Bask in its glory. BASK, I SAY!

This. This right here is one of the very, very few reasons I enjoy Hackensack. She’s called the Chicken Caesar Wrap, and you can only find her here, at DiMaria’s deli on Main Street.

The Chicken Caesar Wrap is a fairly commonplace menu item, I readily admit. But this bad boy has just got something else to it that others don’t, and I’m afraid the answer is painfully lame. This sandwich was made with love. And also a shit ton of dressing (Ken’s Steakhouse, I am 99% positive).

I think the secret to this sandwich really is, though, that DiMaria’s is one of those hole-in-the-wall mom & pop shops that still exists, thrives, even, in New Jersey. Yes, that’s right. I’m saying something nice about New Jersey. DiMaria’s is run by a husband (Mike?) and wife (Pat….definitely Pat), who stand side-by side  Monday through Friday every week of the year (neither of them ever seem to be sick, have doctor appointments, or take p-days. Amazing how the idea of “time off” warps when you own your own business), save for one week every August when a sign goes up announcing they’re on vacation. A well-deserved vacation.

The store itself is long and narrow. A small counter at the front houses the register, along with a plexiglass tower of lottery scratch-offs. Congruently attached is another counter housing good ol’ blue collar Green Mountain Coffee, sugar, and jugs of milk and cream (no skim or soy, you’ll note).

Behind the counter lie the kitchen, two helpers, and some local jewelry for sale. The whole operation is very linear, efficient, and a bit quirky. Pat always mans the register, taking orders with only a pen, post-it notes, and cursive writing. Mike (god, I hope that’s his real name) is somewhere behind her, typically, and will run the post-it orders back to the helpers, who really do all the toasting, spreading, slicing, and wrapping. You don’t pay when you order, and that seems to be a rule. You only pay when you receive the food, or after you’ve eaten, if you get the sandwich to stay. The honor system still survives here, as, at times, one could easily walk out without paying and they probably wouldn’t notice. It’s a refreshing slice of an era that New York has long forgotten. They even have a take-a-penny-leave-a-penny dish!

After you order, you wait. And many days, you feel like you’ve waited far longer than is necessary for a bagel with butter (at Bagels on the Square on Father Demo square, you can get the same item in no more than 45 seconds). There’s very little comfortable room to wait, too. You’re either blocking the coffee or blocking the soda refrigerator, so just give up and stand in the middle (or use the waiting time as a very well-placed bathroom run; it smells distinctly like my grandparents house, which was a mix of mothballs and Marlboro Lights. Ahh nostalgia).

And in the end, you get this sandwich (or anything else, really. They always have three specials: a sandwich, a salad, and a panini de jour [sic]. At least one of the options includes bacon, which is a clever way of using the leftovers from breakfast). And that sandwich will change your life. Not in the same way Banh Mi did. In a way that reminds you where you’re from. It’s a taste of home, and it makes you want to call your mom. It makes you miss those you’ve loved in the past, but reminds you that there are still so many great things in life.

That god damn sandwich. I love it.