I’ve had the pleasure of eating at Cheba Hut, Iowa City’s latest addition to an already over-saturated sandwich market, twice since it’s opening a few weeks ago. Now I consider myself more than your average sandwich consumer; I’m what you might consider a connoisseur. During high school I worked at Subway for three years, and for about a semester before studying in Germany I worked at the local Which Wich (which is by far my favorite and still the standard to beat.) I’m a frequenter of Jimmy John’s (which no one in Boston this weekend had heard of and I was all “Whaaa??”) just because their bread is so damn delicious and it’s pretty cheap for the size of the ‘wich. I can never decide whether I think Milio’s is better or not quite as good as JJ– their menus are frighteningly similar, though Milio’s wheat bread is pretty tasty when fresh, and they use actual guacamole on their veggie subs instead of the “avocado spread” Jimmy John’s uses that I’m not sure comes from actual avocados.

SO– you can imagine my excitement when Cheba Hut set up shop two weeks ago. I have to start by addressing the theme: marijuana. The ganj. Smokin’ the reefer. Never before have I seen a restaurant quite as elaborately themed (they promise their employees aren’t toasted when they’re toasting up our subs. They can’t promise the same for the customers though, who I had the pleasure of watching wait quite impatiently for their subs through half-closed, fire engine red eyes.) I think the theme’s cute ‘n all– it’s a bit much when they yell at the end, “Brittney, I’ve got your Chronic.” Ok, I get it. Haha, it’s drugs. The Bob Marley music was far too loud on my first visit, but they seemed to have corrected that by the time Roomie Lauren and I had dinner there a week later. The menu’s decent: plenty of choices– though no Which Wich– but far more appetizing than your Subways/JJ’s/Milio’s. You can choose white, wheat or garlic & herb bread. The first time I had the garlic & herb, it was too… herb-y for me. I’m sure some would I enjoy it, I just happen to like the wheat better.

There’s a sign above the toasted that says it will be a miracle if you get your sandwich in less than five minutes– they take their time toasting it, which can be good or bad, depending on how crunchy you enjoy your food. One of my friends who’s not a huge fan of toast said he thought it made the bread too dry and “bread-y”, which I kind of found with my BBQ’d roast beef & cheddar sub the first time. When your ‘wich comes outta the toaster, you can then tell the toppings person if you want lettuce, pickle, tomato & onion along with some sauces. The pickle comes in a long spear laid on your sandwich instead of slices, and the lettuce one of the times I went was chunked up iceberg (though they had completely run out of product the day before, so I don’t know if this is what they usually use or if they had to run to the store last minute.) There were only two half slices of tomato on my veggie sandwich with hemp cream cheese, though said cream cheese was deeeeelicious. You can put on your standard mayo or mustard, then they ask if you want their special “house dressing” with parmesan and oregano, from what I can tell is just oil & vinegar.

Overall, I would give Cheba Hut three out of five stars. (Apparently I just became a restaurant critic, go with it.) They get HUGE points for delivering. They also stay open until bar close, something Which Wich should definitely do, though my wallet is glad it does not. Cheba Hut’s not exactly bare bones cheap, but their sandwiches come in three different sizes– 4, 8, and 12 inches– so you can pick your poison. Who is ordering a four-inch sandwich, by the way? They won’t be my first choice when wanting a sandwich from outside my own kitchen, but the novelty of a new place still hasn’t worn off, and I look forward to trying some of their more interesting veggie subs before I hit the dusty trail after graduation.

While working the last Saturday of my internship yesterday (cue the “Hallelujah” chorus– Saturdays are full of little kid events and coordinating rooms full of parents and giving tours of our facility trying to answer off-the-wall questions… it’s exhausting) my former neighbor called to see if I had gone back to college yet. Luckily for her, her husband, and the fun evening on the town they had planned, I don’t until next Thursday, thus was available to baby-sit their two sons on very short notice. Now, I would not have done this for just anyone, not to mention I thought my baby-sitting days were mostly behind me. These two boys however were literally born and raised right next door for 8 and 11 years, so to say I have a soft spot for these two rambunctious blondes is a bit of an understatement. I’m able to tell them stories “I remember before your brother was born…” “That one time we couldn’t tell if it was Oreos in your teeth or dirt…” that mostly just make me feel old, but also nostalgic for the days when they hadn’t figured out their brother served nicely as a human punching bag. I hadn’t seen them in about a year, and now they’ve moved out from next door and are currently living in the next town over. I was pleasantly surprised to find that they’re at extremely easy ages in which they’re more or less doing their own thing, can do most things for themselves, and best of all– know that 9:30 is bedtime and don’t put up a fight when the clock’s hands land on it. They picked Subway for dinner, and the oldest one opted to stay home for ten minutes while the little one came with me to supervise my sandwich ordering skills (and “Doriiiiiiitos!!!!”) I asked if he was too short to sit up front in my car and he said yes, thanks for the honesty little guy, so we pulled out of the driveway with me essentially Driving Miss Daisy. Now while he was in no way phased by this, I thought the whole situation was rather amusing: me, the 21-year-old college student who has no desire in the world to pass on her genes to another life, suddenly concerned about what’s on the radio because there’s an adorable eight-year-old in the back asking her why there’s kitchen supplies in the backseat (“I moved into a new apartment last week. Don’t worry, I’ll get to them.” I taught him the word “chauffeur”, and he was quite helpful in carrying the bag of sandwiches to the car. My favorite part was when we got stuck behind a van going about 10 mph through an intersection and I vocalized some of my frustration (no, this does not end in me cursing out other drivers and scarring my little passenger for life.) From the backseat I hear, “My dad yells at other cars when they don’t do good, too.” Melt. Afterward, the three of us went for ice cream, and I learned that little kids are perhaps the slowest ice cream eaters in the history of the world. I had to keep vigilance with a napkin to wipe up the multiple drips and spills, and the older one proclaimed he didn’t like the taste of the chocolate chips in his chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, so would eat away the ice cream and dough then spit out the chocolate chips. More power to you, buddy. On the ride home I found out they’ve been to a Taylor Swift concert, know some Lady Gaga songs, and have already been playing tackle football for three years (when I went to school, tackling wasn’t introduced until 7th grade.) So basically, now I feel beyond ancient, and realize that unfortunately my little guys are getting all grown up. When they were asleep and the parents came home, the mom thanked me again for being able to come at a moment’s notice, though I really should have thanked her for one of the more relaxing and entertaining nights I’ve had in a while. Who knows when they next time I see them will be– perhaps one of them will be tall enough to sit in the front seat by then.