4 /5 Elija Bandersnatch: Often as I wander around, this craving, this small persistent desire arises. It’s not as easy as wanting a taste, or a favorite place, it feels simple, but deep, a young sapling rooted solidly in nostalgia and watered by the passing years.
This little urge echoes around my mind as clear and direct as day. It is a string of memories tied to a kite, a whisper in my ear and it says sandwich. It says simple but profound, it says compact and easy to hold. It says hikes in the mountains of the rising mists, picnics in shaded spots by a clear moving creek and sitting with good friends.
I don’t know why it is so hard to find a good sandwich, the ingredients are simple, the acceptance nearly universal. They are one of those things that no matter where you come from, you recognize as, food.
They are one of those things that are made of basic common goods that add up to more than the sum of its parts, infinite variety created by cooks who know the secrets to life, artists who make beauty out of the mundane.
The world is full of subs and sliders, foot longs and open face, but getting a sandwich, which should be universal is surprisingly difficult.
So to the point, all I wanted was a sandwich and my complicated day’s route drops me close to the area. I suppose I have driven by Farrah’s Bistro 100 times, but this time I am caught in my migration like a traveling trout is caught by fisherman’s well made fly.
I liked the ambience, dark after the bright day, but not brooding or obscure. Old wood and open space make an alluring stage. The service was helpful and friendly, and I had a chance to talk briefly with someone I assume was an owner. A woman comfortable in her skin, carrying pride and confidence easily on her shoulders, with a direct and frank appearance.
The BLT was perfect. The very essence of taking a simple archetype and giving it a separate and subtle life of its own.
Like music made of few, but clever notes. Definitely a sandwich I order again.
The fries were almost good. They were not particularly crispy and seemed kind of chewy and dense. Obviously cut by hand and well seasoned, beautiful to look at, but somewhat sad in their execution. I wondered how these could be made to shine as brightly as the main attraction, a skilled support orchestra arranged around a loved soloist.
I took most of them home and threw them into the air fryer for my wife and liked them better reborn, crispy and somehow not as solid in the center. Normally a failing fry can drag a restaurant down, but they were not bad, just not right and rescued by the shining BLT.
Oh, and the iced tea seemed home made.
This place is off the beaten path, easy to miss or at least pass on by, but I can see it rooted deep in the small community. I would guess that the majority of customers are regulars and live locally.
Luckily I pass here often hope and hope to stop in again.
