I don’t mind cooking; I enjoy it, even. And grocery shopping can be a pleasurable experience if you have time and are in a nice grocery store.

What causes me angst, however, is figuring out what I will cook for dinner each night. I simply struggle with being creative in regards to my dinner cooking plans. I have noticed as of late that every Sunday Whole Foods tweets dinner suggestions for the week. Great idea. I always check them out, but it’s difficult to find something they recommend that doesn’t include quinoa or hummus. I’m afraid that’s a no-go in my husband’s World of Food.

So in an effort to be a good and loving wife, I nearly every week ask Bill, “What shall I make for dinners this week?” And every week he answers in some version of “I couldn’t possibly care less.” But if I hold his feet to the fire and insist on an answer, it will be a sandwich. BLT. Hamburger. Grilled cheese with tomato soup.

Let me be clear. His first answer will always be “Let’s go out for pizza.” But his go-to second choice is a sandwich.

I’m not sure how it happened, but I married a man who can eat sandwiches for dinner. Ah, the things you forget to ask during courtship.

I asked him the other day if his mother ever – even once during Bill’s formative years – plopped a sandwich down in front of W. Rex McLain (Bill’s father) for dinner and said “bon appetit.”

Didn’t happen, he admitted. Lunch, yes; dinner, no. I rest my case.

For the most part, I don’t particularly care for sandwiches, even for lunch. I enjoy burgers. A hot dog will hit the spot. But a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with cheese? Nope.

Having said this, I must tell you that there is an exception.

The Italian sub sandwich at Guido’s Chicago Meats and Deli in Scottsdale, Arizona.

It is not unheard of for me to wake up in the middle of the night craving this sandwich. It is, quite simply, delicious. Scrumptious, really.

And I can’t figure out exactly why. The bread maybe? The quality of meat and provolone? The fact that olive oil literally drips from the sandwich as you eat it, requiring numerous napkins? The fact that the proprietor – Joe Guido — is always there and is brusk and crabby in a pleasant sort of Chicago way? And has that North Side Chicago twang that I’m so drawn to (which Bill doesn’t have, being a southsider and all…).

Joe Guido

I don’t know what it is, but I know what I like and I like Guido’s Italian subs.

Which is why yesterday, since we had a whole lot of nothing to do all day long, we decided a trip to Guido’s was in order.

It’s a good 30 minute drive from our house, and yesterday we ran into an unusual downpour. But on we went, the Italian sub firmly set in our minds.

And it was as good as I remembered, happily, having not eaten it for nearly a year. At one point Bill told me, “You have oil all over your hands and face.”

Yes I did.

I’m reluctant to talk about a restaurant that a large number of my readers can’t visit. Nevertheless, a visit to Guido’s is more than a restaurant experience. I have looked far and wide to find an Italian deli that offers a sandwich even close to that from Guido’s, but I have failed to date. Even in Chicago! So the half-hour drive from our house in Mesa, AZ is well worth it. A 13-1/2 hour drive from our house in Denver, CO may be a bit much.

But not necessarily.

Still in all, even as good as the Italian sub from Guido’s is, I wouldn’t want it for dinner!