Ever since I tasted Al's Beef in Chicago, I've been saying that Italian beef sandwiches would make a killing in San Francisco — especially in North Beach. If only I'd gotten into the Italian beef business sooner.
This week, Tony's Coal-Fired Pizza & Slice House opens on Sutter and Union, selling pies and sammies to go, including seven kinds of Italian beef sandwiches, all made with slow-roasted meat cooked in garlic and Italian herbs in the coal ovens. For dessert, another Chicago staple: Italian ices. Better yet, it's open until 11 p.m.
Tony already made a name for himself with Tony's Pizza Napoletana, so he probably knows more about running a restaurant than I do. At least my loss in sandwich riches is a gain for San Fran's sandwich scene.
My dad makes a mean focaccia in his wood-fired pizza oven. I cannot control myself around it, especially when it's fresh out of the fire. You could put pretty much anything in between that focaccia and I would eat it.
But my dad really takes it to the next level with this, his favorite sandwich: hot, fresh focaccia folded around gorgonzola and mortadella.
In these amazing photos taken by my stepmom, he uses rosemary focaccia, which he pulls apart to stuff with filling. Check out photos of the process after the jump.
Before there were Subways, there were miners, who pioneered some of America's best handheld meals. Underground laborers in Michigan's Upper Peninsula dined on pasties when they couldn't come up for lunch, and in West Virginia, Italian immigrants ate a similar sandwich cousin called a pepperoni roll.
In a New York Times story this week, John T. Edge pays homage to the pepperoni roll, which originated in West Virginia coal-mining towns in the early 1900s. When immigrants from Calabria arrived to work the mines, they brought fresh-baked bread and salumi for lunch. Soon, local stores started selling their version of the rollups, stuffing sticks of pepperoni into warm rolls. Now, pepperoni rolls are a local culinary legend. Writes Edge:
At BFS convenience stores, where they’re sold alongside Hot Pockets and other nationally distributed grab-and-go foods, shift workers warm pepperoni rolls in microwave ovens and dip them in packets of marinara sauce. At the Ritzy Lunch, a venerable diner in Clarksburg, grill cooks dress split rolls with chili and cheese. Country club barkeepers sell pepperoni rolls as ballast to beer-drinking golfers.
Pepperoni isn't my top choice when it comes to pizza, but that doughy crust looks like it would be right up my alley. Are you familiar with the pepperoni roll?
On our post-backpacking pit stop at the Dry Creek General Store, which advertises "the best sandwiches you ever saw," I ordered the relatively manageable turkey with muhammara sauce. Andrew, however, got the more lumberjack-style Dry Creek Stacker.
As you can see, this serious Italian sandwich is stacked high with three meats — I think turkey, ham, and salami — plus cheese, pepperoncini, and some sort of aioli. It was a salty, toothsome tower, if impossible to finish in one sitting.
Get your jaws around some more photos.
First off, let me say that I love
Caffe Puccini. In the guise of a North Beach coffee shop, it serves big plates of delicious, homey pasta for very little money.
But the other night I found myself at Puccini craving a sandwich, so I ordered prosciutto and red pepper on Italian bread with visions of
Manganaro Groceria. When it arrived with a sad-looking tomato on stale bread, I was reminded that ordering sandwiches for dinner isn't always the best idea. You can't really blame a cafe for having less-than-fresh bread at the end of the day.
At least the prosciutto was good, and the American flag toothpick was a nice touch. But next time, I'll order it for lunch.
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