The Full Monte
(photo by Katie)
As I've told a lot of my out-of-town friends, NYC is (luckily) not quite the same as the rest of the world; we are missing a lot of chain restaurants. Chili's, Denny's, and Ruby Tuesday's are totally absent; many of the "common" places (Outback/Red Lobster/Olive Garden) have only one or two locations. Hell, we have one 7-11 in all of Manhattan, and that just opened a month or two back.
It had been about thirteen years since I last ate at a Bennigan's, and when I heard one had opened near Times Square, well, I just couldn't help myself. I had a fever - a fever for Monte Cristo.
You see, Monte Cristo sandwiches aren't hard to come by in the city - but they are when you want them the way Bennigan's does them. Deep fried, dusted in powdered sugar, and served with delicious raspberry jelly, it's the sandwich equivalent of a deep-fried Snickers bar. In the eyes of some, it single-handedly represents all that could be considered wrong with the casual dining industry.
That said, it's delicious. Absolutely delicious. It is a sandwich without parallel.
My stomach, of course, couldn't handle it - I only made it through two of the four gigantic slices served to me. I hope to some day return, and perhaps complete the whole thing. I get the feeling, though, that Katie may attempt to bar me from ever going to Bennigan's again, out of fear that I'll once again order this golden brown monstrosity.
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Dan Dickinson is a 28 year old living in Jersey City, New Jersey. He works in the strange intersection of collaborative technologies, education, and medicine. His passions include finding unexpected paths and connections, music/rhythm video games, and backchannels. This has been his primary (vivid) weblog since February of 2000, seeing infrequent but overzealous updates. [more]
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Movable Type 4.2-en
Bozeman has a Bennigans. :-9
I’ve heard they’re brutal, you’re a brave man Mr. Dickinson.
I, too, have a deep fondness for the Monte Cristo. There are no fewer than 978 million Bennigan’s restaurants in the Chicagoland area, so I often find myself there — in fact, the one nearest my house became somewhat of a second home. We’d go there almost every day; eventually, we got to know all the waiters on a personal level, and they’d give us their 50% employee meal discount. It was a sad life, and it could account for why I ballooned up to a record 643 pounds.
Unfortunately, my stomach can’t handle its awesome power, either. It’s so bad that I can usually only get through one-and-a-half of those four golden brown nuggets of joy before my stomach rebels. There was also an occasion where I ordered the Monte Cristo right before going to see a Dashboard Confessional concert, and its stomach-wrenching power inadvertantly saved me. At the time, I was unfamiliar with the music, and I went based solely on the opinion of one of my friends (who made me go with him). I made it through the opening act before doubling over in nausea and pain and suggesting that, perhaps, I should cut out early.
Later, I downloaded some of their albums, and I wept. They were mixed tears of anger — how could my friend love such a shitty band so much? — and joy — the Monte Cristo made me dodge an emo-laced bullet.
Besides, there are probably 40-50 Dunkin Donuts locations in Manhattan alone, so you at least luck out with that chain.