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Just in from Fundamentally-Hip Brooklynite Mick, who is British by birth:

FYI, I felt compelled that you should know:

Sandwich in cockney is
“sarnie“.

USED TO BE :

1. Named after Reg Varney, 
as in, “Oi! Fetch me a Bacon Reg!”

Cockney slang has gone thru an update in recent years to adjust to modern times.

NOW:
2. Named after Giorgio Armani
as in ,”Oi! Fetch me a Bacon Giorgio!”
or, “Just poppin out for a Giorgio!”.

the story of mick, as told to me by mick

Born in the blue collar suburb of Romford East London,  Mick’s upbringing was surrounded by music similar to that in the Detroit landscape. (The Ford motor plant was in nearby Dagenham). From early days of listening to Bill Haley “Rock around the Clock” to the punk rock explosion.

Accent is a blend of Essex and cockney/east London. Which means cockney “lite”.

Now lets talk sarnies:

Up to early teens:
Cheddar Cheese and tomato with Branston pickle on white. MMMMMmmmmmm
Cheddar Cheese and tomato with mayo on white.

Late teens:
Cheddar Cheese and raw onion on white with mayo.

A year of health food:
Multi grain with cheddar cheese (no rennet) and Branston pickle

Early twenties come to NYC and to the sarnie mecca. Would stare at the deli sandwich board, so many choices and huge portions to match, the absolute opposite of england.

A move to lettuce, tomato, ham and swiss, on whole wheat…

…until JB gives me The Ultimate Gastronomic Experience.

DRUM ROLL PLEASE!
A Meatball sandwich on 7 grain.
A perfect balance of meatball and sauce. MMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmm

How is teddy’s porcupine hairdo?

The essence of glamour walks this earth in the woman form of Jenn Dorn, the pinnacle of generation Jennifer. Her beam sometimes forms a tight, circular glow around me and I stand stockstill, stockstraight, a pillar of posture, ears and eyes and mind stretching to catch her style waves and words.

There are people who make everything into MORE. More of the essence, fundamentally more fabulous, more alive. Genetically. Jenn has it in her genes. The gift of pulling everything into beautiful, sharp, fundamentally glamorous focus.

We have eaten some sandwiches together. I have snapshots in my brain. Hipsto-glamour-matic snapshots. Next time I get to LA, maybe she will pick me up at LAX and take us to a place where sweetbreads proxy for chicken wings. Huh? That’s a leap I can make with a running start. Fly right over the plebian stuff of everyday good enough and soar galore to…huh? really? sweetbreads on a Buffalo Chicken Sandwich. Middle of the country, rejoice! You are released from the tyranny of bones/skin/hotsauce. Wings no more. Rejoice!

FUNDAMENTAL LA

A flat-top grill and a broiler are the key kitchen components of a quick-fire lunch counter. (And, ahem, a toaster.)

But at Fundamental LA, a minimalist cavern of a restaurant recently opened in Westwood, a high-minded immersion circulator joins those standard appliances.

So when you order a BLT(E?) ($8), an egg is plucked from the circulator, and its just-set white and yolk join slabs of bacon on the flat-top for a quick fry, yielding frizzled, crisp edges.

Adding such contemporary touches to largely nostalgia-inducing classics is the overriding philosophy at Fundamental. Instead of Kraft Singles and Campbell’s Tomato, the grilled cheese combo ($9) comes with a seasonal soup–silky zucchini on our visit–and the sandwich is filled with burrata and grilled nectarines. Buffalo chicken wings with blue-cheese dressing are the inspiration for another sandwich ($13) that sadly slipped off the menu. In it, poultry was traded for sweetbreads, the fried offal stacked into a soft round of brioche.

Our favorite sandwich, the porchetta (pictured; $9), features a thick slice of pork belly served with mustard and sauerkraut. The kick and tang temper the meat’s richness to delicious effect, but the sandwich would be more at home north of the Alps than in Italy.

