SCOTT NEDRELOW, holding a Reuben sandwich in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other, stood in a dark corner of the sandwich bar between two attractive but fading blondes who sat waiting for him to say something. But he said nothing; he had been silent during much of the evening, except now in this private sandwich bar – for peace – in Northeast Minneapolis he seemed even more distant, staring out through the semidarkness and white light reflection of the neon sign in the window into a large hallway beyond the sandwich bar where dozens of young artists sat huddled around small tables or twisted in the center of the floor to the clamorous clang of noise-rock music blaring from the stereo.

Nedrelow had been working on a Reuben. He was hungry. He was the victim of a feeling so common that most people would consider it trivial. But when it gets to Nedrelow it can plunge him into a state of questioning, deep thoughtfulness, panic, even aesthetic rage. Scott Nedrelow serves sandwiches. Out of his studio. In a specially constructed kitchen-slash-sandwich bar he’s had custom-installed. He serves sandwiches to artists. For peace.

submitted, on a napkin, by Andy Sturdevant

Artists can submit a piece for inclusion in the Sandwich Bar permanent collection by visiting the Sandwich Bar. For hours or to make an appointment please contact the Sandwich Bar at

Eric Ruby David Sollie Eric Recktenwald Ginny Maki Ruben

Justin McKinley Luke Holden Jennie Lennick Rebecca Peters Andy

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