Between the Bread

Many countries not known for making sandwiches eat foods that are suspiciously similar. Take arepas, a specialty of Venezuela and Columbia: a sort of doughy bun made with cornmeal that's grilled or fried and stuffed with meat, cheese, and other fillings. Almost like a South American marriage of the taco and corn dog concepts, eaten like a sandwich.

San Francisco's Pica Pica Maize Kitchen goes even further with the maize'wich, an invention that replaces the arepa's corn flour cake with sweet corn bread instead. After purchasing a Pica Pica offer from FreshGuide, I recently headed to dinner at the super-casual, order-at-the-counter eatery on the edge of the Mission.

The menu is simple and sandwich-y: your choice of three vehicles (arepa, maize'wich, or the tortilla-like cachapas) stuffed with one of eight fillings. Fillings range from chicken salad and avocado to shredded beef with gouda.

I ordered an arepa with the vegetarian filling (pictured directly above): grilled tofu, plaintains, avocado, black beans, and a side of spicy cream. Served with no sides, it seemed like a small dinner, but in the end I was stuffed. The plaintains were remarkably delicious and the tofu pretty tasty, though the black beans were a bit bland. The arepa, however, was to die for. You could pretty much put anything in that little pocket and I'd eat it.

Andrew got a maize'wich, which may have been even better than the arepa, and his filling, the Pernil, was flavorful too: sweet pulled pork with tomatoes and avocado. With the richer filling, he probably could have had the less bold arepa, while the maize'wich might have been better for my vegetarian sammie. But overall, the food was yummy, including the yuca fries.

I've become mildly obsessed with Cuban sandwiches, as if it is my duty to find the best one in the Bay Area or beyond. The quest is somewhat quixotic, given that I have never eaten a Cubano from Cuba or even Tampa, FL. While I don't have genuine experience on which to base my comparisons, I know what makes a good sandwich.

My most recent Cuban taste test took place at Parada 22, a charming Puerto Rican place on Haight Street with cheerful teal walls lined with Caribbean curios. Not surprisingly, it serves a fairly traditional Cuban sandwich, with soft roasted pork, gentle ham, swiss, and pickles on a sort of smushed down baguette.

Find out how it compares.

Usually, "pork tenderloin sandwich" calls to mind the decadent fried tenderloins that overflow from buns across Indiana and southern Illinois. But almost as delicious and not nearly as deadly is roasted pork tenderloin. I've often turned to it for easy suppers, but I never thought of slicing it up for sammies. Thankfully, my future bro-in-law Adam did.

Before roasting the pork tenderloin in the oven, Adam laid sliced apples across the top, so those roasted, too, until they were warm and velvety. We cut up some French bread, added sauteed onions and mustard, and topped the pork with apples or Swiss cheese or both.

Forgive the low-light iPhone photos. Had I known we were having sandwiches for dinner, I would have planned better.

I've never had the pleasure of a pork tenderloin sandwich, be it homemade with nostalgia or purchased from a purveyor in Indiana, where the recipe originated. Someday, I hope to make it to the legendary Mug n Bun drive-in in Indianapolis.

Who wouldn't want to eat at a place called the Mug n Bun? Plus, you can wash down your Hoosier pork tenderloin with homemade root beer. For the uninitiated, Indiana's most famous sandwich involves a dinner plate-sized piece of pork, pounded, breaded, fried, and served on a bun that looks tiny by comparison. For more on its history, keep reading.

For a dinner party we hosted the other night, Andrew prepared porchetta: pork tenderloin butterflied and stuffed with a garlicky, fennel concoction, then wrapped in pork belly and roasted. It was succulent. But really one of my favorite things about pork for dinner is leftover pork sandwiches. And believe me, we had a lot of leftovers. We even made soup!

It reminds me of that book Dear Mr. Henshaw, where a boy corresponds with the author of a book called Moose on Toast, dealing with the myriad ways to eat leftover moose. The sandwiches got more gourmet by the day. The most recent, pictured above, used Acme seeded sourdough rolls, Humboldt Fog cheese, and Dijon mustard. Check out two more sammies and soup after the jump.

My hometown isn't the part of Florida known for its Cuban sandwiches. But we have enough Cubans in Pensacola (like, one family) to bring an excellent Cuban restaurant, which happens to be at the airport.

When I arrived way too early for my flight out of town, I got to enjoy an excellent coda to my fried seafood bonanza: a midday Cuban mix. A cubano consists of roasted pork, thinly sliced ham, cheese (usually Swiss), mustard, and pickles, pressed on French-style bread (most authentically, Cuban bread). For all of the history and firsthand deliciousness . . .  keep reading.