I love food. I’m a food lover. Maybe the infatuation started when I was bartending to put myself through school; I always seemed to end up with the kitchen guys at 2 a.m., cooking up a mess of eggs and leftovers. But my real journey didn’t start until I fell in love with a chef––now my husband––over a sandwich.
People had cooked for me before, and I had made dinners for dates in the past, but then came along a tall, boyish man who laughed at all of my stupid jokes. One day, while working the same shift, he offered to make me lunch. It has come to be known as The Sandwich, that divine combination of salami, red peppers, and provolone that he threw between slices of focaccia that day. Those ingredients created some kind of alchemy: after one bite I was smitten with this green-eyed kitchen guy, tossing knives and flipping pans in his starched whites. From that point on, food and love intertwined and have taken me all over the world, from Paris to Bangkok. And yet over the years, and through all the amazing food I’ve eaten, it is still a sandwich that truly quickens my heart.
That may well be because no matter where you travel, there’s a sandwich to suit your need for simple yet tasty sustenance. Crusty and flavorful bahn mi in Vietnam; Mexico’s filling and voluptuous tortas; a smorgasbord of open-faced delights in Denmark; the injera of Ethiopia, cradling spicy morsels. It’s clear that the universal language of good eating is sandwich.
Even though sandwiches, like love, are a very personal matter—I don’t tell you whom to date, you don’t tell me what to put on my sandwich—the beautiful thing is that with so many possibilities, no one need be left out. Whether you’re a panini buff, a muffuletta fan, or a Monte Cristo or croque monsieur aficionado, you may well be seated with a po’boy, a hoagie, a Hot Brown, or classic submarine sandwich-eater, and life will be richer for it. If you’re craving something greasy (see hot Italian dago) or going on a health binge (see pita pocket), there is a sandwich that satisfies. For some people, what matters the most is the type of bread (crusty, soft, dense, airy, one slice or two); for others it’s the filling, from the unusual and fancy to something as simple and wholesome as the beloved PB&J, that makes the perfect sandwich.
Since we’re basically talking about those two elements, bread and fillings, what were these things before they came to be known as sand-wiches? The idea of eating saucy beef off of a hunk of bread goes back at least to the Middle Ages, when the hard, stale slices were called trenchers. It appears that a portable meal of bread and meat was sold on the streets of England as early as the sixteenth century. But it wasn’t until John Montague (1718–1792), the Fourth Earl of Sandwich, began spending late nights at the card table and ordering his valet to bring him salty beef tucked between bread slices, that fashionable people started ordering “the same as Sandwich.”
While the City of Brotherly Love might claim that its Philly cheese steak makes it the sandwich capital of the U.S., every city has rewards for the sandwich seeker, and it’s time to share the love. The sandwich most on my mind lately has been a giant roast beef number on the menu at Maverick’s (1746 Lexington Ave., Roseville; 651-488-1788). There’s no ambience, and there’s no need. Not long after grabbing this Kaiser roll and gazing upon its piles of soft, pink, thinly sliced beef, you’ll be looking at nothing but your empty plate, wondering if you should get another for the road.
For pastrami, the recently opened Louie’s Habit (1179 E. Wayzata Blvd., Wayzata; 952-249-7700) is turning out a fantastic, New York-style thick-cut version that is rich and spicy and falls apart in the dense rye bread. Unfortunately, Louie’s has yet to get my complete order correct, but I forgive them, as would any true pastrami addict.
It’s impossible to consider the gyro, with its lamb/beef combo that gets vertically roasted, without also accounting for the tzatziki sauce, which makes this sandwich so alluringly tangy and so messy at the same time. Gardens of Salonica (19 Fifth St. N.E., Minneapolis; 612-378-0611) turns out the Twin Cities’ best, partly because it’s drenched in the tangy cucumber sauce. If you’re craving a gyro on the run, Dino’s version (3355 Plymouth Blvd., Plymouth; 763-553-2040; and other metro locations) is good enough that you probably won’t mind if you stain your shirt as you drive.
The Mexican torta can be an after-bar savior or late-night companion. The Manny’s Special at Manny’s Tortas (2700 E. Lake St., Minneapolis; 612-728-1778) is distinguished by its zippy chipotle mayo, generous piles of beef, ham, and Swiss, and wealth of toppings, including fresh avocado, chorizo, and jalapenos. Just around the corner, Taqueria La Hacienda (1515 E. Lake St., Minneapolis; 612-728-5424) throws together an al pastor alambre that might as well be a hot pork, bacon, onion, and cheese gift from the Hangover Gods.
When it’s a barbeque pork sandwich you want, you go see Scotty. Tucked into unassuming digs in South Minneapolis, Scott Ja Mama’s (3 W. Diamond Lake Rd., Minneapolis; 612-823-4450) kicks out a killer version soaked with a zesty-sweet sauce that renders the bread defenseless. But call ahead—there are only two seats (and no sandwiches on the weekends).
When the mood for something more upscale strikes, go for the grilled panini at the La Brea Bakery kiosk in Marshall Field’s at Southdale (Sixty-Sixth Street and France Avenue, Edina; 952-924-6600), the newest surprise on the scene. This outpost of Nancy Silverton’s Los Angeles bakery, which is justifiably famous for its sandwich offerings, is sure to be the best quick-grab sandwich around. Having sampled a beauty like the grilled turkey and prosciutto with provolone, bitter greens, and fried sage, all I’ll say is: More, please!
Of course, this is just a smattering of the outstanding sandwiches out there in the larger world, and it doesn’t even scratch at the surface of possibilities that live in every kitchen. Think how limited life would be if we were stuck singing the same old turkey-with-lettuce/tomato/mayo chorus every day! It doesn’t take much to be a true sandwich artist—you need merely be a hungry and resourceful person who knows what you like. Being a bit of a risk-taker helps, too: Throw in some pieces of chorizo. Hold the mayo and use pesto instead. Take a few minutes to sauté mushrooms. Search out the most pungent piece of Wensleydale cheese you can find. After all, if something doesn’t seem to be working (too many pickles? sprouts gone wrong?), you can simply remove the offensive ingredient and continue with your delicious meal. That’s the beauty of sandwich building. Like love, it’s about working out the kinks.
The Sandwich
If your beloved is a kitchen guy like mine, then you know that Valentine’s Day is a working day—which usually means you will be curling up with a nice sandwich that evening. So it might as well be The Sandwich:
Slice a loaf of focaccia in half; slather bottom half with aioli (garlic mayonnaise). Layer Italian meats, including mortadella, capicolla, and salami. On top of that, lay roasted red and yellow peppers. Next, place medium slices of provolone cheese to cover. Then scatter chopped and drained pepperoncini and thinly sliced red onion. Fold thin slices of prosciutto on top and douse the whole thing with herbed vinaigrette. Replace the top of the loaf and place on top rack of hot oven (about 400 degrees) for no more than a minute. Slice, eat, do laundry.
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