Hoagie Boyz — Restaurant in Winnipeg

11 August, 202-.

A couple days ago, a friend of mine, who I respect greatly in matters of taste and style, echoed the following catechism: "Hey bro, slam a hoagie to the dome." I laughed nervously, pretending vainly I was "slay" and "gellin'", mumbling back such words as "yeah bro" and "dome it". When I could appropriately slip away, under the pretext of an ill mother-in-law, I did so, and the glow of my BlackBerry told me that the slamming of the hoagie could only be done under the cool, tropical-artwork-adorned dome of Hoagie Boyz, located at the northernmost point of South Osborne. To me, it shows what I would later learn: that the "Les Garçons de Hoagies" straddle many borders, both figurative and literal, to create the perfect intersectional sandwich. My own order was taken in with genuine and open smiles by the three amigos behind the counter, and in a short time I had a colossal and imposing sandwich ready to be slammed. But do not fret, dear readers! I was not to go alone to slam ("eat quickly") that hoagie vis-à-vis my dome ("head/mouth"), for Hoagie Boyz also offers the eminently-delicious Lime Jarritos, and other cool beverages, for those of us who might lack the courage to slam the hoagie in one sitting. I returned to my conveyance, gripping my Young Turk sandwich in one hand, musing I would return home to my yard to enjoy the rapturous Winnipeg afternoon with aforementioned sandwich and drink. It was not meant to be, of course, for that phrase! - that idiom! - that poetry! - again rang in my ears: "Slam a hoagie to the dome...". I could not wait. I ripped apart the paper holding my precious Turk, and devoured it like the great Underlord Cthulu will devour the earth, when such time inevitably comes to pass. I was reminded of the 1960s Batman television show, because I could only describe the flavour as BIFF! BANG! And, of course, POW! (All positive descriptors, mind you). I retire now to my bedside, having scribbled these words for posterity, dreaming that all of us Winnipeggers should eventually come to admire the chef's kiss that is...

Holy this is the best goddamn place in the city I eat here like 3 times I week I truly think I'm addicted. I don't know what I would do without my beloved boys in hoagie land. Every time I walk in I feel the warmth and love from the crew, but also from the smell of the decadent freshly sliced mortadella or brined and roasted turkey.... It's... Just so juicy. I was never really a turkey guy until one of their safe members put me on and honestly it changed my opinion entirely. They also have crazy specials a couple times a week n man they can't be beat there's nothing like this place on the eastern side of Canada. Don't be caught off guard by the price these boys stuff these sandwiches full. I don't think they could get any more ingredients in one of those buns - but if you insist - they'll make it happen. A good starting point would be the Adam Sandoozle, or Italian Standard with mayo.

I heavily suggest you go dine in , immersing yourself in their finely curated, niche, goofy atmosphere (so many action figures!!!!!!) - chat with the ever so genuine and wholesome, caring staff who seem to just love their job AND their crew - listen to the amazingly crafted playlists they have, sit facing the TV so you can watch Batman, and a slam a hoagie to the dome. You won't regret it... It'll change your life, along with your friends, partners, and families because you sure as hell will be raving to them about it after swinging by. There is NO PLACE LIKE IT ON THE PLANET....

I strolled into Hoagie Boyz and immediately felt like I’d joined a secret society where sandwiches are sacred and the playlist alone could resurrect Dean Martin. The vibe? Immaculate. The staff? So friendly I started wondering if they were trying to recruit me into the family business.

I ordered The Italian Standard and when it arrived, I swear a choir of angels wearing track suits sang in the background. The meat, the cheese, the toppings — it was like the United Nations of flavor all finally agreeing on something. Presentation? Let’s just say I’ve seen wedding cakes with less dignity.

But then… the bread. Look, Hoagie Boyz, I adore you, but this bread was like casting an understudy in the lead role of “Hamilton.” Everyone else is belting Broadway, and the bread is back there mumbling nursery rhymes. It didn’t ruin the show, but let’s be honest — the bread should be the Tony Soprano of the sandwich, not some side character who gets whacked in episode one.

If you start baking your own bread, or find a bakery that makes loaves so good I’d consider writing them into my will, I would eat here daily until my cholesterol stages a revolt.

Until then, I’ll still be back — because Hoagie Boyz, you had me at “Italian Standard.” Just promise me one thing: give the bread the glow-up...