If we were playing word association games and you shouted the word ‘switch’ at me, I’d respond with ‘Will Smith.’ If you don’t remember his 2005 segue into almost real-ish hip hop I suggest you look it up. You’ll be singing it all day. It was a solid hit Will, I give you that.
I am going somewhere with this.
Tonight we ate at a restaurant called Switch, and not only was it amazing, but I have been singing that stupid song ever since.
I’d never heard of Switch before tonight, but came across it in a magazine that I blatantly stole from my chiropractor’s office. Sorry Dr. Cas: you make me wait, I steal magazines. It was the most recent edition of Phoenix Magazine and the cover story was the 21 best sandwiches in the Valley. While a sandwich is not my go-to, Jim lives and breathes for a good one and I knew this mag would come in handy. I conveniently slipped it into my purse on my way out. (Once a clepto, always a clepto, that’s for another post).
I was so excited with my booty* that I called Jim on my drive home to tell him. In hindsight, I was acting with a sense of euphoria that would have made you think that in a million years neither of us could ever possess the $3.95 required to have our own copy of a real magazine. Once I got home we poured over the amazing photos of sandwiches and decided there was no way we weren’t indulging tonight. We picked Switch based on location and the photo below. Hello, beautiful:
I was thrilled to learn upon arriving here that it’s owned by the same folks who’ve brought us FEZ and Ticoz, two fantastic dining establishments. The atmosphere is what my brother calls hot and chic. Basically, a place with fancy high top tables, trendy light fixtures and weird unisex bathrooms, among other criteria. There was a pretty decent crowd for a Wednesday night so I looked past the hotandchicness and ordered with an open mind.
We started with the bruschetta appetizer and it was hands down the best bruschetta I’ve ever had. Yes, even better than Postino. Here’s their description: “Grilled baguette with sliced tomato, roasted onion, EVOO and balsamic (3) and parmesan, white bean spread, sopresetta ham and roasted red peppers (3).”
For dinner I had to go with the sandwich featured in the mag: The Murano. “…It starts with an excellent, crusty, artisanal roll, piled high with just the right proportion of mild roasted chicken and salty prosciutto. A layer of gouda cheese brings a little tang to the party, and chopped Greek olives, ripe tomato and a slick of aioli finish it off for $9.95.” Not sure why this baby shares it’s name with a Nissan SUV but I’m okay with it.
Jim ordered the french dip** which is something you’d never, ever see me order, but it was really, really, really good. Both sandwiches came with a side Caesar salad which I really appreciated over fries.
Fyi to all you Phoenicians, this place is just off the Light Rail, and I hear people are wearing pants on the trains again so it’s safe.
* I’m not sure if it’s ever really appropriate to use the word booty when not referring to the body part. Still deciding.
** I was going to capitalize the word ‘french’ in french dip since I capitalized Greek olives, but after recently reading Sarah’s Key I am not so fond of the French at the moment.