skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Today I stumbled on an NPR story on sandwich-making during my non-sandwich-related professional endeavors. The discovery gave me some hope that my sandwich blog, the existence of which I've a hard time justifying, has some credence in these troubled times.
It seems public radio, one of the final U.S. hold-outs of reasoned discussion, has weighed in on the sandwich. So what does Kevin Weeks of NPR credibility say? According to Weeks, a sandwich is "a filling enclosed in bread or pastry that can be eaten by hand," which excludes open-faced sandwiches and humongous burgers but includes "wraps, tacos, Cornish pasties, empanadas and stuffed pitas." I disagree even though Weeks' definition would be politically expedient to me. Tonight, for dinner I ate some stir-fry in a pita with my hands that Weeks would call a sandwich, but I would not. As much as I'd like to review my own sandwich creation, I cannot, as it's outside of my bounds. My definition is: if you were to say, "I'm about to eat a sandwich," would the given foodstuff be reasonably considered to be the item being consumed? In tonight's case, no, my Asian Gyro wouldn't be guessed to be the foodstuff in question, just like a (sorry, Kevin) taco wouldn't. A gyro's a gyro and a taco's a taco by any other name.
Despite his incorrect sandwich definition, I have the greatest respect for Kevin Weeks, as he clearly represents the sandwich game with pride and honor. Kevin highlights the Muffuletta and the Cubano, both of which I rank in the top three sandwiches available to today's sandy aficionado. He also introduces the Vietnamese Banh Mi, which intrigued me. I rate Vietnamese cuisine among the world's best, thanks to their skilled pork cooking, brilliant rolls, pho and invention of the world's reigning Top Sauce -- sriracha. I've heard of such mysterious Asian sandwiches, but I've yet to know their wonders. The New York Times even referenced Chinese sandies this week in their look at Flushing's hidden mall-food wonders, so the time is fast-approaching.
Good on ya, Kevin, good on ya. You're a mainstream inspiration to those of us in the sandy mucks.
There seems to be a rising sentiment to define the limits of sandwichdom before delving deep into sandwichcentric debate. Fair enough.
Here's a start: ice cream sandwiches are not sandwiches. They are sandwich-like, in that they are ice cream sandwiched between two cookies, but that doesn't make them a sandwich.
I've struggled in the past to decide what the boundaries are. Once, I called snack crackers a sandwich and for that, I apologize — I was wrong.
But I think I've stumbled on the truth today. The truth-test is simple. If you declare "I'm going to eat a sandwich," might your audience potentially expect you to be referring to the sandwich in question? If so, it's a sandwich. If not, it's not.
Example:
You're doing it wrong
Guy about to eat some ice cream: I'm about to eat a sandwich!
Random bro: Cool.
GATESIC: (Pulls out an ice cream sandwich and takes a bite.)
RB: Wtf.
You're on the level, bro
Guy about to eat a chicken sandwich: I'm about to eat a sandwich!
Random bro: Cool.
GATEACS: (Pulls out a chicken sandwich and takes a bite.)
RB: Niiiiice.
See? If you're about to eat something you're not sure is a sandwich, play the test out in your head to find out whether what you're about to eat is, in fact, a sandwich. It works for wraps, burgers, hot dogs, open-faced sandwiches ... anything, really.
It is with a heavy heart that I report the passing of Bennigan’s, who went bankrupt today at the age of 32. Bennigan’s is survived by Chili’s, Applebee’s, T. G. I. Friday’s and several other casual, family-friendly dining establishments with identical menus and apostrophes in their names.
The shuttering of Bennigan’s locations nationwide means the death of several sandwiches, some of which will be remembered if not missed, others, not so much. I would like to share some memories of my favorite Bennigan’s sandwich creations and encourage you to do the same.
Turkey O’Toole
Bennigan’s best sandwich, and the only one I can say I’ll legitimately miss. The Turkey O’Toole was ahead of its time with its revolutionary soft pretzel bun. Mark my words: within the next 20 years, pretzel buns will join white, wheat and rye bread at our nation’s deli counters. Between the buns were a pile of turkey, some Swiss and a generous amount of honey mustard. Biting into it was a joy — pliant but substantial. Although the TO’T was always inexplicably buttery and overly sweet, it somehow still felt healthy. Turkey o’toodles, old friend.
