Last Meal Cafe

Melissa at The Traveler’s Lunchbox is compiling a list of things to eat before we die. At first I thought the purpose was to name things you haven’t eaten but want to try before going to that great buffet in the sky. She restricted contributions to five items and it seemed fairly doable. It would require some careful consideration and evaluation, but I figured I could limit the list to five.

Then, reading her list, I realized she meant things we’ve already eaten and want to be sure to eat again. My god! That list must be hundreds of dishes long. Where to start? How to decide? Am I willing to give up a bowl of lobster bisque to have a last piece of my grandmother’s bourbon cake? Must I forego perfectly smoked pork ribs to enjoy once last bite of roast piglet in Spain? Which is more important to my happiness in the afterlife, another plate of Spaghetti Carbonara outside of Hadrian’s Villa near Rome, or another a last serving of cannelloni at Arrivederci in Scottsdale. The whole thing is downright cruel and inhuman.

So I decided to limit myself to one kind of thing under the assumption that I could still eat others kinds of things without unduly limiting myself. And I knew immediately what I would limit myself to: sandwiches.

Why sandwiches? First off because I figured I could come up with five best sandwiches without putting myself through any terrible existential angst. Second, because if I suddenly learned I was going to die tomorrow I’m not sure I would think to ask for a sandwich. And third, because a really good sandwich is every bit as rare as a perfectly smoked rib or a truffle soufflé.

Number one on the list, is a BLT made right here. The toast is made from my own sourdough. Hellman’s mayonnaise is slathered generously on both pieces of toast. The bacon is smoked at smokehouse not far from, the lettuce is Boston Bibb, and the tomato is local and sweetly acid, and over half an inch thick. And then, because I always do, I’ll make another one. One just isn’t enough.

The Rueben is number two. In particular, the Rueben served at a particular diner (whose names escapes me) in Merrimack, New Hampshire. The bread is a surprisingly light but well-flavored rye made there in the diner (a perfect sandwich is impossible without perfect bread). The corned beef falls apart in your mouth. The sauerkraut delightfully tangy in contrast to the slightly sweet sauce, and the cheese is an excellent Vermont Swiss. Best of all, you can sit on a stool at the counter and look out a huge picture window onto the Merrimack River.

If I can’t have either of those, then I want a Muffaletta from Central Grocery in New Orleans. There’s some argument as to whether or not it was invented there, but it’s certainly one of the best with its huge circular loaves of Italian-style bread, cut into quarters. The olive salad that bites you back, the best of deli meats and cheeses are stacked on top, and it drips down your chin with each bite. A true killer sandwich.

There’s one sandwich on my list that I’ve heard about, and made a couple of times, but have never had on its home territory: the Cuban Sandwich. This beauty also uses and Italian-style bread, but in a batard form. The bottom layer is braised pork roast, followed by deli ham, salami, Swiss cheese, and dill pickles. The inside of the bread is coated with yellow mustard and the outside is buttered and then grilled. It is a voluptuary’s delight.

Last, but not least, is a Grilled Cheese sandwich. In this case, start with a loaf of James Beard’s Sour Cream bread, butter the bread with the best butter you can find — the butter matters in such a simple sandwich — and then place slices of Grafton Village Classic Reserve Cheddar, sliced 1/4″ thick in between. Place it in a cold cast iron skillet and set the temp to medium-low. When the bottom is browned, flip it and brow the other side. The cheese will be perfectly melted and best of all will have partially soaked into the bread because of the rather open crump of the Sour Cream bread.

Technorati: Food | meme | last meal | sandwiches

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