In Your Future I See a …… Chipped Chopped

My sister Mara sent me sleuthing on a chipped chopped. I am intrigued.

Her informant, Ginger, provided these details:

• A restaurant (or was it a grocery?) invented chipped chopped.
• Super-thin-cut spicy ham meant as a sandwich filling. Cut so thin that it’s practically transparent
• Normally sold plain (no barbeque sauce).
• Available everywhere now in Pittsburgh, like in grocery stores and delis – and church lunches.
• Cheese and lettuce optional

A bit of sniffing around turned up this claim:

• Isaly’s invented the chipped chopped. (Inventor stories almost always seem apocryphal to me, but you never know.)

All info still in raw form. No agent sources or facts have been checked. MUST go out into the field for confirmation.

What to look for in the wild:

The Hot Brown entices me too. For that I have plans. The dashboard crystal ball shows the Brown Hotel in my near future. Sandwich Safari to Louisville. Gonna put that wich on my life list.

Gateaux Dangereux

How did I live so long without a cleaver? More versatile than a Swiss army knife, more thrilling than a pocket fisherman. Whoop, zoop, swish ~~~ bread sliced, meat and cheese slivered, mustard smeared ~~~ smoosh, saw, sandwich!

My generous, thoughtful, hilarious assistant gave me this bad, bad tool for Christmas, and I can’t put it down. Get back!

I was hap-hap-happy with this slicing, dicing, chopping, whopping, cutting machine and then she said, “I didn’t just get you a dangerous Christmas gift (cleaver).” There was more. Hotcha! Was it a toque-tiara? Boss-of-the-year certificate? Nope and nope. Buttons and buckle (ho hum, I know, but not to me).

At any rate – a rate beyond the speed of light mayonnaise with this cleaver in my clutch – I am reborn. Kitchen crêche. The thing really does spread mustard like nobody’s bizness.

Happily glowing like a newly forged blade, I told my assistant about my cleaver crush and she grinned, ”My father used to dip his 15-inch french knife into the mustard jar. That used to really piss my mother off.”

Has she got that knife? “Yep, I have the knife and it is a monster.” See exhibit ONION above.

Does This Sandwich Make Me Look Like Tom Selleck?

Super-stringer Seemeenowich stopped by The Lunch Encounter today with these under her arm.

So glad leisure time was invented. Were we all still slaving away twenty-four-seven we’d have no time for mini-golf, bubble drinks, mani/pedis or Tom.

If you, like me, cannot get enough of this stuff, turn to SELLECK WATERFALL SANDWICH.

Did Somebody Say SAUCA? Sauka? Sausa? Saucha?

Eat the world?

Yes please, s’il vous plaît, por favor, onegai shimasu, min fadlek, be׳vakasha, uxolo, merher-bani seh, kon mahimo, putakhamnida, bitte, værsgo, balii.

SANDWICHES!

Right here on my own doorstep. The world.

DC does deliver, in ways I must continue to remind myself to remember to appreciate.

Thought brought to you by the Department of Redundancy Department.

Sauca, file under “Ideas I Wish I Had Had When I Was a LOT Younger”.

Thank you to Superlative-Tipster-and-Travel Companion, Along-for-the-Ride Heidi!

Com(w)ic(h)s

Clearing out the backblog….

Tossing around ideas, I often say, “Dumb or good?”  You get far enough around on the dumb continuum and it osmoses into good. Lio is dumb and good. Me, sometimes dumb, sometimes good. Sometimes lost, sometimes found.

This Bottle Rockets song takes me OUT and leaves me both starved and sated.

The Bottle Rockets, Sometimes Found

And my tribute, a chimera of the original. A curtsy, deep and sincerely heartfelt.

Other things I have said many times with heartfelt sincerity.
“Needs salt.”
“Not my type.”
“It is so nice to be driven.”

Not that I have not eaten my share of words. “Not my type” is regularly so far around the continuum that it slaps me in the face with self-recognition. I’ve eaten enough of my own well-salted words to sink a submarine to the ocean floor and leave it there.

Shameless Self Promotion Number Fi5ve

The Clean Plate Club

You know what stands between my son and dessert? His suspicious mind.

