As a millennial, few things bring me more joy than a perfectly chaotic group text thread. I’ve somehow become the unofficial “group chat namer,” and the more niche the reference, the better. The crown jewel of these threads? A little text chain we call “Broken Tart :59.”
The name comes from a ritual only a certain slice of Oak Park knows: the weekly quest to secure the Friday Sandwich at Broken Tart. There’s no official announcement, no item on the menu board, no mention on the website. Instead, sometime around 10 a.m., they quietly post a photo of the sandwich to their Instagram story. Last week: turkey, cheddar, apple, onion, arugula. That’s the only warning anyone gets — the culinary equivalent of a secret password.
Here’s how the game works: The sandwich becomes available at 11 a.m. Sharp. Not early. Not late. I once watched an employee — polite but firm — tell a woman at 10:56 that she could not add “just one sandwich” to her pastry order. The rest of us in line exchanged silent looks of respect and relief. Fewer loopholes = better odds.
If you make it to the register before the supply evaporates (usually by 11:25), there’s a moment. A ceremony. They hand you a bulging sandwich in an open white pastry box, look you in the eye, and give a small, knowing smile. It feels like being knighted — except with carbs.
One of the unexpected joys of the Friday Sandwich is that there are no modifications. Zero. In a world where we can customize everything down to salt texture and toast shade, the decisiveness is refreshing. It removes decision fatigue — especially valuable on a Friday when our brains are already running on fumes. What you get is what the sandwich was meant to be, and it always works.
It also tastes like something originally created for the staff — something special they make for themselves — and only later decided to share with the public because they knew they’d nailed it.
Once we secure our boxes, our group grabs seats outside, if the weather cooperates. Then comes the debrief: texture, balance, flavor arc, sandwich engineering. Someone always says, “They did not have to go this hard.” And yet here we are, undone by pickled vegetables and perfectly toasted bread.
There’s also the weekly heartbreak cameo: someone who walks in at 11:31 full of optimism and walks out moments later staring into their phone as if Googling, “Supply vs Demand.”
I’m sharing this for two reasons: partly kindness, more people deserve to know. But also? If the line continues to snake around the corner, maybe, just maybe, Broken Tart will start offering the sandwich more than one day a week.
So, if you plan to join the Friday Sweepstakes, may your timing be sharp, your patience firm, and your Instagram notifications on.
Because the best sandwich you may never taste can only be won if you’re in line at 10:59.
Vince Gay has over 20 years of experience in education, ranging from classroom teacher to building administrator. The proud parent of two school-aged children, he has been an active member of the Oak Park community for more than a decade.
