When I leave the office to get lunch, usually I head to Cosi. The exceptions are when I’m too rushed to make the 20 minute roundtrip walk into the Financial District, or when I’m with co-workers who invariably dismiss Cosi as being overpriced and/or unsatisfying. “I’m not going to Cosi. I’m not going to wait in line for ten minutes behind dozens of ravenous fresh-from-the-gym yuppies. I’m not going to pay $7 for a lettuce flatbread sandwich garnished with meat,” says Co-worker, who prefers Viga, the Italian place that serves enormous $5 sandwiches, because only a Viga sandwich will tame his appetite until dinner.
Me, I’m willing to spend the extra few dollars at Cosi on what I perceive to be a higher quality of food. Cosi lettuce is at least two shades darker green than Viga lettuce. Cosi sandwich spread does not taste like it came from a vat of industrial mayo. Cosi eggplant does not have the texture, consistency, and appearance of leather. And all of Cosi’s flatbread is fresh from the open-flame oven that anchors every store. Nothing nourishes my soul like warm bread!
Yes, the Cosi portions are a fraction of the Viga portions, but I don’t believe that people who sit at desks 9 hours a day need a 10-inch long, 5-inch wide, 2-inch thick slab of greasy foccaccia loaded with meat and cheese in order to meet their nutritional requirements. Maybe if I was hiking a 4000-foot mountain, I’d want that level of caloric support, which I guestimate to be at least 1000 high-fat low-fiber calories. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that there’s, like, 5 times the number of overweight people in Viga than in Cosi?” I ask Co-worker one day after we leave Viga.
“So what are you saying, that Viga makes people fat?” asks Co-Worker, who is of normal weight. Somehow. “No, fat people just like Viga more. It fits into their dietary plan. They’d eat just as much if they went to Cosi, only they’d have to pay for 2 sandwiches.”
These days, most of my co-workers are bringing their lunches from home to avoid having to go out in the frigid winter weather. And so I’ve been going to Cosi almost every day for a sandwich, usually the Hummus and Veggie, the Fire-Roasted Vegetable, or the Tomato Basil Mozzarella. Cosi sandwiches come with either a bag of potato chips or a bag of baby carrots, and since it’s winter and I need a little grease to keep my ribs warm, I take the potato chips.
A few weeks ago, I noticed that Cosi had two types of potato chips, plain and salt and pepper. I tried the salt and pepper potato chips and found them unbelievably scrumptious! Cosi’s peppered potato chips awakened within me a lust for flavored chips that has lain dormant since college senior year, when dinner would be a 99 cent bag of Doritos. (I had a passion for Doritos. So tasty!) All morning I would sit at my desk, counting the minutes until lunchtime and Cosi and the salt and pepper potato chips.
“You know those have MSG in them?” Co-worker just happened to be walking past my desk as I was digging into my salt and pepper potato chips.
“What? No they don’t,” I said. I have a weird reaction to MSG… not physical, just mental, because for 30 years my initials were “MSG,” so I rather enjoy the notoriety, although I’d rather not ingest it.
“Yeah they do. All flavored chips have MSG in them,” Co-Worker says, flipping the bag over and pointing to the ingredients. Sure enough, Mono-Sodium Glutamate. “What do you think of that, Ms. Cosi Quality?”
Naturally, I was horrified to find out that I’ve been giving my body a daily dose of MSG. But I couldn’t reveal that to Co-worker. “So that’s why they’re so good,” I said, smiling until he walked away, when I promptly dropped the half-eaten bag into the trash. I felt betrayed, as if Cosi has lulled me into a false sense of security and then drugged my body with toxins. Such are the perils of lunch in This Modern World.