We’re caught in a trap
I can’t walk out
Because I love you too much baby

You must, I insist, must finish your sandwich. No, not the bones, too. Okay, okay, okay, throw them out on the grass for the squirrels. What happened to the boy who would say, “Do I like this, Mom?” (85% yes, 15% no, to retain believability).

Why can’t you see
What you’re doing to me
When you don’t believe a word I say?

Why don’t kids like breadcrusts? Who started it? What lurks in the mind of a child? Things I do not recall thinking and things that I will never understand.

We can’t go on together
With suspicious minds
And we can’t build our dreams
On suspicious minds

Suspicious minds. Were they born that way or have they been conditioned?

When honey, you know
I’ve never lied to you
Mmm yeah, yeah

Would I lie to you with dessert hanging in the balance? Hmmm? Mmm yeah yeah.

I had a busy year in 2009, workwise, and contributed to some well-done publications, including this one:

ClassicDessert Book

The lively, fanciful, talented Ritz pastry chefs put some sugar in my step. Yes sir. Trust from the depths of my sweet-leaning heart.

It’ll Cost Ya

My son loves to read. By way of saying that he loves to read comic books. Or graphic novels. But not chapter books. Shhhhh.

He comes by it honestly. My sisters and I scrambled for the “Green Sheet” in the Milwaukee Journal when I was a kid. Four pages of comics. The girls of Apartment 3-G made breakfast table headlines throughout high school. Rex Morgan, MD? Breaking news.

The biggest club in the world? Being a child. Done worrying about that and committed to carrying on the “funnies” legacy. The second biggest club in the world? Being a parent.

The most secret of all the secret societies? The secret society of things you never mention about your child. As in, he won’t read chapter books. No, you wouldn’t want to mention that to anyone. Like saying, I have always (some weird thing), and the person says, “You know, I never noticed that about you, but now that you mention it…” Doh!

Competitive parenting. Must not be new, shoulda seen it coming, but nope, nope, it had to be pointed out to me. Am I winning? Am I losing? Am I in the running, or am I just running?

Better Living Through Chemistry?

My inner doubting Thomas is not buyin’. Or fryin’.

The classic fry, made over.
Cargill helped develop a new cooking oil for french fries that has zero grams of trans fat per serving. Taste buds everywhere give it two thumbs up.

I dunno, man. Classic fries in my book taste of duck fat or beef grease.

Paint by number:
1. Color me skeptical
2. Color Cargill out of my lunch
3. Caught you redhanded. Keep your greasy mitts off my tween.

In a word, ick. Fried.

Toast Poast XXIX

Spoon? Fork? Spoon? Fork? Spork? Foon?

Wall-e with cheese on rye

Toaster? Printer? Toaster? Printer?

Toaster Looks and Acts Like a Printer

Except for the actual printing part.

Looks a bit like Wall-e’s distant cousin.

Concepted by Othmar Muehlebach, this toaster makes toast. How about that! You can load it up with blank slices and they feed through one at a time.

If it works anything like my printer, the toast will come out either cold or charred, crusts mutilated, crumb torn. And it will make shrieking, wailing, nerve-jangling noises all the while. Now, that is not a nice remark from me. This gadget won an award in Switzerland, so it must be cool as a cucumber, calm, collected, sleek and soft-spoken.

Sounds like fun. Call in the reserves. The toast is dropping!

Frisky Brisket Addendum – Scroll Down

From My Main Sandwich Man in NYC, JAF, to whom I am devoted.

Noticed a mention of the “greyest of all meats” on Lunch Encounter.
Reminded me of 2 of my original jokes:

1.
A guy walks into a Deli. The waiter asks: What’ll ya have?
The guy says: I’ll have the brisket … rare.
2.
What kind of sandwich does a moil carry in his black bag?
Bris-kit

I’m killing me.
JAF

The concept of rare brisket really kills me –

The right pause is critical in telling that joke.

If he is killing himself then I’m gonna talk him down, with an irresistibly coaxing brisket sandwich…well done.

All this talk about brisket had my whistle whetted for some, sooooo….Along-for-the-Ride Heidi and I went for a ride out to Backyard BBQ. Now, I know this is not the sort of brisket that MMSMinNYC had in mind, but down here below the Mason-Dixon Line, but not below enough to warrant decent delis such as those in Miami, we settle (and it is not too too painful) for BBQd brisket.

