French dip, fast-food style

It’s been a while, y’all. I’ve had a lot going on in my life lately, and while the consumption of sandwiches has continued to loom large in my daily schedule, it’s been hard to find time to actually write about them. Nonetheless, I have decided to make my triumphant return to the Tribunal (as per usual, on the last day of the month) in order to document my exploration into one of this month’s current sandwich crop. So let’s talk about the French dip sandwich–or at least, what passes for French dip at Arby’s.

Growing up, I identified French dip with eating at places like Applebee’s. There were some non-chain restaurants in my hometown that I, as a child, thought were much more upscale than they actually were. The reason I thought this was because these places were where my parents would take us kids once a month or so when they wanted a nice night out. The REALLY nice places were the ones they went to on nights when they’d hired a babysitter, but I didn’t know that until much later. Anyway, just as liver and onions was my mom’s go-to order at places like that (the ones adventurous enough to carry such things), a French dip sandwich was my dad’s go-to. I mostly remember it as “roast beef au jus,” in fact–even in the 80s, the heartland didn’t cotton to those highfalutin’ Parisians showing up on their restaurant menus. Which makes me wonder why Arby’s uses the dreaded F-word on their menus today, but anyway…

One of the things that’s made it tough for me to participate in the Tribunal lately has been that most of the sandwiches we were focusing on aren’t really available at cheap local food spots. I’m broke as fuck as a general rule, and that’s been far more true in the months since I came out as transgender, so if I can’t get the sandwich in question for under $10, I’m probably just gonna head to Sheetz again and skip this month. My entire meal at Arby’s on the day I ordered this French dip sandwich came to right around $10, so that definitely worked for me. It’s funny, I feel like Arby’s used to be the really expensive fast food place; these days, other than McDonalds and Taco Bell, still holding it down in the super-cheap category, everywhere else is just as pricey as Arby’s. What does that say about our current economy? Something depressing, I’m sure. Moving right along…

The presentation of this one is pretty amazing. I love that the box says “Meat Craft” on it. Are Arby’s perhaps attempting to make some sort of roast beef version of the “craft beer” craze happen? I’m down with it if so. I much prefer craft meats to craft beers (I’m sure Jim has equally positive feelings towards both). When you open up the box, it’s a pretty standard roast beef/melted cheese kind of thing, though I definitely ordered mine without mayo (blech). The fact that it’s shaped more like a sub than a standard hamburger-ish fast-food sandwich is the only real difference here–a difference surely created to aid in the dipping. Which is cool by me.

Of course, any sandwich that comes with a cup of sauce to dip it into is probably gonna be a bit of a mess, huh? I don’t know why I wasn’t thinking about that before I ordered it, but the first bite I took managed to drip some au jus that missed the napkin I had placed in my lap and splattered right onto my white skirt. I got it up quickly and there was nothing anyone who wasn’t staring directly at my right hip would have seen, but it was still a little frustrating. Isn’t this why my mom drummed it into my head over and over as a child to put a napkin in my lap–to avoid exactly these sorts of mishaps? If my mother was here, she’d undoubtedly say that I wasn’t leaning over far enough. Sigh, whatever mom.

(I saw my sandwich gettin) drippy

The real question here, though, is–how does it taste? Well, it’s decent, to be sure. I’ve always liked roast beef sandwiches, and the juicier the better, so this sandwich fits right into my interests. Having said that, it’s not exactly something I anticipate making a special trip for on payday or anything. Who knows? Maybe the “roast beef au jus” at Pargo’s in Charlottesville, VA was enough to make my dad’s mouth water for one whenever he thought about getting a nice family dinner on a Friday night, but this Arby’s version is not exactly setting the world on fire. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’ll do the job nicely if it’s a roast beef sandwich you want. But I don’t really know that the whole novelty-sauce-cup trip does enough to spice up the fact that the curly fries are ultimately the best part of the trip.

All in all, the Arby’s French dip gives me no real reason to alter my crap-eating ways and add their restaurant into regular rotation alongside my old standbys, Taco Bell and Sheetz. If anything, the Subway veggie delite will probably retain the title as a sandwich I will pay a little extra for when I’m in the mood. Does that mean French dip as a whole is a mediocre sandwich? I can’t say for sure, but I doubt it. Chances are the main thing that will make the difference here is the way the cut of meat is prepared–and you can’t expect miracles in that department when you’re hitting up a fast food place.

Drew

I’m a transgender weirdo who loves music, books, comics, and all kinds of other geeky crap. I edit an arts/music/culture magazine in my hometown of Richmond VA (rvamag.com). But let’s not talk about my day job. Let’s talk about food. I love food.