The hardest part of journalism, or whatever it is we do here at The Insomniac, is being too close to something you have to write about. Be it a review on our favorite band’s new EP or enlightening the readers to an important cause, caring about the subject matter can make the most composed professionals rant and rave. It’s the difference between talking to a friend vs. a teacher. It’s the difference between blogging and the previously mentioned.
That is the problem today as we bring you the egg sandwich.
Personally, I like them with ham, American cheese, a soft roll, grease, and a cigarette; preferably fried on skillet that hasn’t been cleaned since the fifties. I like to eat them on a curb or running to work late because I can.
This is not the experience we bring you today.
Today, we bring you the Iron Worker, a classy egg sandwich from the newest shop to the East End, Camarella’s. Named by the construction worker who did the iron work, the sandwich tittle fits the morning romance between poverty and happiness but does not fit the look at all.
Cooked with two eggs in a pan, separately warmed meat in a tinfoil blanket, a CHOICE of imported and domestic cheeses and laid into a freshly cut home made roll; Camarella’s
breakfast sandwich is borderline gourmet. Coming with a side of fruit, the entire experience opposes what we imagine most patrons of this site are used to, but for a lean $3.25, it’s a deal that feels right at home.
Without breaking into a complete rant about misconceptions, personal enlightenments or the false romance I have rooted into the breakfast ritual, I will say this: The Iron Worker is a mighty fine, and filling, sandwich. In fact, it’s almost too good for our site.
Telling Dave Forstbauer, the business manager of Carmella’s, that his place might soon be filled with riff-raff, he answered with an anecdote.
He talked about a woman, probably a resident of the Sagamore in which Camarella’s resides, who came in a few days after opening. She raved about the decor and wonderful menu. She said she was happy to have another fancy establishment gracing the upscale building.
He looked at her and said, “Lady, if you walk through those front doors to buy something, you’re fancy to me.”
He laughed and continued. He used to love the city, and still does, of course, but ironically next to the places he’s been about downtown, he remembers the riff-raff the most. He cited “jokes” the iconic homeless comedian as an example.
The Webster resident said that when he tells neighbors about his shop in the city you might as well tell them that it’s on the top floor of the Cadillac Hotel. But, when he asked the last time they were downtown, the answer is always “years.”
Closing with the opposite, it’s been awhile since I’ve graced an upscale eatery myself, worrying about the stench of smoke and leaving dirt marks on the table. Perhaps, I’ll find open arms at Two-Vine sometime and reasonably priced french fries. And though they won’t be grease soaked, I bet they’ll be damn good.