On Sandwiches
Feat. Delis, BLTs, Caprese, Steak, and Leftovers
I often find that many of my conversations with people who are not my closest friends but are acquaintance-level or fringe friends entail a more specific subcategory of small talk that engages with food. It usually starts with the classic ‘you’re really good at cooking, right?!’ question, which signals to me either the individual is familiar with my Instagram or the individual has a mutual friend for whom I have provided sustenance or both. I blush and challenge the question and, depending on whether I’ve had a drink or not, prod them to follow me on Instagram. Then, I’d say 85% of the time, this exchange is met with the following: ‘What is your favorite food?’... a question that haunts me. Many a reputable chef or foodie might say something along the lines of beef bourguignon or duck confit or some other notorious French, western, albeit great choice… my answer is almost always ‘a good sandwich’. A humble answer, engaging and descript, a chance to elevate a repetitive exchange to introduce opinions from both interlocutors on what makes a good sandwich and which sandwich is the best sandwich (most people have an opinion because most people love sandwiches). I’m honest, though; a good sandwich is my favorite food on the planet, on some days, even having the strength to surpass soup dumplings or Texas chips and queso (a gutwrenching competition). So, I present to you my ode to sandwiches… why I love them, how I make them, and my favorite ones. I do this because sandwiches are important, and everyone can make them, that, and my opinions are almost always fact… making the following sandwiches the best sandwiches ever made or tried or thunk of in the world so far.
.
Why are sandwiches important? And how to define them.
The conversation surrounding a sandwich raises a very important question which I have controversial takes on: what defines a sandwich? For many, it is filling between two slices of bread. For the sake of this entry, I will set aside my very well-constructed argument that every meal consisting of more than one component is a soup, a salad, or a sandwich and adopt the whole ‘two slices of bread’ definition. Now that we’ve clarified the ambiguous definition of ‘sandwich,’ we can move on to establish why it plays such a large role in my life. Like most things, its significance is credited to my family. With the exception of my mother (certified gluten-free and sandwich game (sorry mom) simply not up to par with prowess in other culinary genres), sandwiches are sacred to our tables. It probably comes from my dad's Italian-American heritage and soft spot for a quality deli and what seems to be a natural talent for sandwich construction, down to the amount of mayo on the face of the bread. Born were three children passionate about the sandwich, and one so passionate (my sister) that all of the Jimmy Johns delivery drivers knew her by name in high school. Sandwiches remind me of my dad and my siblings and home and safety regardless of the most beautiful quality of sandwiches: they are everywhere I go. Sandwiches are very important. I rest my case
.
Classic Dad Deli Sandwich
The only way to begin this list of sandwiches is to ask my father what his favorite is… if there's anyone who knows better than I do, it’s him.
I will include here as a footnote that there is truly nothing better than an Italian-owned deli. For my dad and his childhood shop, it was The Roman Inn, but for me, it was Gaetanos Deli in Westport, CT, where I went to high school. Thinking back, despite my constant hankering for a ‘Bada-Bing’, which was simply an excessive amount of fried chicken tossed in a buffalo sauce harboring addictive chemical properties and topped with perfectly melted cheese… the best sandwich at Gaetano's was the Kovac’s Special, with chicken cutlet, prosciutto, fresh mozz, roasted peppers, and broccoli rabe.
The BLT and the Mexican BLT
The next person who might know better than I do is my sister, but the great thing here and in most arenas of thought is that our opinions are usually the same. We agree on most things, and our knowledge is most often shared. Like that of the BLT, of which we have a similar history with and love for.
