The Lunch Encounter

Ya, tak!!

Sandwiches transfigured = Smørrebrød

Pay special note to ~ Enjoy an authentic Danish lunch of open-faced sandwiches ~ because this understated phrase belies the amazing array of gorgeous, delicious, hand-constructed smørrebrød being offered by women in red aprons this Saturday. This is a one-a-year opportunity. Only.

The human torch is not for you, my friend.

Spicy Sandwich Built for a Superhero

Milwaukee strikes again, with Glorioso’s Market on Brady Street.

Like I said, we might get some chickens. We would need a variance. The chickens would lay, with a signalling cackle, and we’d relieve them of their responsibility. Next thing you know, egg sandwich coming right up!

Yes, yes, I know this is not an egg sandwich. But I was in Milwaukee where it’s okay to actually sit down to eat your breakfast. And I don’t mean in a car, while commuting.

DC is not a breakfast town. Too ambitious here, too fast, too gotta-get-up-gotta-go-to-work. You gotta travel if you want your eggs on a plate.

Other spots, they know what to do. My theory has something to do with the sad fact that DC did not come up with much industry other than government. NO WAY you’re gonna find a diner here, puffing out clouds of bacon vapor in the midst of a sea of warehouses at midnight.

Anyhoo, I wasn’t working, cause I wasn’t home, and I wasn’t eating breakfast in the dead of a.m., more in it’s waning moments. In Milwaukee. Around 11. As in a.m. Time it just right and you can have breakfast AND lunch. Simultaneously. Very efficient. Those government dudes would approve.

I do know of one place in DC. (Okay, there is more than one) that serves a superb breakfast. Market Lunch at Eastern Market is top notch for breakfast and, if you’re clever, you can get the last order of buckwheat blueberry pancakes and the first order of bbq. It’s a gamble. A bit of Saturday morning excitement. Yep, start her off with salty, squishy bbq on a bun and finish up with syrup drips and berry bits in your beard.

What about Milwaukee again? And hey, what about them sandwiches?

This. Mmmm. This is a French Dip at Benji’s. Benji’s is the deli I would like to find across the street from where I stand, no matter where I stand. Sunny and hushed with molded plastic booths, friendly, low-key service, and horseradish on tap.

Have you had a French Dip? My soul dip experience was on the other side of the kitchen door, at another place in Wisconsin, where the chef did not have a deli-fied bone in his ample body. The “au jus” (huh?) was very brown and very salty and was very distantly related to a cow. At Benji’s the meaty juice has a tasty swirl of fat orbs atop it. It was tricky to dip that big ole sandwich in that narrow cup, so I sloshed it onto the bread instead.

Corned beef at Benji’s is just that. Corned beef, sliced casually, on regular rye. Plain. That takes confidence. Corned beef at Benji’s is all that.

The egg dish? Hoppel Poppel. Actually Super Hoppel Poppel.
That’s the last I’ve seen of breakfast on a plate in a couple weeks. Back to the grind now. Scraping crumbs off my carseat.

One egg sandwich coming right up, and put legs on it.

Frank, a bear, and Ernest, an elephant, specialize in taking care of small businesses while the owner is away. When Mrs. Miller hires them to run her diner for three days, they assure her that they will take good care of it. Then Frank decides they must learn diner lingo before they begin. For an order of a hot dog with ketchup and a dish of Jell-O, Ernest yells, “Paint a bow-wow red, and I need a nervous pudding.” And for a vanilla milk shake with an egg in it, to go, Frank calls out for a “white cowmake it cackle and let it walk.”

The club sandwich or the frill?

Cellophane is oddly fascinating, too

In bookstores now!
The Toothpick

“The Toothpick,” …is the work of a maddeningly sober pedant who is anything but a crowd pleaser.
Joe Queenan for The New York Times

Now there’s a book I don’t wish I wrote, but still… it’s got me thinking. About sandwich periphernalia. Frilly toothpicks, cutters,

(girlie ones)

(graphic ones)

and sandwich keepers (“your best friend at work”).

How do I live without this?

Vaguely related thought: A radio interview with Henry Petroski was introduced with a few words about the book, including a mention of its copious footnotes. Toothpicks juxtaposed with footnotes, ick. I once had a dentist named Dr. Footer and found that a bit disgusting, too.

