Miller's Hoagies
 Indiana(ish), Pennsylvania         Date of Visit  02/25/15         No Known Website

I've been driving past this rectangular box beneath the billowing clouds of the nuclear plant for a few weeks now. It’s not in Indiana proper but North a ways on 422. It’s not the only Miller’s and I’m not entirely sure at which location I stopped. From the comments of others either most folks have never had a sandwich before or I happened to find the sad and angry relation of the others. Which ever, there is really nothing to recommend the place, in my opinion.
 

I strolled in to four people standing in the kitchen. They have the look of a family in the middle of a serious disagreement who still have to work together. I don’t think I saw a single word spoken between them. The words shared with me were sparse and passionless. The space fits the service.

I was told they sell lots of “regulars”, “steaks”, and fries. That’s what I ordered. I asked for there but with some stuff to wrap them to go. After a bit my number was called and I picked up a tray and asked for something to wrap everything up again. I enjoyed zero of it. I’d like to think they were damaged by our recent and delicious trip to 9th street deli, but even without the comparison, this was unfortunate.

The fries were actually well fried but the chili sauce covering them was sweet to a fault and the “cheese” sauce tasted like yellow-orange. Nope.
 

Sandwiches & Sadness Are Served From The Window
 

I ordered the steak with lots of veggies and mayo. The mayo was sweet, really sweet, and instead of ordering all of the veggies in hopes of working with the beef…I should have ordered some beef flavor. Nothing. There was brown in the bread but I wanted it to taste like, well, steak. Hmmmm. Just now noticing everything was tasting like colors instead of flavors. I might have synesthesia but it still tastes wrong.

Okay. So what color was the “regular”? You’re going to think I’m being disgusting just for the sake of groditude (and trust me…were not done yet) but if you’ve ever seen a fresh slice of lung…or thrown up right after taking pepto bismal…that’s what was in the “regular”. There were three different shades of “meat”. I’m assuming the first was bologna…the second & third…I’m afraid to think. I guarantee you it wasn't the Virginia ham we had a week ago. And yes, I tried a bite…felt I had to…sorry I did. There are bolognas I will eat. This is not one of them. All fat not flavor. The veggies are nowhere near as fresh at 9th Street, the bread is white mush, there is just no redemption to be found.
 

Looked Okay

But Should Come Wrapped At Gas Station

As I was making a show of carefully wrapping up the copious leftovers…angry dude (the sole male) came out and started wiping down tables. It was then I learned he must have been a plumber before opening a restaurant…and my sudden queasiness. First of all…Dude. It’s called a belt. Or suspenders. Or a piece of clothesline. I don’t need to see ALL of your crack! Especially when it is covered with bright red sores of God Knows What. Wanna guess who does the cooking? If the wrapped leftovers weren’t already headed for the landfill (they were) all doubt was removed. I exited and passed the older of the three women smoking in her pick-up. She averted her eyes and I went on to class…hoping I wasn’t spreading leprosy or ebola. Mmmmmmm. I don’t think I’ll be back.