When A sandwich is not THE sandwich
Sometimes you can't recreate the real thing
This week marks halfway through our sandwich-driven trek across the country according to the “United States of Sandwiches” infographic that started it all.
I’ve heard that a good infographic will change the way you eat for upwards of a year.
It’s been a (mostly) delicious and palate-expanding jaunt. Plus, it’s given us something to look forward to each week. Smart social distancing (for us) means no babysitters, and with no family nearby, that means no date nights. But as the adage goes, “The family that makes sandwiches together stays sandwiched together.”
Like Peanut Butter and Jelly. Or Peanut Butter and Marshmallow Fluff. Or Peanut Butter and anything, really.
Now that we’re halfway through the list, it’s apparent that there are three types of sandwiches on this list.
Sandwiches that are almost synonymous with the state. Like Connecticut’s Hot Lobster Roll, Maine’s Lobster Roll, or Florida’s Cubano.
Sandwiches that were invented or perfected in a specific restaurant from that state. Like Delaware’s Bobbie, Kentucky’s Hot Brown, Michigan’s Reuben, or — this week’s sandwich — Missouri’s Hot Salami (more on that in a minute)
Random sandwiches chosen for arbitrary reasons that seem as though they weren’t really thinking about all the state has to offer at all. Like Georgia’s Pimento Cheese Sandwich, Colorado’s Denver Sandwich, or even Mississippi’s Grilled Shrimp Po’ Boy.
As the unvoted-upon yet self-appointed representative for home cooks who are making their way through the country one sandwich at a time…
…I can say that — as a grouping — the sandwiches from the first category are the best ones to make at home. There are plenty of recipes to choose from and the ingredients are slightly more flexible, allowing you to use the best/closest of what’s available in your area without going on a citywide hunt for the one specialty grocer who makes or imports a specific type of pickled topping. And that also makes it a little more fun. We all know I’m not going to be making the definitive Cubano in my kitchen, but I can make a really great Cubano and feel like I’ve done right by the state and the sandwich in the process.
The opposite would be the sandwiches in the third group. They feel like afterthoughts and, as a whole, haven’t been as satisfying. Denver sandwiches weren’t invented in Colorado. Pimento Cheese sandwiches are regional to the South, but by all accounts seem to be more synonymous with South Carolina or Tennessee. And good luck finding any mention of Po’ Boy that isn’t associated with Louisiana. I don’t need to love every sandwich, but at least give me a story or a restaurant or a good state-specific anecdote for us to cling on to.
Me when as I’m about to serve up a good old-fashioned turkey and cheese.
I mean, isn’t that what everyone wants? A sandwich with a story? Why else would we eat sandwiches? Is it only because they’re delicious and convenient?!?!
Ugh, fine. Moving on.
That leaves the sandwiches in the second category. A tricky category for the home cook to get right, for sure. Some of these sandwiches have grown in popularity so versions of them are available in restaurants everywhere, like California’s French Dip. You can find tons of recipes and at-home versions are completely viable options. Others, like this week’s sandwich, are best left to the professionals.
This week’s sandwich was the Hot Salami from Missouri. I went to college in Missouri and never once did I have nor hear about a Hot Salami sandwich. Unlike toasted ravioli, it wasn’t a state-wide culinary phenomenon. A quick Google search of “Hot Salami” and “Missouri” resulted in tons of pages that all directed you to Gioia’s Deli in St. Louis. A few link click-a-roos later and it was apparent that we were never going to be able to duplicate their sandwich.
My brain realizing that a THE hot salami sandwich wasn’t going to be OUR hot salami sandwich.
Never, that is, unless we ordered their sandwich kit from their website. But we would have had to think about that two weeks ago in order for it to get here on time, and this effort is nothing if not haphazard and figured out by the seat of our pants every week.
Gioia’s deli makes their own Salami and, rather than cure the meat, they leave it hot and slice it thick straight from its hot water bath.
I could change my write-up, but I think I’ll leave a self-aware Gif instead.
We could not find nor make salami that fit that description. I did my best to buy thick-sliced, non-cured salami, but that doesn’t exist anywhere in the Los Angeles wild (that I could find). Furthermore, it was clearly a request the guy at the deli counter wasn’t equipped to handle. He couldn’t wrap his head around how thick I wanted the salami sliced. I think he was about to have an aneurysm when I finally told him to crank up the deli-slicer to the thickest setting it would allow and show me what that looked like. He reluctantly clicked it up another notch, showed me a slice that was nary a millimeter thicker than the last slice he showed me and I relented. We already weren’t going to have the right salami or the right bread, so the thickness of the salami wasn’t a hill I was willing to die on.
The vibe I was leveling through my eyeballs at the back at the deli-guys head.
We made the sandwiches as close as we could given our limitations: french bread, garlic butter, hot (sorta) thick slices of Salami, and pepper jack cheese all toasted under the broiler before serving.
It was an excellent poor-mans sandwich. It was the type of thing that you can imagine buying from a street vendor in France or Argentina. There was nothing fancy about it, there weren’t overly thought out condiments or toppings. It was the basics of a sandwich — bread, meat, and cheese — put together well.
Was it the Hot Salami sandwich that the list preferred up? Not even close! I feel like the Gioia family collectively got a shiver down their spine and just knew that somewhere, someone (us!), was doing wrong by their famous sandwich and there was nothing they could do about it.
“They used….regular thickness salami.” The Gioia family when they hear about our sandwich.
Sorry, Gioia’s. Next time I have a Hot Salami sandwich, it’ll be yours. Until then, we’ve got 25 more sandwiches on the list left to tackle.
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Amazing write up!