Beautiful days in Kentuckiana lead to more lunches out of the office. Yesterday, I decided to do something I haven’t done in the nearly 10 years that I’ve been working out of my current office: have lunch outside on Guthrie Green.

Guthrie Green is that little piece of road that was filled in during the days of the River City Mall. 4th Street reopened to traffic, but Guthrie Green remained closed off, giving us a plaza to hang out on. There are a few wrought iron tables and chairs there that have managed to remain despite the fact that they’re present there 24/7. The sun was shining and the new LEO Weekly with its curse word cover which was a surprise and was just begging to be read, so I made my plans.

Brian Deli is on the corner of 4th Street and Guthrie Green and is one of the hidden gems of downtown Louisville. It’s a small convenience store selling Oreos and lottery tickets and does a brisk business during the lunch hour because it offers a local oasis from the myriad of chain choices downtown. This day I skipped the salad bar, which is always fresh and purposely limited to the most popular items, and went for the weekly sandwich special.

The specials include a sandwich, chips, pickle spear, small potato salad cup and your choice of 8-ounce soup or 12-ounce can of soda. They’ll sell you other standard deli fare like ham and cheese or a BLT, but this week’s special, the smoked turkey, is excellent and, for only $4.25, the special is always a spectacular deal.

I was lucky enough to grab one of the tables in the Green and spread out my cursing LEO for perusal. I opened my Styrofoam container and unwrapped my mountain of a sandwich. That’s one of the other beauties of Brian Deli. When they build a sandwich, they don’t mess around. A certain chain deli restaurant ought to be ashamed of themselves for selling five dollar foot long sandwiches and then put a pittance of the meat on them. On the sandwich from Brian Deli, I had to squeeze bread and smash the turkey to get it in my mouth. Now that’s a sandwich.

The sun shone on me and my four buck lunch while I read that swear word article and enjoyed my time out of the office. If the days continue to be nice, I just might make a habit of lunch on the Green with my mountain of meat. For $4.25, it’s economical and really, really good.

Stick to the sandwiches at McAlister’s Deli: I’ve long been a huge fan of McAlister’s Deli, its superior sandwiches, fantastic service (where do they—and Paul’s Fruit Market for that matter—find all those handsome, helpful teens? Must be a Glenview-area thing) and its kid-friendly menu. The chain will forever have a fond spot in my heart for helping my son make the leap from hot dogs to more adult sandwiches. the Orange Cranberry Club is a permanent favorite of mine.

However, McAlister’s grilled salmon salad was the most dreadful salad I’ve ever eaten. It was so shockingly bad, in fact, I was too stunned to complain. Well, admittedly, I was in a desperate hurry to get my son to a basketball party so the clock was more on my mind than justice. Had I complained, I’m sure one of those pearl-toothed, wrinkle-free teens would have remedied the situation.

The salad arrived without dressing, so I returned to the counter to acquire an appropriately bad honey mustard dressing (it was gummy to the point of stretching when poured). The salmon tasted overly processed like canned versions as well. Surely this merely was McAlister’s on a bad day, and when I return, it’ll be fine again.

Fuji Japanese Steakhouse is the place for kids: Since my 9-year-old doesn’t yet like sushi, my wife and I loathe taking him along when struck by the craving for a caterpillar roll. But as many parents know, babysitters are in short supply, so often he rides along regardless of whether he likes it. Many times we’ve taken him to Fuji on Springhurst Blvd., where the staff has done everything short of turning cartwheels to fawn on him—and every other kid in the joint. If we’re at the sushi bar (and, yes, despite it being 5:50 a.m., I’d eat sushi right now were it before me), the chefs—always unprompted—use their razor-sharp knives to whittle an orange into a mouse or some other cool bites. (Beats the heck out of a Happy Meal any day.) And if we’re at the teppanyaki grill, which we were last week, they playfully tease him with foods he doesn’t want (squid) or give him a few kernels of fried rice when everyone else gets heaps of the stuff. He loves everything they do, right down to the flaming onion volcano.

Is it my favorite sushi joint in town? No, but it’s darn reliable. And if he’s going to dinner with us, there’s an excellent chance that’s where we’ll wind up because he loves it and he eats the food. What’s perhaps most endearing about Fuji’s staff is that they seem to enjoy him—and other kids—as much as he enjoys them. Truly sweet people who always get big tips from me.

Chicken at Kaelin’s: good, but falls short of the legend: Growing up directly behind Kaelin’s Restaurant was both a blessing and a curse. Seven days a week, the glorious aroma of that pressure-fried chicken wafted to my house just a street away and set my mouth watering. But only about once a quarter, my lower-middle class family could ate out there.

Probably 60 years ago, or so the story goes, Colonel Sanders tried to sell Carl Kaelin a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise, but Kaelin didn’t want the whole package; he wanted only the Colonel’s spices and technique for cooking what is—when done correctly—the world’s best fried chicken.

Recently, I went back to Kaelin’s after what was at least a 20-year absence. Ville Voice blogger Rick Redding reported Kaelin’s legendary cheeseburger was excellent as always, and I had the fried chicken. It was good, but not great. The frustrating thing was the bird was perfectly fried—impossibly crisp skin cloaking moist, juicy meat—but underseasoned. The cooks had done the hard part right, but somehow missed on the easy part of the seasoning. Every restaurant has its off days, and perhaps that was one of them. But here’s to hoping they’ll get it right.

Sweet Peas plowed under: Not even sure I should put the announcement of Sweet Peas’ closure in this section since I never made it there. But the truth is, all I ever heard were bad things about it, so I never was motivated to go. Apparently enough people thought its food damnable and, in the end, quit going.

I always thought its predecessor, Furlongs, also owned by the same group, served up good, if not inspired, food that never achieved the mark of real Louisiana/Cajun-style fare. To make matters doubly troubling, the prices for said food were too high, totally unwarranted.

Not sad to see either go.