The word \unnecessary"" comes to mind. It's not the sort of unnecessary that means something shouldn't be around at all, but the kind that means it is simply out of place, or rather, already there.
Jimmy John's Gourmet Sandwiches recently opened at 527 State St. even though there has probably always been another sandwich shop within a stone's throw of that address. Big Mike's Super Subs, Potbelly Sandwich Works, Cousins Subs and Subway are just a few of the chains that currently guarantee pretty much the same thing as Jimmy John's. The amount of sandwich and sub places is getting to be superfluous, and it seems like this is another example of a new restaurant being as redundant as it can be.
But it deserves its chance. Perhaps, I figured, this place will show the shortcomings of all its predecessors and neighbors.
It tries to, anyway. It has enough hooks to pull just about anybody in, but they don't add up to an eating experience that feels any different from just about any other place of the sort. While its food is impressive, Jimmy John's manages to be ordinary while claiming to be the world's best.
If restaurants were judged on their food alone, this place would be the best sub shop around. The two subs I had, the roast beef-ridden ""Big John"" and the ""Turkey Tom,"" sated me from tongue to intestines. The bread was neither crusty nor crumbly and had a softness that mixed easily with the other ingredients. The roast beef and turkey disintegrates along your incisors and carries enough flavor to accompany the vegetables. Both came with the standard tomatoes and lettuce, which had juice to spare and crunch to resonate, respectively. But the food alone can't carry a place like this.
The speed of the transaction at the counter counts against Jimmy John's. Its ""freakin' fast"" sandwich assembly is no lie. By the time the last syllable of your order dies to an echo, somebody is pushing a wrapped package at you.
Any time food makes you do a double take, it's a little too quick for its own good. Even a few seconds between the receipt and reception would be assurance that these things aren't squeezed out of a tube. Besides, a last-second change to an order is most likely not possible here.
On top of that, there's the d??cor of the restaurant. It approaches something like corporate kitsch, with faux classic Coca-Cola and John Deere signs around. The hodge-podge interior is regrettably halfway between strip-mall conformity and ironically furnished. The nod that the franchise makes to the fact that it's in downtown Madison is its ""Community Events"" board, which may well be a copy of the same sign in every one of its locations.
The shop also makes two claims that it ought not. First, a sandwich has no right being gourmet. A sandwich should aspire to be satisfying and nothing else. A similar stretch of language would be to list good oatmeal as a cuisine item. Second, it brags that it's been around since 1983. That claim of age says little. No business may use that phrase until it has been through at least two Democrats in the White House. I was alive in 1983 and my voice is still changing.
Jimmy John's may make a good sub and offer it at a reasonable price (a little under $4), but it doesn't rise above the competition. Instead of adding to State Street, it looks like it's only destined to occupy a vacancy there for a while.
blschultz@wisc.edu.