Meat and three. Imported Sabrett’s from way up north. The sort of hotdog that speaks Brisket in any environ.
On Marty’s rolls. Potato rolls. I go for Marty’s. Warm golden yellow, puffy and a teeny bit sweet. The brisket was superlative. A bit of brisket and a bit of beans made a bit-o-mess cold lunch the next day. Just the thing to get me through a 5 hour wrestling meet. Sustenance mandatory. Whaddya mean “No Outside Food Allowed”. Beg pardon?!!!

Guitar Encounter

CELEBRITY SIGHTING AT THE LUNCH ENCOUNTER!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Sign my napkin, sign my stomach, sign my sandwich!!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Somebody splash me with cold water.

Creston
Lea of Creston Guitars and

Mark Spencer of THE Mark Spencer came through the virtual door the other day around noon, with Hot Hamburgs on their brains. Creston’s got a new book coming out, so with that off his mind he can concentrate on more important stuff, like lunch.

Creston Lea:
When are you gonna come write about Hot Hamburg Sandwiches in Vermont?

Midnight Snack:
What in the name of Sam Hill is a Hot Hamburg Sandwich??? I need to know. And could I have your autographs?

Creston Lea:
Get Mark Spencer rhapsodizing about Hot Hamburg. In fact, when I first met the Bottle Rockets, Mark was there and they – having not seen him for a while – got real reverent and asked, “Tell us about that sandwich again?” He’s waiting for your query. I’m sure he’ll provide a memorable response.

Midnight Snack:
Okay to quote you on my blog? Very excited about this! And could I have your autographs?

Creston Lea:
I think this was meant for Mark “Hot Hamburg” Spencer? If not, sure quote me however you like. I told you he was your man.

Mark Spencer:

Here’s some thoughts on the Hot Hamburg Sandwich, and I may consult my mom
and brother for any additionals.

I generally remember it being served, both by my mom and a variety of diners
around Northern VT as follows…

Ingredients…

•Hamburg patty, fairly well done, with my favored 70s fantasy version being
made from some real hamburger as opposed to a frozen or other prefab style
patty, with some slightly pan-or-grill crisped “patty fringe” as opposed to
the prefab, boring edge look.

•1 Piece of white toast

•Brown beef gravy…the Northern VT/Southern Quebec savory kind that
although delicious and comfort-ey is more than likely somewhat industrial
(at least these days). As you’re probably already aware, brown gravy is to
Northern New England and Eastern/Central Canada as white gravy is to a lot
of the south. Wherever the gravy comes from, it’s insanely important.

•French Fries, or Mashed Potatoes. There’s usually a healthy serving of one
of these forms of potato involved. I’m sure there’s been a version served
with some wonderful “real” mashed potatoes involved, but in my wayback
machine, for accuracy, it would have to be instant mashed potatoes.

•A vegetable, and that vegetable is canned peas.

The way it’s served is probably pretty predictable…the patty sits on the
toast, “open face” style, with the potatoes and peas on the plate with it,
and then the gravy is poured liberally over the “sandwich” and the
potatoes…the peas get a little just from being there. I’ve seen a couple
variants, slightly different veg (peas AND carrots), and I think there was
maybe a second piece of toast on top variant, but that may have been
something my brother and I dreamed up so there’d be more gravy getting
soaked up somewhere.

I am salivating just thinking about it. My mom, like many VT moms in my town
(Bakersfield, VT) was a master, but, my favorite diner versions were at the
(both) now defunct “Don and Shirley Ingham’s Johnson Diner”, in Johnson, VT
(home of a remembered, longed for, searched for, and never found ultimate
homemade coconut cream pie), and at the Oasis Diner, in Burlington, VT, both
who listed it correctly on their menus as a “Hot Hamburg Sandwich” (Hot
Hamburger Sandwich would also be acceptable). My best route towards easy
explanation to the flummoxed has been “open faced hamburg sandwich dinner,
like a hot open face turkey sandwich, but with a hamburger and brown gravy”,
which is too much talkin’ about it for what it simply is. For a beverage I
suggest fountain root beer over ice.

