
A couple of weeks ago, on the afternoon Miguelito returned to Los Angeles from Minneapolis, the first thing he did was grab lunch at Philippe with Maximus. Located a block or two away from Union Station, this 101-year-old restaurant is legendary for its French dipped sandwiches. I'm one of the few Angelenos who don't like French dipped sandwiches. It's not because I'm on an anti-carb, low-fat bridal diet. (One of the first things I want to do after I get married is to eat an overflowing plate of ribs.) I just want my meat to be already juicy. I don't want to dunk it in extra jus. But Miguelito loves Philippe. The tender feelings were reciprocated on his last visit, when he saw a tiny nub of bread that was baked attached to a bigger loaf. A waitress thought the offshoot would make one of the world's tiniest sandwiches, as seen here.
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