Sometimes, you just need a Battleship hoagie from Triangle Bar & Grill

Sometimes, you just need a really big sandwich.

That’s the case on a Tuesday afternoon when I meet Pittsburgh City Paper photographer Mars Johnson after work at Swissvale’s Triangle Bar & Grill. Located at the end of Swissvale’s understated Monongahela Ave. business district, the bar occupies an unassuming, wedge-shaped building. Your first clue this isn’t an ordinary dive bar: the more prominent of the building’s two main signs is the one promising Battleship and Destroyer sandwiches, which this publication’s readers have voted one of the region’s best hoagies.

Inside, Triangle is 1) surprisingly busy and 2) more deli than dive. A constant stream of locals queues up in a line for sandwiches while a few regulars sip drinks. It takes us a second to place an order, but it’s a simple one and quickly fulfilled: “we’d like to split a Battleship, please.”

During our brief wait, a local regular with a shot and a beer sitting on the bar in front of him tells us the bar has been around since at least 1972, when he moved to the area. We chat about the Pirates’ losing streak, and then the sandwich arrives, all two feet of it.

“Whoa,” we both say.

My first encounter with the Battleship was during a game night some years back, when it fed our group of four and then some. The sandwich isn’t some state fair-style novelty food. It’s not deep-fried, topped with pierogies, or served on a skillet of bubbling cheese. What it is is a big, big sandwich for $21.75 that's big enough for a family.

Unless you specify, the Battleship comes with capicola and sliced ham by default (although another customer ordered theirs with tuna). A layer of cheese sits in the heart of the sandwich, and this is then piled with tomato slices, shredded lettuce, and a light Italian dressing with a hint of cracked pepper. One difference from other hoagie shops is the thickness of the cold cuts — Triangle Bar doesn’t skimp, and our sandwich has at least half an inch of deli meat in the center.

As we eat, I scan the vintage sports apparel. It’s hard not to imagine the Triangle as a post-shift watering hole for workers at U.S. Steel to the south — the Carrie Blast Furnaces sit just down the hill. The friendly regular tells us the place is a madhouse on Steeler Sundays. This really is a thick slice of Old Pittsburgh.

We each manage a quarter of the sandwich in a surprisingly short time and wash it down with some beer. A game show plays on the TV. The regular finishes his bourbon. I flag down Pancho, who took our order, and he offers to wrap up the leftovers as I pull out $30 (Triangle Bar is cash only).

Sometimes, it’s nice to know what you’re having for lunch tomorrow. Mars and I wonder as we pay how many family dinners and football games have been fueled by Battleships and Destroyers over the years. “The Sandwich that Made Swissvale Famous” must have been a pre-payday lifeline for steelworkers enjoying it, one thick section at a time, until Friday.

Triangle has probably produced more battleships than all U.S. shipyards combined at this point, and the little dive shows no signs of slowing down in 2024.

More customers pour in for their own big sandwiches. We step into the August sunlight, both a little slow after eating what feels like several pounds of deli meat and toppings, having spent as much on three meals and two cold beers as most bars want for a burger.

Sometimes, you just need a Battleship.