Between the Bread

My friend Hunter was wise enough to marry an awesome Spanish woman and nice enough to share the sandwich he's eating this summer in Spain. As he explains, "Summer in Spain means beaches and bocadillos. At any of the bars or beachside chiringuitos, you're sure to find some variation of this classic Spanish sandwich."

The simple sandwich highlights two of Spain's most famous homegrown ingredients: Iberian ham and creamy, cured Flor de Esgueva Manchego cheese, which Hunter calls the Bentley of Manchegos.

Keep reading for more photos and details.

Beans and meat wrapped in a tortilla is a taco, but the same ingredients piled on a piece of fry bread qualifies as a sandwich. At least, "sandwich" is how you'll hear folks refer to the Navajo taco, aka Indian taco, despite the "taco" in the name.

I've convinced myself that the defining factor of sandwichness is bread, so I tested the theory at The Fry Bread House in Phoenix. The Navajo taco arrives swaddled like a papoose, the corners of its butcher-paper blanket tenderly knotted at the top. Undo the wrapping, and out springs a frisbee-sized cushion of traditional Navajo fry bread, covered by a bed of refried beans, smooth red salsa, chopped red onions and iceberg lettuce, strips of mild green chiles, and shredded cheddar cheese of the blandest bagged variety. The lack of adornment extends to the Fry Bread House’s décor, with formica tabletops the color of its creamy homemade beans and Styrofoam sodas in two sizes: medium and “chief."

So did it live up to its reputation?

Americans tend to give sandwiches names: the Reuben, the beef on weck, you we name it. Naming sandwiches is something that our country excels at unlike any other, but the French have one notable exception: the croque monsieur and its mate, the croque madame. The croque monsieur, which sounds slightly less glamorous translated as "crispy mister," (ha!) is an iconic French dish that begins as a humble ham and cheese sandwich. What makes it très magnifique is the combination of bechamel sauce with already decadent gruyere cheese. The white bread is then topped with cheese that's browned in the oven and, in the case of the croque madame, it's finished with an egg.

According to chef Daniel Boulud, the croque monsieur was invented in 1910 at a café on Paris’s Boulevard des Capucines, right around the time the middle class was embracing cafe culture and, in turn, sandwiches. And thank goodness they did. I have had delicious croque monsieurs, but I've actually never ordered one in France. How about you?

When my vegan college roommate gushed about kale, I didn't understand the concept of loving a vegetable (plus, I think when she said "kale," I thought "kelp.") I've since grown up and learned that good vegetables can be so delicious they almost feel indulgent. My latest obsession is my new favorite winter green, kale.

I'm glad I'm marrying Andrew, because the man can make a mean egg sandwich — much better than I. Our breakfast for dinner the other night featured over-easy eggs, laid on a bed kale sauteed with onions and red wine, on a fresh Acme Bread roll. The kicker was a thin slice of pecorino cheese. Despite our initial doubts, it wasn't even hard to eat. See more yummy photos.