Sandwich Party 2: This time, it’s personal

Elli’s tuna sandwich, at Flickr
Welcome to Sandwich Party 2: Sandwich Party Harder. Jagosaurus and I will be collecting entries all weekend long, so enjoy that sandwich!
Post about your sandwich on your own blog, on Flickr, or somewhere else online, then drop us a comment here or here, or here or here. Be sure to include a link back to your own entry!
No blog and no Flickr account? Just leave your Sandwich Party entry in the comments, and we’ll include it in the round-up. It’s a Sandwich Party, people — the more, the Marmite-er!
Once again, Simon is the first out of the gate! He reminisces about the foccacina, a sandwich that’s tied to a particular time and place — and that time and place is August in Liguria:

Why do I need to go to Italy to take a photo of a sandwich? […] One of the inspirations behind this entry was a growing interest in regionality and cultural specificity. In other words, sometimes in order to find the good stuff, you have to go to the source.

Tom serves a childhood classic, as rich in simple Southern tradition as a handful of Spanish peanuts in an R.C. Cola:

my sandwich is very simple (and Southern) :
slice of pineapple
2 slices of bread.
I remember eating this as a child and my brother who lives in Alabama said that he has seen some of his employees bring this sandwich to work for lunch.

For me, this sandwich was all about the title:

I knew immediately what belonged in the Black Velvet Elvis, what was dark and rich and luxurious enough to earn that name.

The Black Velvet Elvis (whose name quickly evolved ’round these parts to, variously, the Velvet Costello, the Costello Nutella, and the ElvStello) was breakfast. Here’s lunch:

The Iron Maiden was born from the collision of several needs. I needed a sandwich for the Sandwich Party. I needed a meal rich in iron. And I needed — needed — chicken livers.

Bella describes sandwiches made of equal parts avocado, bacon, and the giddiness of youth:

It is a sandwich I still keep dreaming about. Partly because the sandwich itself was just so good, and partly because the adventure of making it was so much fun.

Macbebekin’s own Elli made a simple but handsome sandwich from the pantry:

Inspired by the desire to get rid of the canned goods we carried with us on our many travels across the country, I made a tuna sandwich.

JM treats us to Minimalistic Sandwich with Ambience over at Flickr. Mmm, ambience:

Tuna with tandoori red onion and garlic on seaweed rice cracker. baby lettuce leaf garnished with tomato and cucumber splits, finished with finely ground parmesan.

Erik R. gives us the voice of a pork sandwich:

My sandwich entry for the July 2008 Sandwich Party is more or less a recreation of the sandwich I order almost every Thursday night when the missus and I go out dancing. Pork fillets, onions, peppers, melted cheese, and mustard. Delicious.

Ogre prescribes a lasagne sandwich with mayonnaise:

Like revenge, lasagna is a dish best served cold.

Frédérique offers a mouthwatering cheatburger:

Burgers are a kind of sandwich, right? I think so too. And such a burger, with kiwi bacon (meatier than the North American streaky bacon), aioli mayonaise, pickled red onions and pickled carrots, and a few leaves of fancy lettuce, on a slightly grilled almost-foccacia-like bun, certainly deserves an entry in the Sandwich Party.

Just as I was wondering whether any partygoers would challenge the nature of the sandwich format and forego bread, my lovely co-hostess Jagosaurus shows off her farmers’ market surprise:

My contribution seems more like an art project than a sandwich. Tasty though.

Sgazzetti, my beloved expatriate brother, reconstructs a canonical picnic-outing-and-beachday sandwich from our childhood hometown:

One of the first features of the new city to imprint itself upon my mind was the Italian. Noun, not adjective. The Italian is of the family of sandwiches known variously as the sub, hoagie, grinder, etc, but in Portland, Maine, it is simply the Italian.

At the risk of being maudlin, I want to tell you about my father’s last BLT:

It seemed clear that he would die soon, without ever regaining his grin, his humor, his appetite for jokes and stories and family and food, without ever coming back to us.
Until the night of the BLT.

The Queen points us toward her recipe for the grilled chocolate sandwich. Not all our partygoers are equipped to make this sandwich:

Because I keep my promises, here is the recipe for the Grilled Chocolate Sandwich.
One: Menstruate.
Two: Melt butter, split croissants and fry.
Three: Flip croissants and add chocolate, in this case Russell Stover. And be sure to take a bite to test the quality.
Four: Let chocolate melt.
Five: Salt lightly and serve.
Don’t skip step one, because otherwise this is just gross..

Maven tossed together a locavore gourmand’s delight:

It’s a beet sandwich. The bread is green olive batard, which is just what I happened to have. Add blue cheese made locally, arugula grown by your mom’s cousin, and sliced roasted beets also grown by your mom’s cousin but roasted by you. Top with more blue cheese and walnuts.

You want a side with that sandwich, hon’? Elli made oven fries!

Final verdict: Super! Will definitely make them again.

And Bill D. brought the chips!

And face it, you can’t have a party of any kind – especially not a sandwich party – without a big bowl of chips!

Is it time for dessert? I made ice cream chocolate chip son-of-a-&!%*#wiches:

A salty cookie doesn’t have to mean salty language. In deference to the delicate sensibilities of our readers, I’ve expurgated the foulness of my filthy, filthy mouth.

Still no sandwich from you? Jagosaurus and I will be updating at intervals all weekend, so you have some time to get your entry in! It’s a party, and you’re invited!
Oh, and don’t forget your button, courtesy of Macbebekin’s own Elli!
This Sandwich Party entry originated Friday, July 25th, at 8:40 a.m. and will be updated through the weekend.


