What's in a Name

Unfortunately, my relatively happy visits came to an end when I uttered "panini." The sandwiches wreaked havoc on the teeth and gag reflexes of my co-diner and me. My mate selected the chicken pesto panini. He was rewarded with brick-hard bread that could hammer a nail and chicken so freakishly tough it was nearly impossible to bite through. At first, I suspected him of exaggeration, but then he tapped the chicken audibly against the plate, and hearing was believing.

I selected the turkey club. I was pleased to see fresh, sliced turkey breast upon its arrival. Sure that my sandwich would score higher than the pesto, I tucked in. The first few bites were fine. Then I hit bacon. In the culinary world, this should never be a problem—pork is bliss—but in this case, bacon equaled instant nausea. To say the browned edges protruding from my sandwich were misleading would be an understatement. I bit into cool, almost raw strips that snapped apart in a disturbing fashion. More than nauseating, mistreatment of bacon is blasphemy. I was unable to continue eating.

Aside from a strange layout that often causes a bottleneck of customers waiting to order, the thing most striking visually about the restaurant was that more than two-thirds of my fellow patrons were eating something other than beef burgers. I saw many a salad, heaps of fries, cocktail-only tables and turkey. Perhaps that's because we're a red-meat-conscious society, but I think it's more likely that Village Burger Bar patrons already know what's lacking...and it's all in the name.