Tag Archives: food

This Is the Part When Someone Says, “Let Me Make You a Sandwich”

What a beautiful statement. Let me make you a sandwich.

I just listened to an episode of the Wiser Than Me podcast, hosted by Julia Louis Dreyfuss, in conversation with Patti LaBelle.

Patti’s sister, who died at 44, asked Patti to make her a fried egg sandwich the day before she died. Patti, just home from a tour – just, asked for a day to recover and then the sandwich – you know it would have been delicious! – would be made. Opportunity lost. Not throwing any shade because – obviously – no one knew that time had run out.

Apparently Patti LaBelle is a comfortable, happy, generous, capable cook and she is called upon to feed and nurture all those who know her. Lucky them.

Patti went on to talk about – and this has been documented in many notable forums – her guilt, regret and sadness about not making the sandwich. She was haunted by a sandwich not made. Understood.

Dilemma. Powerful.

Need I mention that a sandwich is the conflux of all things human? Of course not. Bread, the “staff” of life , holding/cradling/securing the necessary stuff, the essentials. And Patti cooks. She has authored countless cookbooks. Book covers hold/cradle/secure the necessary stuff, the essentials. Staff? She must have staff. The staff of life. To do what she does would require STAFF.

Dilemma. For me, if I ask you for a fried egg sandwich, it is the asking that matters. If you agree to make it, that is more than enough. The actual making? Not so much. Should we run out of time, for whatever reason – on to other things, sudden thunder storm, overflowing bathtub – it’s the sandwich thought that matters. Always.

MMSMINYC Takes the Reins

LEXINGTON CANDY SHOP – NYC

Hey there sandwich lovers.  It’s James (formerly known as Lisa’s Main Sandwich Man in NY), unmasked and guest blogging today.  Do you like eateries that have been around for over 100 years?  Of course you do.  I know a couple in NYC.  One is Barney Greengrass on the Upper West Side:

but that’s an appetizing post for another time.

The other is the Lexington Candy Shop on the Upper East Side:

Surprise! … it’s not a candy shop, though you can pick up some old favorites like Choward’s Scented Gum [see photo] at the checkout counter, where you pay (cash tips preferred left on the table).  So, if it’s not a candy shop, then what is it?  I guess it’s a diner, but it’s called a Luncheonette, which is fun to say – right?  This joint has the vintage look and vibe you’d expect from a 100-year-old institution.  Start with that classic corner entrance and neon sign.  Then add the soda fountain counter with the stainless-steel backdrop behind it, and finish up with those vinyl clad booths. 

On the menu there are throwbacks such as Frosteds, Malteds, Egg Creams, Fresh Orangeaid, Lime Rickeys, and Cinnamon Toast.  Plus, they serve the ever-rich Bassett’s Ice Cream from Philadelphia.

Except for the egg cream, I have not tried any of those things.  That’s because I can’t resist the TUNA MELT.

The Lex Candy Shop Tuna Melt is not a gut bomb.  Fries  are not included though it does come with a pickle spear.  Some may argue that the sandwich is a bit pricey, but the price includes the total old-world (time warp?) experience. 

The sandwich comes closed face by default, though you can request an open face version on toasted English Muffin.  You get a choice of cheeses and breads. I opt for cheddar cheese and rye bread. 

Let’s begin with the tuna, which is always fresh tasting and never fishy (so the scented gum is not necessary).  There is ample finely diced celery in the tuna, adding a nice crunchy texture and a refreshing taste.  Mayo is present, but only just enough.  And the nicely chewy rye has caraway seeds – not just on the crust, but throughout the bread – adding an additional flavor layer. 

I’m not sure how they toast the sandwich, but it’s not drenched in butter so it’s not greasy, and the toasting is enough to melt the cheese without heating up the fish.  The Lex Candy Shop Tuna Melt seems light enough that you could eat two … but you don’t … or maybe you do?

Where better to post about a Luncheonette but on The Lunch Encounter – you dig?

Goo Reuben

I will be in Omaha soon, a first visit to Nebraska, and understand that the Reuben sandwich might have originated there. There is no disputing the brilliance of the Reuben’s construction. Frankly, I cannot imagine the path to the Reuben but will take a stab at it.

Corned beef and rye begets

Corned beef on rye with cheese begets

Corned beef on rye with cheese and Russian dressing begets

Corned beef on rye with cheese and Russian dressing. And sauerkraut? Huh? Sauerkraut? No lie, sauerkraut is delicious but, I swear, someone had sauerkraut in excess (of course because…cabbage) and thought it could be hidden behind CORNED BEEF, RYE, CHEESE AND RUSSIAN DRESSING because, without a doubt, a GIANT Louis Vuitton bag could be hidden behind CORNED BEEF, RYE, CHEESE AND RUSSIAN DRESSING. The bag would be eaten – lock, stock and barrel – almost without notice, so yeah, let’s unload a mess o’ kraut while we’re at it. And the world pivoted on its axis.

Booeymonger – speaking of being unable to imagine a path, I cannot imagine the path to that name, Booeymonger. Must sleuth. The original Booeymonger – tiny, on a side-street, open very late, oh-so-intriguing to a wandering teen – had the Guruben on it’s menu, a sandwich name on par with the Teuben (a Reuben in a casing, sausage-style at Hot Doug’s in Chicago), as well as the Vegetarrorist at Cafe Clementine (so clever, so not-scary when it was conceived, funny, so funny, and now not, damnit!) Booeymonger, to this day, lists the Patty Hearst on its menu. How now, provolow? The Patty Hearst but no Guruben? What wokeness has got by me?

Life. Sandwiched Between Birth and Death.

Screen Shot 2019-11-12 at 11.20.28 PM

Between adulthood and your finish.

We like lists. I like lists. Lists are arbitrary. Lists are artificial.

We like life. I like life. Life is arbitrary. Life is…so real it is artificial.

Checking off items on a list and noting the dopamine rush – accumulate accumulate accumulate yes! – is my jam jam jam marmalade.

Speaking/writing of marmalade I will never get to France and eat these sandwiches and checkcheckcheck them off a listlistlist. I am familiar with most of them. Does familiarity satisfy?

All so delicious. It is food after all, that weird stuff we put in our mouths to masticate, taste, eat, swallow, digest. Weird, wonderful, sensual, sustaining. Ah. Gah. Yes. Do you want to live forever? No, you do not. Nevertheless, life’s glories are limitless, unmeasurable, vibrating.

Not rushing off to France to eat, yet noting the range of my desire. Feeling more alive for it. Sandwich my desire between buttered bread please. Then take a luscious bite, chewchewchew noting the barbarianism, … of it and STRETCH OUT WITH ALIVENESS.

Merci, Monsieur Spaulding!

 

A Triumph Over Death

is the egg.

By Miriam Rubin

At sundown on Friday, April 6, Passover will begin as Jews all over the world gather around dining tables. They’ll light festival candles. They’ll read ancient prayers and passages from the Haggadah. They’ll sit at tables set with gleaming silver, pressed linens, Grandmother’s china, or maybe just a hodgepodge of plates. Each place will have a wine glass, because drinking wine or grape juice is an essential element of the ceremony. Read on here.

And for all of us, celebrating Passover or not, the surging renewal of spring is upon us and the egg is triumphant.