According to Wikipedia, this is an English sandwich. I believe a French sandwich is the same thing, except the sandwiches are held together by toothpicks, and the toothpicks have little white surrender flags on the end.
At lunch today, we had a fascinating discussion about an incredibly interesting topic. However, I’m not here to tell you about that. I’m here to tell you about a different part of lunch, in which we discussed the definition of a sandwich.
What exactly is a sandwich? The quick answer is easy - “It’s some food between two pieces of bread.” But if you keep thinking about it, it becomes more and more complex. A wrap doesn’t have two pieces of bread; is a wrap a sandwich? If a wrap counts as a sandwich, why shouldn’t a burrito? Isn’t it the same idea of wrapping food in another flour-based piece of food? Should the KFC Double Down count as a sandwich? It certainly doesn’t have two pieces of bread, but it still seems like a sandwich. Will this paragraph ask more questions than an obnoxiously curious eight year old boy, or fewer? What about an open-faced sandwich? There’s only one piece of bread on that, and it’s not even wrapping around the sandwich. And if an open-faced sandwich is defined as a piece of bread with some food on top, why shouldn't a pizza count as a sandwich? Why doesn’t everyone consider a hamburger a sandwich, when it fits the classic definition?
Clearly, the only solution is to consider “sandwich” to be a very wide classification, and to break it down into several sub-sandwich categories. Think of it as your high school biology class, except far more delicious - Sandwich is the order, the type and pattern of bread is the family, the type of meat is the fetus, and the specific type of sandwich is the species, or something like that. Except, as Billy Madison has taught us, high school biology is “Borophyll” boring. So instead, let’s just break sandwiches out into 7 groups. Why 7? Because I bet that both Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman enjoy a good sandwich.
Brad: Hey Morgan, how many sandwiches have you eaten since we started filming?
Morgan: I don't know, let me check my diet sheet and see... 3 BLTs, 4 turkey clubs, 2 reubens... do burgers count?
Sandwich #1 - The Classic, or, Sliced Meat on Bread
The classic sandwich requires 2 ingredients - sliced meat and bread. It must have at one slice of bread on the bottom, sliced meat in the middle, and one slice of bread on the top. Many ingredients can be added to the middle: lettuce, tomatoes, mayonaisse, bacon, and so on. Some people even choose to add pickles to their sandwiches; these people are called “assholes.”
The following items do not make it into The Classic sandwich category: wraps (missing two slices of bread), hamburgers (meat is whole, not sliced), ice cream (melts too fast in hot weather.)
Sandwich #2 - The Kindergartner, or, PB&J
The PB&J was the toughest omission for the Classic category. (If you’re keeping score at home, the easiest omission was “a freight train.”) However, it clearly has no sliced meat, and we can’t change the criteria just for one sandwich. History has taught us that no sandwich is above the law; whenever one believes that it may be, a revolution is never far behind, often ending with the sandwich laying face down in a guillotine. Which is then followed by a perfectly chopped in half sandwich, so everybody wins. Let’s move on before we start discussing the fiefdom of the BLT.
Sandwich #3 - The 49er, or, Vegetarian Sandwiches That Aren’t PB&Js
The San Francisco 49ers have almost everything you’d want in a football team. On offense, they have a solid running back (Frank Gore), a stud tight end (Vernon Davis), and one of the better young prospects in the game at wide receiver (Michael Crabtree.) Their defense is good, and they have a well respected coach who has awesome quotes lining billboards down the 101 and was equally awesome in Tecmo Bowl (Mike Singletary). Unfortunately, they’re missing arguably the most important piece of the team - a good quarterback.
The 49er sandwich is similar. You’ve got everything you need for a good sandwich, but you’re missing the meat. A lettuce and tomato on wheat sandwich is 5 slices of turkey away from cracking my top 10 sandwiches. A caprese on foccacia sandwich is one piece of chicken away from being a Super Plate contender, and one toaster away from being a dynasty. Just like the 49ers are one quarterback away from being a serious threat in the playoffs, these sandwiches are so close to being so good... and yet, until they find that piece, they’ll never be anything more than mediocre.
