Sandwiches don't need to be iconic to be yummy. At Temptations in Wilmington, NC, my mom enjoyed this turkey panini, expertly pressed wth gouda cheese, spinach, artichoke, and aioli. Plus a side of fruit for a well-balanced lunch.
I love a salty-sweet sandwich, and the Monte Cristo is the ultimate. My first memory of the storied American sandwich was eating the batter-fried version at Bennigan's, but now I prefer the more classic version made with simple French toast.
Andrew, who shares my love of this sandwich, made French toast for Mother's Day and treated us to Monte Cristos the Monday after. The French toast had a delightful orange flavor (I think he soaked it in Grand Marnier), and we filled it with turkey, ham, and Swiss cheese. For more photos and details, read more
I have always argued that the sandwich is the quintessential American food. So I'm glad that sandwich wised up and decided to run for office. Vote for sandwich. While you're at it, be sure to lobby for solid construction and a good bread-to-filling ratio.
To see two more sandwich ads, including a play on that super-creepy Carly Fiorina sheep ad, just read more
Ever since I discovered beets beyond the can, my eyes widen at any mention of fresh beets on a menu. When SF Weekly named the Plant Burger one of its 10 best sandwiches in San Fran, I wanted one immediately. Served at the Plant Cafe Organic, the housemade veggie burger combines lentils, mushrooms, beets, cashews, and bulgur.
With so many ingredients, I expected the burger to pack more flavor punch. Still, the patty was moist and delicious and very, very filling. The bun was just OK; next time I would opt for the sliced wheat. At $10, neither this nor the other menu items are cheap, but the ingredients are topnotch — the salad really outdid its side salad status — and the setting is cute.
I wouldn't say the Plant Burger is one of the best sandwiches in the city, but I'd definitely go back to the Plant Cafe and order something else. The menu was full of things I wanted to eat. Dare I say, my friend Ann's Tikka Wrap with chicken beat out my beet burger, and we vowed to meet again for more.
Perhaps no humble sandwich comes dressed with as many stories as the New Orleans po'boy. Dating back to the 19th century, the fried oyster version was called "the peacemaker" because it was offered to angry wives when their husbands stayed out too late. But it was reborn as the po'boy during the Great Depression, when so many great American sandwiches, including the sloppy Joe, came of age.
The po'boy tale begins in 1929, when New Orleans's streetcar workers went on strike, and Bennie and Clovis Martin — the owners of a local coffee stand and former streetcar workers themselves — announced they would feed the strikers free sandwiches. In a letter to the union, they pledged: "Our Meal is free to any members of Division 194. . . . We are with you till h--l freezes, and when it does, we will furnish blankets to keep you warm."
So what was in these free sammies? You might be surprised.
It's hard to go wrong with sausage cooked on the grill. Spicy Italian with peppers and onions on a mediocre wheat roll, but it hardly mattered. Summer Sunday perfection.
Some people believe everything is better with bacon, or salt, or both. Bacon isn't my indulgence of choice, but my betrothed is quite fond of bacon and salt bagels. On a recent morning after, he boldly combined the two. 
Take one toasted salt bagel with cream cheese and tomato, add a few strips of oven-cooked bacon, and you have a delicious salty breakfast to cure your ills. Would you eat it?
The lines at Ike's Place are long, but my list of complaints is short: besides the lines, I have none. Apparently, not everyone is so happy. Two of the blockbuster sammie stand's neighbors and the building landlord are demanding something like $1 million in compensation, saying the famous crowds are disrupting their domestic peace.
According to owner Ike Shehadeh, the settlement offer stipulates that if Ike's Place wants to stay in its current location, it needs to pay $800,000 for the neighbors to leave. Or, the restaurant can move and still pay $200K for the neighbors' troubles.
Really, people? This is how we want to treat our successful local small-business owners? Come on. Ike's isn't a nightclub. Its crowds don't start fights, billow clouds of smoke into windows, make lots of noise . . . I've never even seen anyone sitting on a neighboring stoop to eat a sandwich. The sandwich lovers clustering around Ike's are no more rowdy than the genteel Zazie brunch bustle in Cole Valley.
The most ridiculous part is, Ike could not be a nicer guy, and his sandwiches could put anyone in a good mood. Also, he points out, the store's gross receipts last year totaled just over $800K. Why try to milk him for all he's worth? I'll tell you one thing: no one is naming a sandwich after these a-holes.
No samosas were used in the making of these sandwiches, but the essence of the Indian appetizer came through in the yumminess. We started with Vegetable Masala Burgers and country-white rolls from Trader Joe's, then added tomatoes, sauteed onions, and avocado.
Made with potatoes and Indian spices, the patties tasted just like samosa filling, while the bread provided the crusty vehicle. Some sprouts and Dijon turned it into a handy package. If only we'd had some chutney.
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