It’s mid-November, misty, windy, and brown in downtown Iowa City, and I’m sitting across the table from my teenage daughter in an edgy, airy cafeteria near the University of Iowa campus. I’m listening to her heels clunk against the aluminum bistro chair, noticing a black earbud tucked behind the tendrils of her oaty blonde hair. I didn’t know she was wearing the beady little sound barriers I’ve come to despise. Although it appears she doesn’t even realize I’m here, I know if I speak, she’ll respond. “What do you think the college kids will eat on Thanksgiving if they aren’t going home this year?”
Photo by Stephanie Frias for Only In Your StateShe pushes her basic but trendy black frames up her nose and makes eye contact with me. “They eat whatever they always eat. Like a sandwich or a salad. But they might get turkey on it instead of whatever they usually get if it’s Thanksgiving.”
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“You mean like an open-faced turkey sandwich at an old-fashioned diner? The kind with plain, white bread and gravy poured on top?” I asked as I searched her face for some sign of recognition. “No, mom. No one eats gravy. Or white bread.”
Of course not. I pushed myself away from the table and walked over to the nearby cash register, where a 20-something gal, leaning over it, was sipping a pink drink. “Excuse me, I’m wondering if you can give me a recommendation for the best sandwich spot downtown?”
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“Everybody loves Nodo,” she uttered with a raised eyebrow.
Photo by Stephanie Frias for Only In Your StateLater that day, I stood on a wet curb on South Dubuque Street, waiting for my husband to feed the parking meter, and watching my teens dart across puddles before disappearing into Nodo Downtown. Without them, I wouldn’t have found it. Despite a concrete Iowa City address and Google GPS, I still didn’t see the tiny silver, lowercase ‘nodo’ placard next to the black door with a giant number five. All I saw was the pinstriped awning and the Irish pub on either side of it.
We stumbled inside, greeted by a galley-style cafe, lined with more aluminum bistro tables, a retro tile floor, and rows of eclectic artwork with tiny business cards listing prices pinned beneath them. A guy in a black t-shirt, standing behind the counter in front of an open-concept kitchen, greeted us, and a minute later we were ordering from a giant blackboard menu listing hot sandwiches, cold wraps, and salads.
Photo by Stephanie Frias for Only In Your StateMy family all ordered without a beat, as if they’d been there a million times. A burger for my husband, a grilled cheese for my daughter (ear buds still in while ordering), and my son zeroed in on a peanut-butter and banana sandwich. I asked for a turkey sandwich. The man in the black shirt called me “ma’am,” shifted on his feet, and casually told me they have a turkey apple salad or a turkey cranberry wrap, but turkey sandwiches aren’t a thing. Luckily, I like wraps and am now fully prepared to break up with hot turkey sandwiches, so I order the turkey-and-cranberry wrap.
Photo by Stephanie Frias for Only In Your StateWhen my plate arrived under my nose, it looked like more lettuce than turkey, and I was skeptical. But I closed my eyes and surrendered to the new-age Thanksgiving, crunching through several perspective-shifting bites. By the third mouthful, the wrap won me over. Soft and smoky, almost-mashed turkey, folded between bits of tart craisins, a slathering of cream cheese, a few herbs, and a whole lotta greens. I wanted to hate it, but I definitely did not. And yes, it was far, far better than any turkey sandwich being served as the Thanksgiving special at a roadside diner.
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