Mine and Cassie’s first jobs were the same, albeit five years apart; we have both identified as a ‘bakehouse betty’ where we made sandwiches on a small line for a small town that quite literally depended on us for lunch (since then, this establishment has turned into apartments or offices; the town hasn’t really recovered). Despite a BLT with mayo on white bread being my order at Sherwood Diner all four years of high school, there is a variation of BLT that we made and served and have grown up on in this sandwich shop in Maine that cannot be outdone and, unfortunately, will never be done again… but I can try. The Mexican BLT. This sandwich, to me, tastes like riding down a hill on my bike or dried salt on my face that makes my skin a bit stiff, but in a good way. I don't know what it might taste like or ignite in someone who doesn’t have the same history, but I feel like probably a highly elevated subway sandwich. It's one of those wrap-it-in-parchment-paper-and-eat-it-at-the-top-of-the-hike kind of sandwiches. It’s solid.
It starts with a toasted baguette to which you add chipotle mayonnaise, avocado, turkey, bacon, lettuce, and tomato. That’s all.
Warm Caprese
Tomatoes have always been one of my favorite ingredients, and mozzarella has always been one of my favorite cheeses… perhaps since my discovery of mozzarella sticks. So, since the dawn of my own time, Caprese has been a recurring dish in my heart, my mind, and my tables. What's better? Caprese sandwich. But recently, I wanted this sandwich with a hint of fall, a hint of get-curled-up-and-watch-a-movie. So I sauteed the tomatoes down until they burst, I mixed the basil with ricotta and broiled it with the mozzarella until golden and bubbly. Tied together with the never-unwelcome crunch of a cucumber and peppery rocket, then sandwiched between a ciabatta roll. This one is unique, probably not on most menus in this fashion, and a simple comfort.
Steak Sandwich
Now, this is the sandwich to compete with all sandwiches. It’s what my flatmate would call the ‘make him fall in love with you’ sandwich, which she would then swiftly adjust to a ‘no man deserves to be made this sandwich’ sandwich. That’s how good it is. It’s a sandwich I would make for myself when I’m feeling really low, hoping it might make me believe there is still good in the world; it usually does not fail, and if it did, that would be catastrophic. It’s the steak sandwich, steak au poivre, though I sometimes make it with red wine rather than cognac. You start with the steak of your choice; I chose sirloin because it was two pounds off on club card. Season with salt and set aside as you begin to caramelize some red onions. Yes, caramelize. At least 45 minutes. Add sherry and some Worcestershire sauce halfway through and some butter right at the end. Whilst those are doing their thing, chuck the chopped mushrooms in a pan and begin to cook them down; add a tablespoon of balsamic, a good handful of thyme, butter, olive oil, salt and pepper. Leave them to simmer until the liquid has fully cooked out, and they are nice and soft. That’ll probably take around 25 to 30 minutes. When the time comes, press black pepper into the steak and sear on both sides for about 3 minutes for medium/medium rare, adding butter, rosemary, and smashed garlic on the second sear to baste. While the steaks are resting, make the sauce. Mince the crushed garlic you basted with, plus another raw clove, one shallot, and a very healthy dose of ground black pepper. Throw them into the pan you used for the steaks and saute until browned. Once browned add 4 tbsp of red wine (or cognac) and reduce, then turn the heat off completely and let cool for a few minutes. Add half a cup of heavy cream and finely chopped rosemary. Toast some sourdough under the broiler, then assemble. Sauce, steak, onions, mushroom, sauce. Thank me later.
The Leftover Sandwich
This sandwich is the quintessential sandwich. The sandwich so dear to my family, the one that means the most to me. But it doesn't have a recipe; its guidelines are blurry, yet there isn’t a way to mess it up. I’d say the most common of this family of sandwiches is the Thanksgiving sandwich. Usually assembled within the three days following Thanksgiving, this sandwich has appeared to me in layers of cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts, leafy salad, American cheese, turkey, and mayo on toast. On other occasions, it has appeared as last night's chicken breast shredded with tomato and cucumber dipped in gravy. Or braised shallots, parmesan, and polenta, somehow making its merry way onto my piece of sourdough. It never fails because when you had dinner last night it was good. But leftovers are always better, I really love bread, and I’m a huge fan of my food touching.