Photo by Renee Comet
Always thought an electric knife was ridiculous…until I became a food stylist. You feel stupid with one in hand, and you pray no one is watching, but ~ wow ~ not a crumb is disturbed. Like the parting of the Red Sea, those jiggety-jig double blades divide a sandwich with supreme efficacy. Got this handy retro gadget at a yard sale. Still on the look-out for a back-up.

Keep yer hands off my pickle!
Photo by Mark Finkenstaedt,
and I did the pumpkin carving and also, ever so gently, whacked that hatchet into his noggin. He almost split in two and I think I heard a muffled shriek. Poor thing. But he gave his life to good effect and it is for Halloween, after all. In the blink of an eye he will be utterly obsolete. Or the squirrels’ll get him.

Warning! Shameless Plug Ahead!

The Washington Post Weekend cover story is

Ready, Set, Glow

and there is a slide show – Pumpking Carving 101 – with audio (me) here:
washingtonpost.com

Carvers, start your engines!

Drawing by Jackie Shaffer

Why is toast so pleasing?

Anticipation is a large part of pleasure, is it not? Watching the faintest hint of glow on the coils before they turn hell-red hot. The timer tick, tick, ticks.

Although, if bread transformed to toast in warp time, it would still taste as good. I had a roommate who used to spread peanut butter on her toast hard, spreading, spreading, spreading, with vigor and endurance. Took me months to risk interrupting her concentration to ask why. She was mixing the crumbs in with the peanut butter for texture. Yes, toast is synonymous with texture.

If you are in need of toaster ephemera The Toaster Museum Foundation is your dream destination.

Personally, I am a sucker for toaster anything. When I die, there will be a sad shelf at the Goodwill covered with all my tiny toasters. Probably with green (.49) tags. I saw someone’s frog collection there. Now, isn’t that what kids are for? To kindly pitch your knick-knacks and salvage your post-mortem pride.

But who knew who
Who wrote the book of lunch

Tell me, tell me, tell me
Who wrote the book of lunch
Well, I’ve got to know the answer
Is it someone from above

Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of lunch

Baby, baby, baby
I love you, yes I do
And it says so in this book of lunch
That I’m the one that’s true

Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of lunch

Kopp’s in Milwaukee
They wrote the book of lunch
Order your cheeseburger

Then wait in a big crunch
Of folks who’re cravin custard,
And fries and shakes and such.

No need to wonder, wonder who
Cause you knew, who
Who wrote the book of lunch.

Pick Your Own
I’ve been a big fan of Talk o’ Texas Pickled Okra for ages and can crunch through an entire jar while fixing lunch. Just fine with the grocery store brand, I have never looked over the fence. Good thing cause those fancy brands are going gangbusters.

And get this, Oprah (Winfrey, ha ha) has a SANDWICH DEVELOPMENT TEAM. TEAM.

A note from Rick, of Rick’s Picks:

Friends of Rick’s Picks:

Rick

I must say, the stuff Rick’s Picks puts in jars is superlative. He’s got a way with words,too. All his products have tongue pleasing names.

Gotta run to the mailbox now to check for a personal thank you note from Oprah for the shout out.

Click to enlarge please.
In the wise words of Brian Henneman, “Anything tastes good if you put enough mustard on it.”

What is PostSecret?

Here is Post Secret.

I saw the PostSecret mustard message at the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore on Saturday. The current exhibit is:

All Faiths Beautiful
October 6, 2007 – August 31, 2008

“Be it deeply personal, a work in progress, a torment or a blessing – what we believe and especially what we don’t is our most precious life-shaping, human experience. Freedom to express that personal belief is central to any notion of liberty.”

AVAM brings me conveniently to

and serendipitiously to Pepper Mouser at

which links toHarrod Blank

and ~ blink ~ to Harrod’s father Les Blank whose films include “Yum, Yum, Yum” and “Garlic is as Good as Ten Mothers”.

Send a postcard. Taste the world.

Do it again. Click to enlarge.
Thank you for this postcard, Flannel. 32 cent stamp on the back. Doing the math….you and I were about 16 at that time. Addressed to George, Lisa and the Amazing Hoop Jumping Dogs. Oh wait. Whoops. Made an error in my calculations – we were 26.