My beloved partners in crime and mischief --
Esquire's recent compendium of the Best Sandwiches in America paid tribute to our own Matt Murphy's lamb sirloin sandwich:
In a land teeming with trite Irish pubs, Matt Murphy's stands alone: no Gaelic street signs, no U2 poster, no "Molly Bloom Mozzarella Stix." But this hits you like a Joycean epiphany: sirloin, cooked until it dissolves on the crusty potato bread, and pickles, daubed with sweet relish and a sauce bearing the faintest rumor of mint.
Matt Murphy's opened in Brookline while I was at BU, and we had great affection for our new neighbor. Sometimes we were drunk and messy, other times we were broke and grateful for the free music, or just broken-hearted and in need of some liquid comfort.
I often tease about PubNight's reticence to venture south, to brave the raging churning waters and cross the mighty Charles River. But I haven't even been back to Matt Murphy's in years. Isn't this spring a fine time to resurrect old ghosts, relive our indiscretions, and rip into a tasty sandwich while we're at it?
Come on out this Thursday -- let's do it again.
--your nostalgic Troika