Sandwich #4 - The Linner, or, Whole Meat on Bread
The Linner is similar to the classic, with the only difference being that the meat is not sliced. Interestingly, by not slicing the meat, the Linner instantly becomes a viable option for dinner. While the Classic could technically be eaten for dinner, it’s a bigger stretch than Dhalsim’s punches, and you’re much better off with a Linner.
While the two most notable Linners are burgers and grilled chicken sandwiches, one often overlooked option is a fish sandwich. Whether it’s a fried fish sandwich or a blackened salmon sandwich, it still counts as a Linner. Some people might not consider fish to be "meat", but they're probably the same people who put pickles on their sandwiches, so they don't deserve the right to vote anyway.
Sandwich #5 - The Soulja Boy, or, Wraps
Why the Soulja Boy? Because obviously, the name for a wrap had to be a rapper. Because there’s no denying that sometimes, you’re just in the mood for a wrap. Because sometimes, a wrap is the right choice, and can be even more enjoyable than a Classic. But at the end of the day, a wrap is still a novelty - it’s a little bit different than the more mainstream sandwiches, and it can be fun and tasty to eat, but few would argue that it’s actually a better sandwich, and almost nobody would answer the question “If you could only have one type of sandwich every day for the next month, what would you choose?” with a wrap, just like almost nobody would say that they only wanted to hear Soulja Boy every time they turned on their stereo for the next month, which, coincidentally, is also the same length of time it will take you to read this entire sentence, since it's running on longer than a slow ultramarathoner, which by the way, is an awesome name for a sport; why can't we append the prefix "ultra" to other sports, so for example, an Olympic competition in the high jump, which is far higher than a high school track meet's high jump, would be called an Ultrahighjump competition?
(175 words, one sentence. I haven't seen writing that wordy since Peter took a Renaissance Literature class.)
Hey... wait, wasn't that our cue? Why hasn't our flashback started yet? Damn it, the director must have fallen asleep again...
Sandwich #6 - The Phoenix Sun, or, Open-Faced Sandwiches
I’m going to use another sports analogy here, and if you don’t like it, go read someone else’s blog. (Wait... that was a joke! No, don’t click the back button! Wait just a-” damn, too late.)
Similar to the 49er, the Phoenix Sun is missing one key piece - in this case, it’s the 2nd piece of bread. However, unlike the 49er, while this is definitely a key component of a sandwich, it doesn’t necessarily ruin the sandwich if everything else is still good. The Phoenix Suns aren’t usually the best defensive team - in fact, their defense is often adequate at best - but that doesn’t stop them from winning 50 games a year, having tons of fans, and being one of the most fun teams to watch, just like it’s fun to try and watch someone eat a delicious open-faced sandwich that’s covered in sauce without letting the lack of a 2nd piece of bread create a gigantic mess all over the place.
Sandwich #7, 7.3, 7.5, and 7.8 - The Oompas, or, Finger Sandwiches
I had to write a few different numbers here to get us a complete 7, since one finger sandwich alone isn’t really a whole sandwich. Designed to be an appetizer but delicious in large numbers as an entree as well, finger sandwiches are interesting in that they’re the only sandwich that, outside of size, could actually fall into any of the other categories - you could have a little meatball on a miniature piece of French bread (a diminutive Phoenix Sun), a slider (a small Linner), and so on. There’s many different names for these miniature sandwiches, but I think finger sandwiches is the most appropriate, because it takes into account the variable size of different fingers. A teatime sandwich on a platter is a pinky, while a nearly full size slider is a middle finger, and others are in between. Plus, now that we’ve established that the slider is a middle finger, when you’re cooking one and it’s time to flip it, you can refer to it as Flipping the Bird. And if it’s a chicken slider, well, I guess it’s just a pun lover’s lucky day - fitting, since this category is lucky #7.
There you have it - the definitive guide to sandwiches. I’d stick around to answer the many questions this blog entry opened with that remain unanswered, but writing about sandwiches so long has made me crave one, so I’m off to enjoy a good late night Oompa or three. Until next time, remember - sandwiches don’t pop their collars, and neither should you.
