Alveo

Alveo has the vibe of a place that got written up somewhere fancy, or showed up on a TV show, and has been running flat out at the margins ever since. The counter was slammed. Phone orders were stacking up, and the line behind the counter was pressing sandwiches like they were on a stopwatch. We didn't wait long. A lot of other people were about to.

So this week, Mariemont.

We got the Piccante, the spicy one, and La Rustica. I also grabbed the Caprese to take home to my wife, which turns out to matter later.

Both sandwiches come on a thin flatbread, and the flatbread is the whole story here, for better and worse. It's clearly baked that day. You can taste it. But it's thin, and on mine a hole got poked through in a couple of spots. That's where the ricotta made its exit.

There was too much ricotta on my sandwich. It overflowed and got into my beard, and I have a rule about that. When stuff squishes into my beard, it had better be next level. This ricotta was good. It wasn't next level. Ricotta is kind of a bland cheese unless somebody makes it with care, and the bar for me is still the ramekin of homemade ricotta with olive oil poured over it at Pepp & Dolores. That was the first time I ever enjoyed ricotta. Alveo's is pretty good. It isn't that.

Shay's complaint was different, and I think he's more right than I am. They skimped hard on the meat. One thin piece of prosciutto, by his count, on a twenty-dollar sandwich. And the prosciutto was super good, lean and clean, which makes it worse. The ricotta wasn't the problem. The ricotta-to-prosciutto ratio was the problem. Dial back the cheese with the same meat and it works. Add more meat and it works. They did neither.

Shay also said the bread hurt his mouth. I don't know what to do with that, but it's on the record.

The card

Bread: 9. Baked that day and you can tell. It's thin, and it tore a little on mine, but that's a ricotta problem more than a bread problem. Fresh bread this good is rare. It gets a nine.

Build: 8. At the table, Shay said six and a half because of the meat, and I went along with it. I've had a couple of weeks to think about it, and I'm overruling him. Shay tends to run the card, and I don't fully agree with him on this one. We were grading the ratio twice. The sandwich held together, his never came apart, and everything on it was right. There just wasn't enough prosciutto. That's a ding, not a demolition.

Mess: 7. Shay's held together and he called it not messy. Squished a little, sure. Mine was in my beard. Split the difference. Also, a postscript from my fridge: my wife ate half the Caprese and saved the rest, and twenty-four hours later the whole box was soaked through with grease. I can't really fault them for what happens on day two. I just don't love an overly greasy sandwich.

Value: 9. I figured Shay would go down here. Twenty bucks a sandwich, light on the meat. He went the other way. The arugula wasn't wilty, the bread was baked that morning, the prosciutto was quality, and somebody clearly put real effort into sourcing all of it. His words: "I have a very high respect for that, and it deserves the price. You pay for what you get." Fair enough.

Talk: 10. As always.

We went off-rubric again on flavor, and this is where Alveo shines. I said ten without thinking about it. Shay, who does not believe in perfect tens, admitted the sandwich was that good. It isn't on the card. I just wanted it on the record.

The other part

The value conversation sent me down a rabbit hole. I'd just listened to an episode of The Daily about why restaurants are struggling, and part of it was about a guy who took the prices off his menu and let people pay what they could. I told Shay it was in New Jersey. Then Philadelphia. It was Minneapolis.

The wild part is that it worked. He became a more profitable business. Then demand surged, the lines got so long people were waiting two or three hours for a meal, and he shut it down to figure out what to do next. Nobody waits three hours to enjoy a sandwich. Shay's take was that it was basically a one-man shop, and no one-man shop survives that kind of success.

Which is kind of the Alveo problem in miniature. Everybody wants in, the kitchen is running at the edge, and the first thing to go is the second slice of prosciutto.

I need to tell Becky about that episode.

Alveo. Get anything on the menu, eat it right there, and bring a napkin for your beard.

On to Stop 09.

— Filed for breadandbutter.wtf