I regretfully report to you that I failed in my mission this weekend, dagnabit. I enlisted my brother in accompanying me on a quest for the bounty found only at the tiny storefront embedded in the massive hulking side of the manhattan bridge... the elusive Saigon Banh Mi. I knew I stood only a poor to fairish chance of landing one of these rare creations, known to few, tasted by fewer still. My chances seemed slim: late in the afternoon and a Sunday, a heaping double dose of bad mojo. A had been warned thet very frequently, the all important bread for the sandwich runs out and all who remain on line are sent away grumbling and famished. I was already behind the eight ball, as I hadn't embarked on this journey early enough. A mistake I will not a second time make. The masses of Boston bound cheap-bus seekers will also have had enough opportunity to descend upon and exhaust the stall's meager supplies. I arrive at the jumble of storefronts lining the base of the bridge, representd heavily are chinese employment offices, with mostly young kids pressing to the counters. No time to trade job tips today boys, I'm on a culinary conquest. I'll catch y'all later. ... I tried to open the door the wrong way, and almost pulled it off the frame in my salivating, munchie crazed state. The frown and shake of the head directed at me by the matron of the 'wich stopped me cold and heavied my heart... "No more, no more" Dang. "No more?" I mumbled pointlessly, not yet resigned to my fate and unable to contain the pathetic uttering. "No more! No more!" Humiliated, I turned and slunk back into the smelly mist of the Bridge's underbelly, resigning myself to trudge slowly to Broome street for some delicious but familiar banh mi. I swear that I shall return or die trying.