Monte Cristo
Named for a book I never read, the Bennigan’s Monte Cristo was an abomination to be feared and respected. It was a ginormous sandwich with French toast for bread, two kinds of meat, two kinds of cheese and a side of jelly for dipping. It came in four frightening, meal-sized wedges. Once, in Boston, I went to a Bennigan’s with a group of people I barely knew and ordered a Monte Cristo, which none of my companions had heard of. After I described it, they looked at me with disgust, regretting their decision to eat with me. You know how the rest of the story goes. One brave soul tried a bite, then another, and then the bastards had eaten my entire sandwich.
Kilkenny’s Country Chicken Wrap
Like the Turkey O’Toole, Kilkenny’s Country Chicken Wrap has an Irish-sounding name but absolutely no Irish attributes. Although I’m sorry it’s dead, the wrap will not be missed. While I don’t know its true back story, I assume it went like this. Bennigan’s menu, like that of all causal dining places, is heavily reliant on battered and fried foods served with sugary dipping sauces. It is not health food. Then Atkins happened, and mainstream restaurants were forced to pretend they were on board. So what does Bennigan’s do? Stuff chicken fingers, honey mustard, cheese, bacon and a small salad in a tortilla and call it a wrap. Unlike the Turkey O’Toole, K’s CCW didn’t even seem healthy, unless you’re one of the unfortunate few who could take a bite of this and think “well minus the breading it’s low in carbs, plus it has lettuce in it!” If you want fried chicken, the correct thing to order was the:
Buffalo Chicken Sandwich
Again, Bennigan’s joining a bandwagon, this time following the new millenium’s “all restaurants must have at least one Buffalo chicken menu item” Unoriginal as it is, I’m all for restaurants slathering their sandwiches in hot sauce, so I never complained. Bennigan’s Buffalo chicken offering was one of the best, with a thick and juicy grilled chicken breast, and bleu cheese that didn’t overpower. A strong, but easily replaced, Bennigan’s sandwich.
I should note that I’m genuinely sorry for all the Bennigan’s employees who are now out of work. As the manager of the restaurant at Arapahoe Rd. and I-25 in south Metro Denver told his local news this morning: "This sucks. I'm out of a job." If any good is to come to this, those south Denver customers who were wasting their $10 on subpar Bennigan’s lunches will take their business up the road to Jabo’s Bar-Be Que — Denver’s best. The Carolina is a life-changing sandwich, and I don’t take sandwiches lightly.
Bye bye, Bennigan's, say hi to Chi-Chi’s for me.
So I was excited to order something new and different from Greenpoint's Park Luncheonette, but they were apparently out of clams, or sandwiches, or something. In any case, I didn't get my clam sandy and I settled for an admittedly good Tex-Mex burger loaded with jalapeños and guac.
But besides not getting what I wanted, which I should be used to by now, I was upset again by the burger vs. sandwich controversy. What is a sandwich? A piece of meat between two pieces of bread. What is a burger? A piece of meat between two pieces of bread. Talk about specifics all you want, but break it down to the basics, and that's the truth you're left with.
It's impossible quandaries like this that led me to existentialism, and ultimately, hopelessness. Where is the meaning in these stupid sandwiches!? Is salami just salami, or is it something more? Is pastrami more valuable somehow? I'm inclined to think so, but who's to say? Jesus? He's dead! He's dead.
Just kidding. But seriously, why the hell isn't a burger a sandwich? It ain't but my gut tells me it is, it is.
It's the crystal skull of the sandwich world. The perfect Cuban sandwich. One assumes it might exist in Cuba, or maybe Miami or Tampa, but one hasn't been to those places, so one keeps looking.
I've been searching for about four years now. I've consistently run into a problem of balance. Cuban sandwiches are almost always authentic but lacking, or delicious but not a true Cuban sandwich. Still, I'm convinced an authentic, delicious Cuban Sandwich is out there somewhere.
My notes over the years are mostly incomplete, and those that exist are largely unreadable, having been made opaque by mustard or invisible by grease. As follows is a list of some memorable Cuban Sandwiches I've had, and what was wrong with them:
- Country Flame (French Quarter, New Orleans): My first. I remember it being really good, but the details are hazy owing to red wine, humidity, and a lack of other sandwiches to compare it to. I do recall that their dinnertime drink special was $1 peppermint schnapps shots, which was tempting despite being disgusting.