My shared interest in regional, lo-fi foods with my pal Brian (Henneman,
from the Bottle Rockets) eventually led to the Courtesy Diner in St Louis
where he ushered me into the world of the “Slinger” (you’re probably already
aware of this monstrosity), which seems to come from a less stoic, more
suicidal, but similar realm as the H.H.S.. We still have vague plans to
enjoy a Hot Hamburg Sandwich at some point in time. Brian also seems to be
interested in another specialty from the north that fascinated him…
“Salmon Pea Wiggle“, which was a place I just wasn’t able to go as a child.

I’m going on and on here, but, I feel like Waffle House could add both the
Hot Hamburg Sandwich AND the Slinger to it’s menu, and I’ve taken it upon
myself to get those “special ladies” to “create” them for me, late at night,
with all the ingredients that already exist there…with various, humorous,
but generally dissatisfying results. I should photograph more of that stuff.

Hope that helps, now where’s my Lipitor…

M.

Creston Lea:
Don’t forget the salt and pepper!

Midnight Snack:
Nothing like a sandwich to get a person rambling. And could I have your autographs?

Creston Lea:
Yeah, he copied me on that Hamburg Expose. Now he and I are engaged in a
deep email back-and-forth about which diners still have it. The news is
pretty good. Better plan a trip.

Quote at will. I’m proud of any HHS affiliation, though all this talk has me
thinking about its pork and turkey cousins….

Mark Spencer:
Someday I am going to ask for one of these hand-lettered paper signs at (one of my) favorite awesome Italian delis here in Brooklyn (it will be my version of taking a set list) that lists whatever sandwich of the day as a “sangweetch”, and believe me, it is irony-free.

Here’s a pic of a joint in Lafayette that has quite delicious sandwiches.

Midnight Snack (thinking):
Hmmm, I think I heard about this place when the Bottle Rockets were recording Lean Forward in Brooklyn, but I could not get the name of it. Zipped lips, or foggy memories, not sure which. And could I have your autographs?

Creston Lea:
Next: Martone’s Market

Mark Spencer:
P.s. I have been thinking a lot about sandwiches and hamburgers a lot, and
probably will pester you with more content.

Have you heard of Wilson’s in Findlay, OH?

Creston Lea:
This bread is too crumbly.

Midnight Snack:
In the toaster firming up now.

Creston Lea:
I hope this will do. Sharpie doesn’t like slices.

Midnight Snack:
This will be gorgeous on our Toast Wall of Fame.

Creston Lea:
Stale piece!

Midnight Snack:
Master piece!

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Jumping on Martone’s and Wilson’s. Could Findlay be en route to Louisville, a February destination for a Hot Brown Sandwich and Bottle Rockets fix?? As for a Hot Hamburg, needa drive north along the New York Thruway and cross  over to Vermont, the chainsaw bear state. Long cold winters up there – 9 months, they say, followed by 3 months of bad sledding – and hot oughta rule. Just call me Patty Fringe and bring on the gravy.

To be alive is to eat sandwiches. Hear! Here!

(I’m making plans to get to Libby’s Blue Line Diner for a HHS this week. I’ve
been tortured with longing ever since this correspondence started up. CL)

Toast Poast XXVI

Toast, Toast on the Range

Another fine submission from Sorry-Birds Ellen who is home with the babe, the babe with the fine, fine name of Wren.

Where do old toasters go to die? To the Toaster Museum Foundation, bien sur.

Farm Plate

When I free associate the words Farm + Plate, nothing culinary rises to the surface, nothing other than bovines circling a disk of green grass, or perhaps one of those wooden pecking-chicken toys we found in Atlantic City’s pre-gambling days.

That’s okay, the website Farm Plate does all the thinking for you. Puts all the associations together, logically, in one place.

What they say about themselves: FarmPlate is developing a revolutionary online community and marketplace for consumers, producers, buyers and supporters of local, sustainable foods.

All that you could want on your plate, from a farm, sustainably. Vermont is the beta location. Don’t know about you, but when I think of Vermont I think of a damned fine grilled cheese. Avec beta bacon.

Frigid Wind/Hot Blood

You read it here first.

Zombies are in. Blissful ignorance is out.

Zombie crawls are in. Happy hours are out.

Wendell Berry is in. Wending balefully is out.

8 1/2 is in. 9 is out.

