Remembrance of Hoagies Past

Every morning as I drive to work, I always seem to hit the stoplight right before Table Talk. Even at 8 a.m., their parking lot is already stuffed with cars, and as I idle at the light I like to imagine that the scene inside must be a veritable who’s who of old school Alexandria.

After three years of feeling pangs of nostalgia at this stoplight each morning, I recently made time to hit Table Talk again, so that I could experience one of my childhood delights for the first time as an adult.

Table Talk is just up the street from my parents’ office building, so it was a frequent destination for breakfast and lunch when I was a wee one. While most of the menu is standard diner fare, their version of the hamburger hoagie stands out as their great contribution to the sandwich canon.

Sure, it sounds kinda trashy, but twentysome years ago I spent many a happy summer afternoon in some spare office in my folks’ office building hunched over a hamburger hoagie and a copy of Bridge to Terabithia (yeah, I shed a few tears at the end).

I don’t believe that the hamburger hoagie is a widespread phenomenon, but then the sort of places that offer it aren’t likely to turn up on Google. But even if the hamburger hoagie is common in other parts, I’m confident that Table Talk’s rendition would trump all others.





Their genius move is to simply stuff a couple of fried hamburger patties into a sandwich that otherwise has all of the same accompaniments as a standard Italian hoagie: lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, red onions, red pepper flakes, oregano, oil and vinegar, and a sandwich-sized slice off of one of those enormous dill pickles.

And just so there's no confusion, this is not like an ordinary hamburger, where the meat itself takes center stage. The patties themselves are unremarkable. Rather, it's the totality of all of the elements taken together that's the key to appreciating this sandwich.

Indeed, as far as the meat goes, I would have actually preferred it to be a tad greasier, as the patties were a bit too dry. And I’ll definitely ask for extra oil and vinegar next time, so that the bread is properly saturated. Still, it was pretty much identical to the sandwich that I enjoyed as a lad, and I’ll likely be back a few more times before Table Talk’s inevitable demise. If you happen to be in the area around lunchtime, go ahead and take a chance on it. At the very least, you’ll appreciate the quaint diner atmosphere.

As a side note, I’ve noticed a placard in front of Table Talk for the past couple of years touting some future office development in its stead. I asked the woman at the counter how much longer they were going to be around, and she seemed surprised. “Do you know something we don’t know?” she asked. I mentioned the sign out front. “Oh, that sign has been out there for five years now,” she replied. “These things take time.”

Check out Table Talk’s hamburger hoagie:

1623 Duke St.
Alexandria, VA
(703) 548-3989

—AC

Curtido Bandito

During my year and a half of living in the Mt. Pleasant neighborhood of DC, I got quite an education about Salvadorean food, as the area abounded with taquerias and pupuserias, my favorite of which was Haydee’s. My standard order was a cheese pupusa and a side of fried plantains (okay, and a few Tecates), which were served with refried beans and fresh crema. Over the years, I’ve certainly enjoyed more than my share of pupusas and plantains, but none as perfectly prepared as those at Haydee’s. 

But as it turns out, Mercado Latino Pupseria, a hole in the wall in Annandale, just outperformed Haydee’s by a long shot. This tiny place in a nondescript shopping center is easily missed. It is flanked by a shuttered Korean joint and a Chinese herbs purveyor and doesn’t make much noise about its superb offerings. Just a lone sign, “Pupuseria Newsstand” lets you know of what’s inside: magazines and pupusas. But the sign really should say “Plaintains Fried to Perfection and Pupusas to Be Rivaled by No Other” and just leave it at that. No menu needed.

We each ordered a cheese pupusa, and we shared a plate of tacos (one al carbon and one chorizo) and a plate of fried plantains with fresh crema. Normally, I am not picky about pupusas. If it’s a fried tortilla with cheese in it with a side of pickled slaw, I’m happy. But after enjoying of the newsstand’s expert creations, I now realize that I’ve been settling for sub-par preparation. My past pupusa experiences have involved tasty but somewhat hard cheese. The pupusas we had on this day oozed with soft, cheese lava that tasted fabulous and went down the hatch smoothly and seamlessly, instead of hitting the bottom of my stomach like a brick. Also the curtido, a lightly pickled cabbage slaw that comes on the side and which is usually an afterthought, was made fresh at Mercado Latino. The cabbage had a nice cold crunch, and the salsa ladled on top was homemade and refreshing. This is a critical detail to the pupusa experience, as it perfectly complements the fried cheese-filled tortilla in substance, texture, and taste.

Though we enjoyed the generous tacos, served with ample filling on a single, thick tortilla (at first we thought it might have been a pupusa), we’ve enjoyed superior al carbon and chorizo tacos elsewhere. Plus, we prefer an alternative presentation at other taquerias in the area—the filling is piled on two thin tortillas, the second to be used to make an extra taco with excess filling. Next time, we will skip the tacos in favor of the sopa de res, which was the entrée of choice of most of the other patrons. A piping hot beef soup featured a prodigous portion of corn on the cob and a generous serving of vegetables.

Far too often plantains are under cooked, forcing us to chew and chew and chew on a lukewarm chunk of green/yellow fruit. But not here. The plantains came to our table charred to all hell, the look of which pleased us immediately. Because a blackened, dangerously hot plantain can mean only one thing: a very soft, yellow, and sweet inside. The crema was a refreshing topping for each sizzling bite, and the refried beans were a fine salty companion.

We washed this feast down with a couple of our favorite authentic beverages: horchata, a drink of rice milk and cinnamon, and tamarindo a somewhat sweet and sour agua fresca.

We have learned over the years that it’s very easy to screw up horchata; it’s usually way too cinnamony, rendering the drink cloying and a bit like drinking sand. Gross. But here, we have discovered the second best horchata north of the border (the first of which is served in a shack somewhere on First Avenue in NYC). Just enough cinnamon in a glass of cold rice milk is simply heaven.

Enjoy a great Salvadorean meal at Mercado Latino Pupuseria at:

6653-E Little River Turnpike
Annandale, VA
(703) 333-5242

—AK