A sandwich saved me from myself

Perhaps you have noticed that I quit writing here a couple of months back. The state of the world just overwhelmed me. I cocooned. I quit making plans save for the rare occasions friends pried me out of the house.

So what changed? Well, La Rosa, a new neighborhood sandwich shop and gelateria from the Mimo guys, opened last week. It's right across the parking lot from Mimo in the Tlaquepaque Market center, facing Telephone Road. I had been so excited when I first heard about the project late last year—I still long for the sandwiches Mimo served when it was young—but then my gift for excitement failed me.

At least until I walked inside the vest-pocket storefront on Friday and stood gaping at the perfection of the room. Rose-red and glowing, it wrapped me in the oddball warmth of some eccentric grandma's parlor. Puro East End, I marveled.

I ordered some ice cream, allowing myself to feast on all the tongue-in-cheek design details—from the scarlet-handled ice-cream scoops to the shimmering beaded-rose kitchen curtain to the lipstick-red squiggles crawling across the formica tabletops. To somebody accustomed to the confines of her own bedroom, La Rosa felt like a magic carpet ride.

Even the gauzy front curtain, wreathed in roses and lit up by little white lights, seemed like a portal to another, kinder world.

Ice cream lifted my spirits, too. (It always does.) I fixated on the peanut-butter-stracciatella flavor custom-made for La Rosa by the excellent local Sweet Cup Gelato folks. So dense and smooth, sharpened by dark chocolate splinters, with a peanut butter factor that was soft, not loud.

By Saturday afternoon I was back to check out the flagship mortadella sandwich from the tight little menu. A few bites in and I was a goner. The ingredients just clicked. The thin-shaved mortadella with its gentle pop of salt; the light and springy curds of fior di latte, a fresh Italian cow's milk mozzarella; the dark, pleasantly bitter tang of arugula leaves dressed with blood orange and olive oil. Threading through the layers was an herbaceous pistachio pesto, crunchy with hunks of nut and alive with just a tingle of red chile. Damn, it was good.

I was amused that instead of a hoity-toity Italian bread, proprietors Mike Sammons and Fernando Rios had settled on a broad toasted telera roll from El Bolillo, a short distance away in the near East End neighborhood. It worked.

Sammons and Rios have fussed over the details of their three inaugural sandwiches, priced from $14—$18, the way only two obsessives can. The mortadella version is their baby, and Rios jokes that Sammons won't be satisfied with it until you can see through the salumi slices. (A new slicer is on order.)

Then there's a cheese sandwich with that same lovely fior di latte, sourced from the estimable Houston Dairymaids, layered with arugula and the rough-textured corn-and-zucchini fritters I've always like so much at Mimo. Sammons and Rios tasted through five different kinds of fior di latte before they found the right one. Third sandwich-menu spot is reserved for a daily special. On Sunday (yes, I bestirred myself from my cocoon again!) they were serving a meatball marinara and provolone sandwich with a dreamy level of squish to it.

Chef Rios himself was back behind the rose-beaded curtain training staff to make the sandwiches, since it is very early days for La Rosa. I asked him how he got the beef meatballs so cloudlike. He said it's a combination of breadcrumbs and grated cheese, plus a two-step cooking method where he coats the meatballs in panko at the end, gives them a quick flash-fry, then bakes them in the oven. Swaddled in stretchy provolone and tangy marinara, they are pure comfort.

Sammons is running the front of the house at La Rosa to begin with, greeting a rotating cast of Mimo regulars and East Enders, soliciting feedback, presiding over the eclectic soundtrack that ranged from the Marvelettes to Nashville-era Dylan to Faye Webster over my visits. The music selection has always been one of my favorite things about Mimo, and that applies at La Rosa, too.

Keep in mind that for now, sandwiches are only offered during the lunch hour, from noon to 3 p.m., Wednesday through Sunday. They're open until 8 p.m. for gelato and dessert (there's tiramisu) on Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday; and until 9 p.m. on Friday and Saturday. They'll adjust their hours as they go.

Look for the deep-red facade at 724 Telephone, a bright spot along the shambling Neo-Spanish-Colonial mini-mall that is Tlaquepaque. It's between a vintage shop and a store making artisanal beauty products.

La Rosa got me out of my house (and my prolonged funk) three days running, and for that I am profoundly grateful. Plus Sammons told me about a pizza place he really liked, so I guess I'll be out and about more. Stay tuned.