Paseo, I hardly knew ye.

We were supposed to have a long, happy life together. I was already scouting out postgrad apartments within blocks of your glory. I’d often cursed the distance between us, hoping you’d open another location near campus. Preferably inside my apartment.

Your Caribbean roast sandwich made me feel more feelings than a sandwich has any right to make a person feel. Case in point: It was a point of very real, non-playful contention when my boyfriend assessed the Caribbean roast as only, and I quote, “pretty good.” Pretty good?! More like slow-braised porcine ambrosia, you jerk.

I had naively assumed that you were so beloved an institution that I could count on you. I thought you’d always be there, sure as the sun would rise, if the sun was dripping with citrusy marinade.

Employees who showed up Tuesday morning found a posted notice announcing the sandwich shop’s closure. Hearts broke across the city (metaphorical hearts, that is. Paseo’s closure may actually be good for the city’s cardiovascular health).

Some have speculated that the closure is linked to a lawsuit filed by former employees claiming that they had been mistreated, which frankly adds insult to the considerable injury of losing Paseo. Not only am I crushed by the fact that I’ll never eat another Caribbean roast, I’m also now wrestling with the knowledge that the beardy dude at the counter was probably crowd-wrangling all the way through break #3. Not cool, Paseo.

I’ll miss your succulent roasted pork. I’ll miss your jewel-like marinated scallops. I’ll miss your crazy-flavorful caramelized onions. Hell, I’ll even miss it all spilling onto my lap because your bread was shockingly devoid of structural integrity.

I’ll try to recreate the Caribbean roast sandwich in my own kitchen soon, and I’ll eat it with the knowledge that nobody missed their lunch break to serve it to me. But I know deep down that it just won’t be the same.

Caroline Ferguson, Editor-in-Chief