Fundamental LA, 1303 Westwood Blvd., Westwood; 310-444-7581 or fundamental-la.com

Team Cul de Sac

Team Fox 

Cartoonists are donating original art made especially for a book about Parkinson’s awareness in Richard Thompson’s honor. Part of the profits from the sale of the book would benefit the Michael J Fox Foundation (MJFF), and the original art will be auctioned as part of the fundraiser with all of auction money going to MJFF. Additionally, there will be a limited number of deluxe edition books signed and numbered by Richard Thompson.

 The theme is going to be fun. It is other artist’s take on the Cul de Sac characters. Please run with them; deconstruct them, parody them, confuse them, cubisize them, psychoanalyze them, draw them in your own strip, whatever tickles your fancy. Enjoy. Open up your heart and just create something out of the ordinary, maybe not with your own characters, but this is an opportunity for you to let your talent to shine in a wide range of ways.

 In addition to cartoonists, we’ve had writers who didn’t want to be left out contribute to an old-fashioned fanzine, Favorites, consisting of essays written by comics critics, artists and bloggers about their most cherished comic strips, comic books and graphic novels.   Mike Rhode of ComicsDC

Was back at Bayou Bakery pronto, for breakfast! The biscuit is bumpy like a cloud, crumbles righteously and is surprisingly-satisfyingly salty. It did not look a bit angry or disgruntled on its blank canvas plate. Sanguine and self-assured, like a big cheese sandwich.

Have I mentioned how happy I am to have a destination breakfast encounter here in Arlington? So very happy! Outta the clear blue (unless you’ve been following the blog crumbs, in which case you would have known in 1993) we’ve got a few. Bayou Bakery is the tops.

Breaking News!

It’s what’s inside that counts.

The bread must be sturdy enough to secure the filling, of course. The same could be said for Fast Gourmet and for my friend Reuben. The insides and the outsides.

It feels good to walk on 14th Street. As I stood at the meter rattling my coin purse,  a stranger offered me a quarter. Hello! I’m home.

Reuben has recovered from a broken hand and is sandwich ready. Lisa ready. You never know when I might make a lunge for your sandwich and you’ll need both hands for a tug-of-war.

Can you believe it? Yes you can. This is inside the “Tiger Mart” that is Fast Gourmet. You gotta open the little box to see the ballerina spin.

The clock has been ticking on my #Hipper-Than-Thou card and I’ve been under threat of loosing my membership for months. The #urbanchic #bucketlist for #DC2011 includes #FastGourmet. You haven’t been? BlEEEEP! #Delete!! Whew, I slithered in at the 11th hour. Happily, they serve till #11:59.

They have a chivito on the menu. Order it and take the tiger by the tail.

Hubba hubba!

No matter the insides, no harm in a handsome package. 

Reuben’s Milanese was turbo charge and top-charred. 

Everything about this hip, hot, concrete spot attracts me. Pavement, secrecy, chivitos, Sympathy for the Devil remix (Reuben said so. The rhythm track was not original.), treasures that are not precious. Irresistible allure.

Always on the lookout for an overlooked treasure, Fast Gourmet had me at hola.

Feeling a little blue over our solstian milestone, my son’s promotion to 6th grade, leaving elementary school behind. There is pride and excitement mixed in, too.

He is a rising middle schooler, rising best when left to his own devices and pace, like a perfect, delicate beignet, with a crust strong enough to support heavy drifts of powdered sugar. The slow rise builds a powerful, complex structure with plenty of open spaces.

We are born with lots of beautiful, wide-open space in our minds, vast as the deep blue sea, as open to versatility as the twelve-bar blues. Ready for embellishment, like the stretch between two slices of bread.

Bayou Bakery riffs on a Louisiana kitchen with chef David Guas commandeering the rhythm section. 

Life is delicious when encountering lunch with Heather, Paula and “Paula’s shadow”.

Where would I like this spot to be? Across the street from me! Morning, noon and night, the Bayou Bakery would lure us in, me and my shadow, who is stretching further and further from me.

