Believe it or not, I had yet to try this college sub staple when I walked into the Campus Corner location of Jimmy John’s last week. As soon as I was on the other side of the door, I was greeted not only by the sweet smell of fresh sandwich ingredients, but also by the friendly and accommodating kitchen staff.
The menu, I found, was fairly basic sub shop-fare — classic roast beef and provolone, Italian, ham and cheese, the most adventurous item on the menu I could see was the Tuna sub. No frills, no gimmicks. I thought that with a menu this simple, their sandwiches better be extraordinary — and I wasn’t disappointed!
I decided on the Italian Night Club, Jimmy John’s take on a classic combination that can be found at any self-respecting delicatessen. I chose it because it’s a type of sub I’ve had many times at different restaurants, and would thus prove to be a good point of comparison for quality and flavor. I placed my order and opted for the optional pickled peppers for no extra charge.
The sandwich was affordable compared to other lunch spots serving similar fare, and the expedience with which my sandwich was completed and handed to me was impressive. Jimmy John’s really lives up to their advertising in this respect.
I was already having a pleasant experience, and I hadn’t even gotten to the best part yet: the sub was amazing — I mean really. I stated earlier that I’d tried Italian subs at many other establishments, but this was — bar none — the best Italian sub I’d ever had in my life.
The ingredients, the aroma, the pleasing texture, the crisp snap of every bite signifying the subs’ freshness — it’s difficult to overstate the ecstasy I experience as I sat in Jimmy John’s pragmatically-designed dining area and wolfed down my lunch.
As I continued eating, it came upon me like a revelation that this was not only the best Italian sub I’d ever had, but perhaps the best sandwich I’d ever tasted in my entire life.
About mid-way through the sandwich, a curious euphoria manifested itself in me, first as a slight tickle at the base of my skull, then growing and consuming my entire body — much in the same way I was consuming the Italian sub: in totality. Before I knew it, the sensible surroundings of Jimmy John’s dinning area melted away and I was alone with the Italian sub.
Nay, I was alone with the Italian sub and every pleasing thought and experience I’d ever known, from the moment I entered the tumultuous void of this plane of reality. I was consumed by overwhelming joy, it felt as if my soul were weeping, crying out in languages long forgotten, “Joyous Day! O! Lord! O! God! I feel your touch and grace through this Italian sandwich! I shake in your presence yet you love me unconditionally! You make me one! You make me whole because we are all parceled of the same body!”
My physical being became a never-ending stream, all light, sound, matter, and time became beautiful swirls of color — colors resplendent, colors well beyond the human visual spectrum.
Look, I’ve done LSD, I’ve smoked Salvia, I’ve had several doses of DMT — I’ve never experienced the same oneness with the universe I felt as I sat in Jimmy John’s and ate this Italian Night Club with complementary pickled peppers.
How can… how can I convey in mere words (feeble, weak, foolish words) the feeling of transcending time and space and being one with a benevolent, omnipotent being? What can I say to you to give you even a small iota of the happiness I felt in this between-state of being? It was as if all the anguish and pain of this mortal existence were merely a flickering flame from a match, and the Godhead of love was a mighty wind.
I blustered about in this wind for so long — years seemingly passed in the span of a 45-minute lunch hour. The supple tomatoes, the tangy and creamy mayo — I experienced not only my lifetime but the lifetime of all my ancestors and children, feeling all their love, joy, hate, stress — the full panorama of human experience and emotion over the course of eons and in a single instant simultaneously, eternity immutable.
The bread was warm as if freshly baked, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. It tasted similar to what you'd find in an artisan bakery. As I travelled through the epochs of all time, I gained knowledge well beyond our present mortal understanding.
Over the course of a thousand years, the Jimmy John’s dinning lobby re-assembled itself around me until there I was again, in 2014 sitting across from an empty sandwich wrapper.
I looked around, I was afraid, I didn’t want anyone to know what I’d just experienced. I could already feel the knowledge and wisdom of a thousand millennia slipping away from me. I deposited my trash in the receptacle by the door and the employee at the register thanked me for coming in, inviting me to return.
Over the next few days I was consumed by a horrifying realization — that was the best sandwich of my life and it is likely that I will never have another sandwich that good ever again. What I had experienced was something no human had ever experienced before, even in the headiest shroom trip, even in the deepest recesses of transcendental meditation.
Monks have tried for centuries to reach that tier of existence, and I had stumbled upon it quite by accident in the Jimmy John’s on Campus Corner, the one right next to Starbucks.
I soon found myself returning to Jimmy John’s every day and ordering an Italian Night Club with peppers in an attempt to recapture the experience. It was in vain, however. I would give almost any amount of money to re-experience even one thousandth of what I’d gone through that day.
I tried recreating the sandwich from scratch at home, pouring over recipe books, returning to the grocery store again and again to get the freshest hard salami. Nothing worked.
Why me, God? Why would you touch me with your divine grace for one lunch hour, and then discard me never to experience such bliss ever again? No earthly pleasure comes close to that day.
Compared to that sandwich, all other food is bland and tasteless. Compared to that joy, all experience is dull and lifeless. All I have to look forward to now is cold, horrible death. It’s a cruelty, this life.
Jimmy John's Rating: 4½ stars