The Iron Maiden: for Sandwich Party 2

Iron Maiden
The Iron Maiden: an iron-rich sandwich for an iron-poor cook

The Iron Maiden was born from the collision of several needs. I needed a sandwich for the Sandwich Party. I needed a meal rich in iron. And I needed — needed — chicken livers.
Continue reading

Sandwich Party 2: The Black Velvet Elvis

black velvet elvis prep
The name came first: The Black Velvet Elvis.
I saw it in a flash: it would be a riff on the concoction — peanut butter, banana, and bacon (with or without mayonnaise, with or without honey) on white bread grilled in butter — reputed to be Elvis Presley’s favorite. That sandwich itself is a riff on the Fool’s Gold Loaf, the grand sandwich that remains Elvis’ most famous midnight snack.
I knew immediately what belonged in the Black Velvet Elvis, what was dark and rich and luxurious enough to earn that name.
For a day or two, I reveled in my cleverness, before I learned that I’ve been beaten to the pun: I never knew until today that many, many people know the original sandwich as as a Velvet Elvis. Many.
Well, hell, little lady, it’s still a great sandwich!
Thank you! Thank you very much!
Spread two slices of firm bread (I’m using a dark multi-grain from a local bakery) thickly with Nutella. On a whim, I added a light sprinkling of coarse salt. (You can see a too-fuzzy photo of that, and the whole black velvet Elvis photo set, by clicking through the above photo to my Flickr stream.) Cover one with a layer of sliced banana and top with the second slice of bread.
Heat butter in a frying pan over medium heat just until the foam subsides, and lay the sandwich gently down and cook until golden brown. Now gently flip it — careful, that hot Nutella is slippery! — and brown the other side.
Remove to a plate and slice. Let it cool a moment while you prepare your accompaniments; in my case, that’s an iced Americano and a dish of pineapple chunks.
The Black Velvet Elvis is a sensation: rich, gooey filling under a crispy crust, and the dusting of salt zings against the creamy chocolate. The salt, that afterthought ingredient, is essential; it pulls the whole mess together and gives it an almost sophisticated edge.
Doggone it. That’s a sandwich that’s fit for the King. And I wouldn’t blush serving it to Elvis Costello, either.

banana and acorns

spaced After epic delays and legal blocks (and more than a few bootlegs from Europe making their way to the States), the much beloved BBC series Spaced has arrived in Region 1!

And for a few of us, it couldn’t be more timely. Thanks to a generous benefactor, I’ve seen most of the episodes, but some suffered from glitches and dropped sound bites, so last night I was struck dumb with surprise and delight to hear [very mild spoiler] Daisy’s assessment of a break-up:

Daisy: In the end, our relationship was just like a sandwich toaster, y’know? You just forget you’ve got one, and it sits there at the top of the cupboard collecting a layer of greasy fudge, and even if you do see it you assume it’s broken, ’cause you think “Oh, if it’s working I’d be using it all the time surely,” but y’know, you don’t. And it just sits there. Then one day, you get an overwhelming desire for toasted sandwiches, y’know? And you get it down and it works, and you can’t believe it, y’know? And then you make every kind of toasted sandwich there is, you have toasted sandwich parties, y’know? You make Marmite and cheese, chocolate and…
Tim: Pilchards.
Daisy: Banana and…
Bilbo: Acorns.
Daisy: Acorns. And then as quickly as the desire comes, it just goes. And then you put the toasted sandwich maker away. And… you know what?
Tim: What?
Daisy: You don’t miss it.
Bilbo: So what you’re saying is “Don’t hide the toasted sandwich maker away, use him regularly and you’ll get the most out of him.”
Tim: No, she’s saying “Chuck your boyfriend, have a sandwich.”

Coincidence? I think not.
Aaaaanyway…. skip to the end: don’t space Sandwich Party 2, starting Friday, July 25th and lasting all weekend.

Sandwich Party 2: Grills Gone Wild

grilled dinner altered Just a little teaser for Sandwich Party 2: Sandwich Boogaloo.
Feast your eyes on this grilled vegetarian platter*. Dinner that evening was a series of free-form openfaced sandwiches, each one just a few savory bites, then time to compose the next sandwich. On the platter, you see:
– a long, thin baguette sliced on the bias, brushed with olive oil and butter spiked with garlic and herbs, and grilled til it chars at the ends
– salted and drained zucchini grilled with lemon juice and zest, olive oil, and plenty of black pepper and fresh basil
– Vidalia onion soaked in sherry, then smeared with butter and brown sugar before grilling.
– mushrooms cooked in a balsamic and red wine reduction before grilling
– asparagus grilled in lemon and oil
– barbequed tofu: tofu cooked in boiling water, then drained (this gives tofu a chewy yet creamy toothiness) before an overnight marinade in a tomato and brown sugar mixture of The Fella’s concocting, then seared over high heat to caramelize.
*That’s a platter of grilled vegetarian fare, not of grilled vegetarians.


Finally, our long transnational nightmare comes to an end: researchers at Leeds University have perfected the bacon butty.

Scientists have created a mathematical formula of how to make the perfect bacon butty. […]
Four researchers at the Department of Food Science spent more than 1,000 hours testing 700 variations on the traditional bacon sandwich. […]
The formula is: N = C + {fb (cm) . fb (tc)} + fb (Ts) + fc . ta, where N=force in Newtons required to break the cooked bacon, fb=function of the bacon type, fc=function of the condiment/filling effect, Ts=serving temperature, tc=cooking time, ta=time or duration of application of condiment/filling, cm=cooking method, C=Newtons required to break uncooked bacon.

Just a little something to get you revved up for this weekend’s Sandwich Party.