity, gratitude, and whatever’s on his mind. If you liked reading, perhaps you’ll also like subscribing: