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All Hail the Mighty Sandwich! Part 2
On Extreme Sandwiches and a Sandwich-Related Theorem
 The 4th
Earl of Sandwich is probably turning over in his grave. His one-time
dish of the nobility has now been fully Americanized and made extreme.
And, perhaps the Earl is partially to blame for this. As
First Lord of the Admiralty during the American Revolution, he is
criticized for keeping much of the British Navy in European waters to
avoid attack by the French. Who knows, a few
more British warships off the American coast and things might have
turned out differently - we would be eating painfully thin sandwiches
and drinking warm beer like the Brits. Thankfully, we have made the
sandwich our own - and pretty much any of our sandwiches can clearly
kick the “butty” of any English “sarnie.” Below we provide a brief
history of extreme sandwiches, a glimpse into the current craze of
extreme sandwiches and imagine what the next stage in the evolution of
this ubiquitous dish will be like. And, like the pickle spear you get at most delis, we’ve thrown in a sandwich related math theorem for you.
A Brief History of Extreme Sandwiches I wish that I could say that I was the first to come up with the idea of extreme sandwiches as a comedic device, but I can’t. Blazing
the trail was the creator of the “Blondie” comic strip, Murat Bernard
“Chic” Young. In a 1944 strip, Dagwood, Blondie’s husband, creates a
sandwich that is as big as his head and has to be doweled together with
frankfurter. Making multiple appearances over the years, a typical
Dagwood sandwich would include the following ingredients in varying
quantities: 3 large onions,
sliced, 1 head of lettuce, 4 tomatoes, sliced, 1 lobster tail, 1 eagle
talon, 1 fish (preferably 2 days old), 1 pot spaghetti - cold and
gooey, 1 lb. bacon, 1 meatloaf, 1 ham, 1 fried egg (over easy), 1
string of sausages , 1 gallon mayonnaise , 1 jar of pickle relish , 1
tin of sardines in oil , 1 bottle of ketchup, 1 bottle sweet mustard, 1
bottle hot mustard, loaf bread, assorted cheeses, assorted vegetables,
assorted olives. Serves one.
This
sandwich changed the way that a nation looked at sandwiches. Baby
Boomers tell stories of their own fathers making mile-high Dagwood
Bumstead Sandwiches. In Cleveland, Ohio, there is even a Dagwood’s Sandwich Shop. In culinary literature, wherever the 4th
Earl of Sandwich is mentioned “Dagwood” is not far behind. Besides
being a tastier sandwich, we think this style of sandwich is one of the
first outward manifestations of America’s cockiness, dare we say
“hubris.” Just think of the horror if the US and the Allies had not defeated Germany
– Hitler was a vegetarian and could have banned meat altogether. How
dreadful would life be if we were all running around in lederhosen and
eating vegetarian sandwiches?! After the war the US was the only country not in ruins. So as Europe and Japan were rebuilding their cities, the US was building sandwiches with reckless abandon.
So, what do you get when you combine a little hubris, insatiable appetites and little help from Chick Young? Answer: See below.
<> Some Actual Extreme Sandwiches
The Primanti Brother’s Sandwich (Pittsburgh, PA):
This gem of a meal features a big hunk of grilled meat, cole slaw, a
fried egg, tomato and French fries between two slabs of Italian bread.
The Hamdog (Mulligan’s in Atlanta):
A hotdog wrapped by a beef patty that is deep fried, then covered with
chili cheese and onion, served on a hoagie bun, topped with a fried egg
and two fistfuls of fries.
The Luther Burger: This
tasty treat is named after R & B singer Luther Vandross. The story
goes that one day Luther wanted a bacon cheeseburger but did not have
any buns. So he used two glazed donuts (possibly Krispy Kreme) in place
of buns. The sticky side of the donuts are place facing into the burger
to make a less messy meal. We considered trying
to verify this story with Luther’s office but given his recent passing
in July 2005, we thought that would be a little too tacky. Instead, we
put on Luther’s greatest romantic hits, grabbed our special ladies, lit
some candles and had a Luther Burger.
We
are not the only ex-British colony getting into the extreme sandwich
craze. The Australians have cast off the colonial yolk of the boring,
thin sandwiches to create the following:
The Aussie (from Hungry Jack’s, the Australian equivalent of Burger King): An all-beef patty topped with lettuce, tomato, onion, ketchup, plus a fried egg, bacon and beets on a sesame seed bun. More power to ya, Oz!
The Future of Extreme Sandwiches
Given
the current rate of evolution of the sandwich you are very likely to
see these sandwiches at your local deli in the near future:
The Mustache Melt: Ground round topped with shorn mustaches from San Francisco’s Mustaches for Kids fundraiser (spy some sweet ‘staches here), Vidalia onions and Thousand Island dressing on grilled rye bread. Will likely be considered a delicacy in the Mission and Lower Haight.
The Puppy Muffuletta:
An AKC-registered puppy of your choice on a standard Muffuletta
sandwich: muffuleta bread filled with the olive salad and thin slices
of mortadella, cappicola, salami, provolone, and emmantaler cheese.
The Cowboy Wrap: Horse meat, ranch style beans, shredded horse thieves and golden fried barbed wire wrapped in a pair of worn leather chaps.
Watch on the Rye: A
gold watch, aged for two years between Christopher Walken’s butt cheeks
on rye bread with Hellman’s mayonnaise (with apologies to Lillian Hellman, author of "Watch on the Rhine.")
The Shackleton Supreme: Poached
polar bear, stewed Emperor penguin with pemmican spread on hardtack.
Best served half-frozen. Frostbitten and amputated fingers and toes are
optional. (Note: If you want to create your own version of the
Shackleton, stay away from polar bear liver. It has lethal quantities
of Vitamin A. Really.)
The Balco Burger: Ostrich
meat ground with piracetam, mazindol, THG, modafinil, topped with a
Power Bar, smeared with a clear cream between a nine grain bagel.
Guaranteed to increase the size of your head and shrink your testicles.
Fear Factor Sandwich: Buffalo
testicles, sheep eyes, night crawlers, pig rectum, roaches, crickets,
ten live slugs and stink beetles on moldy bread. Cow bile and cow eye
juice are provided as dipping sauces. (Except for bread all ingredients
were actually consumed by contestants on “Fear Factor.”)
The New French Dip: Frog
legs, 37 kinds of cheese, the contents of a dirty ashtray and a stick
of butter on a croissant spread generously with surrender sauce.
PETA Panini: Veal, sweetbreads, rabbit, pate and three PETA activists with mayonnaise on an organic multi-grain roll.
The Dada Sandwich: A sweaty gym towel and a light bulb.
The William
(inspired by my two year old nephew): Tangerines, grapes, apple sauce,
pizza, the nearest mouth-sized toy, crayons and one’s own hand between
two pieces of “cake” (which can mean any of the following: birthday
cake, cookies, brownies, bread or cornbread).
A Sandwich-Related Theorem
And for those who like a little math with your sandwich, we give you an actual sandwich-related math theorem.
Ham Sandwich Theorem: Let A1, . . . ,Am be measurable bounded subsets of Rm. Then there exists an (m-1)-dimensional hyperplane which divides each Ai into two subsets of equal measure. This theorem has such a colorful name because in the case m = 3 it can be viewed as cutting a ham sandwich in half. For example A1 and A3 could be two pieces of bread and A2 could be a piece of ham. According to the theorem it is
possible to make one cut simultaneously cut all three objects in half. Source
Well, duh.
This
theorem sounds great but we think all hell breaks loose if you cut the
sandwich diagonally or if you prefer to have the crusts cut off.
If you are interested in making a human sandwich with two white bread columnist, contact us at fortyfootbuffet@yahoo.com.
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