How we got from then till now, I can’t recall. Most of this stretch has been at either an excruciating crawl or lightening speed. Long periods of incremental change punctuated by moments of sheer exuberance. Not a bit like a twelve bar blues.

Courtesy of my Main-Sandwich-Man-in-NYC JAF, and he is courteous from top to tip.

Kountry Katz

Dear Diary:

Two colleagues in an animated discussion. One, a native of Albania; the other, from Bangladesh.

Colleague No. 1: “I hear it’s the best in New York.”

Colleague No. 2: “No doubt about it. I never heard of it, let alone ate it, until I was taken there when I worked in that neighborhood.”

Colleague No. 1: “Someone said you get better service if you follow their rules.”

Colleague No. 2: “Definitely. Always order at the counter and always tip before you order and never ask for the lean. Never sit at the waiter service tables: that’s for the hicks.”

Subject matter: A pastrami sandwich at Katz’s. Gastronomic assimilation at its best.

Bob Stein

Eat a little pastrami at Katz’s and you are gonna be slick, all the way from your nose to your lap, top of your schnoz to the tip of your knees.

City Slicker Farms

From

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

By T.S. Eliot

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

Before the Toast and Tea is a singer-songwriter project in Omaha making time to create. Visions come before and after tea and toast. During, too. Visions with a soundtrack. Brownstacked, a cairn of toast. Soundcrack, the cracking of crisp crumb. Soundsmack, slurping hot tea.

In an imperfectly perfect world we all have loaves of Madison sourdough in the house at all times. A small, serrated saw is attached to the bread board with a string and each time we pass by we saw off a slab, leaving the knife to dangle. The butter is not stick-shaped and it is at room temperature – liquid in the summer, petrified in the winter – there for spreading to opacity on the slab.

Madison Sourdough is there for the taking. Taking it in IN. Or taking it OUT. Or both, as we did. Sandwiches and soup IN, bread enough to feed a circus OUT.

I did have a remarkably memorable sandwich. As much as I eat, think and talk about sandwiches, I don’t always remember them. More of a NOTED and NEXT mentality. However. How how how did they think of it? Ever so wonderful it was. Butternut squash slices, sweet and dense and tenderly sturdy, between bread. Brilliant. Add onions, so much sugar in them, their sweet side waiting shyly to be revealed. Add goat cheese. Friskiness captured but not contained.

As is Madison. Frisky. And ample. Ample enough to feed the spirit of a circus. On bread.

Fundamentally hip Brooklynite Mick encountered a noteworthy lunch at
The Pied Piper, sending a smoke signal up to me.

“I was in Nashville recently,” writes Mick, “and couldn’t find a diner for hours after arriving. Finally I was given directions to The Pied Piper Eatery. Apparently chains have run nearly all diners out of that town. The Pied Piper is relatively new, with quirky owners who have decorated the dining room around Brit new wave.” A Brit himself, Mick was charmed.

“The menu is on a faux lp, its sleeve printed with a short biography of the Pied Piper. This spot is a lotta fun, common in groovy Williamsburg, Brooklyn, not so much in Nashville.”

“A review for you:”

Comfy, vinyl large-backed booths…a hot mug of coffee, a towering diner portion of cola in a perfect glass with gracious bubbles, a Kitchen Sink Omelette, a side of sausage, a nice veggie menu (with many choices!) for my pal…and well, what’s not to like? I like it all!
*Breakfast served all day long. (woo).
*Kitschy record menus.
*Friendly service.
*Reasonable prices (my KS ommie was $12, but included toast, side of meat AND hashbrowns).
*Great place to sit and chill out, work.
*Easy parking.

Great spot for breakfast in Nashville…a diner with a fun little twist.

Colleen C, NYC

From Sorry-Birds Ellen: Sorry, birds, my beak! Sorry, humans! This sandwich looks like a waste of cheese powder. And the bread is all wrong. You could cut yourself on that crust! And, to be honest, the styling could be better. In other words, “Boy, the food at this place is really terrible.” “Yeah, I know; and such small portions.”

Jezebel