- Atlanta Bread Company (Aurora, Colo.): A tasty but overpriced sandwich, and one that I ate many times. It has all the right elements, but inappropriately adds mayo and substitutes focaccia bread. Remember: it's what's between that counts, and an overly thick bread can make it impossible for a sandy's filling to shine.
- Redwood Deli (Queens, NYC): An excellent Cuban-style sandwich (pictured), that has more in common with a drippy pulled pork than a Cubano. Greasy chunks of pork loin are piled onto a crusty bread instead or the usual thin-sliced style associated with a Cuban. Like ABC's offering, overpriced and unauthentic, but good on its own terms.
- El Siglo XX (Old San Juan, Puerto Rico): Authentic but missing pickles and mustard. This could have been a contender for best-yet, but needed some sweet and sour to cut through the fatty-saltiness. The bread was thin and crusty, the pig was moist and the cheese was gooey and plentiful. But without those key condiments, this was just a pressed grilled cheese with ham, albeit a delicious one.
There's a lesson in geography here. Go to the source. I'll have my authentic Miami Cubano by year's end, as trusted sandwich operative Stu is moving there soon. I could ask for no better scout to find the Good Stuff in the land of palms and pig. As for Cuba herself, I appeal to you, Young Castro: Let me in. We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. You can be cool and let me in, or I can get all sneaky on you and go in through the back door, Bay of Pigs-style. The people have a right to know the truth (about your national sandwich and its reputed deliciousness)!
Edit: I now understand that it's not so much that Cuba is keeping me out, as the U.S. is keeping me in. What the hell? Give it up, State Department, it's time to drop the grudge!
Back in the day, I took Colorado-area supermarkets to the test, twice, in the grand Supermercado Sandy Spectacular, wherein I compared the Big Three Denver deli offerings: King Soopers, Safeway and Albertsons.
As it turns out, New York City has supermarkets too, and they, too, house deli counters. As logic dictates, they PWN. Here's why:
Quality: Two words: Boar's Head. The meat 'n' cheese gold standard, sold at a premium in Colorado, is simply the standard in NY. This means you know what you're getting, and the getting's good.
- Variety: We're not talking turkey, ham, roast beef and salami. We're talking turkey, cracked pepper turkey, mesquite turkey, pastrami turkey and Salsalito turkey. Bread, too — think Kaiser rolls, heroes, crusty, soft, big, small, etc.
- Freshness: Like sushi, good deli is fresh deli. If you get a sandy in a New York supermarket, they carve the fillings up thin off the slab. Say no to pre-sliced, pre-weighed plastic-and-wax-paper-packaged piles of cheese.
Real world example
Today, via Key Food, I enjoyed a buffalo chicken and pepper jack sandwich on challah with tomatoes and spicy mustard. Oh, it was good. The mustard was expertly spread on the inner bun. The cheese was razor thin. The bread was sweet and oh, the kick, the kick of the chili peppered fillings. Magic for under five bucks (graciously donated by It's What's Between's new traffic guru/tour guide Justin following my unfortunate separation from my wallet in a Puerto Rican gas station). Hells yes.
At what point does a sandwich become dangerous?
That's the question I'm faced with as I consider a disturbing, recently unveiled plot to silence sandwich speakers at my workplace. This week, I learned from a pair of respected colleagues that the phrase "turkey sandwich" is not allowed on our network's chat client.
Previously, I was baffled by Messenger's rejection of the word "jerk." "You're a jerk," I said, and it told me the message couldn't be delivered. I was forced to say, "You're a j-erk," which wasn't nearly as satisfying.
Now, I find out that I can't even say "I want a turkey sandwich." I can say "I want turkey, in sandwich form," or "I want a turkey-filled sandwich," though. Why? What's so wrong about the words turkey and sandwich joining together?
The same intrepid friends who broke the case dug deeper, checking Urban Dictionary for a hidden, sexy meaning behind the sandy name. But all it revealed is that "turkey sandwich" is a way to instruct someone to run, like saying "cheese it!" Urban Dictionary also suggests "turkey sandwhich" is an obscure term for oral sex, but then, what isn't?
Am I missing something? Why would the phase possibly be blocked?