Going out is in. Staying in is out.

Sandwiches are in. Sandwiches are never out.

Witness the  THREE sandwich stories in today’s Washington Post, January 6 Food Section.

Brisket That’s A Cut Above

AND

Sandwiches: Cork’s Veggie Version Has Bite

AND

Sandwiches: The Other Masterpiece from Philadelphia

Yes, I got an iPhone for Chrismas. Was already hooked on Facebook. I am a crawling zombie, my livingdead fingers crawling across the keyboards and touchscreens, scratching and pecking and tapping meaningless, reductionist communications.

Not like this blog. No no no. For this oh-so-deadly-alive blog I scratch my head, hunt and peck, and tap my toes compulsively to keep the blood flowing from the veins of my subdadaedconscience to this moldy-coldy screen.

January feels clean and clear and wide open. The Christmas tree knows something is up cause I stopped watering it day before yesterday. My sentiment that Christmas is best when seen in the riew view mirror is all too clear.

So bloody cold out we have to take our sandwiches hot and liquid. Bread soup all around. Warm the bowls please.

Ga Ga 4 Googie

Googie-of-the-Month Club

Denny’s Restaurant 1958 Armet + Davis | Ramirez Street | Los Angeles
Googie Style

Decidedly Un-Googie, but I am ga ga just the same.

Highlander Motor Inn

Dreamy. I want it for my own. A destination Motor Inn. Intimate lunch encounters in the lobby intime. Dreamtime at the Highlander would be supream.

Quintessentially Hip

It is getting to be the end of the year. A time for cleaning out, clearing up, purging, the old “nothing is sacred”  tour of your house, your mind, your files, your blog, your life. Took a look through my blog drafts and felt the urge to purge, DELETE DELETE DELETE! HOWEVER, the new year is fast approaching and I resolve to exercise self-control. No panic deletes allowed. So, the year in sandwiches is before me, and I will will will finish what I began, beginning not at the beginning, but anywhere that strikes.

Here’s one now, jumping to the top. Taylor Gourmet. Along-for-the-Ride Heidi met me there for lunch way back when in 2009. We lunched. We chatted up the owner. We scrutinized the other patrons and formed opinions at the level of shoes on up. Up to sandwiches, on to the garage door, and Up Up Up to the walls and ceiling. The place reeks of hipness. And I mean that in the best way, bless their hearts.

Open till 3:30 am Thursday, Friday and Saturday. And delivering!

Three Bears Bread – not too hard, not too soft – we liked it, and you will have to try it for yourself. Bread is so personal, the mother’s milk of food. Sarcone’s rolls ride down to Taylor Gourmet everyday – if not everyday, often – from phil, fill, Philly, and burnishes the spot with the patina of authenticity. The authenticity does go deeper than that, too, I promise you.
Clever, DIY wood panelesque walls behind the counter and in the restbathladiesandmensrooms.
Glass-paneled industrial garage door up front.

Good surfaces all about.

Heidi said about a particular pair of dorky shoes, “The youth think that they are retro.”
The sandwiches were, it goes without saying, delish. Had they not been delish,  they would go without mention here. This blog is devoted to good things. What is good, you ask. I will be the judge of that, I answer. Start with, perfect is the enemy of good. Or, to put a Pollyanna spin on it, good is. Good is not the friend of perfection. Good is. Good is not a good. It cannot be bought and sold.

The chairs – we want ‘em. The shoes, we’ll take ‘em. The wiches – we had ‘em!

‘Tis the Season

VS
Salami, cheese made weapons in store fight
Dec. 14, 2009

Details

Ga Ga 4 Googie

Googie-of-the-Month Club

Astro Family Restaurant + Coffee Shop | Conrad’s Drive-In 1957 Armet + Davis | Silver Lake | Los Angeles
Googie Style

Well, I don’t care if it rains or freezes…

Long as I have my plastic cheeses

Riding on the dashboard of my car.

And remember:
What a friend we have in cheeses.

Beg Pardon??

Banh Mi in DC?

Can the classic Vietnamese sandwich be rescued from Northern Virginia?

Rescued?? Nice choice of word. Hey, ain’t we all in this together? Last time I looked out my NoVa window, we were not under water, or under threat of siege, or under anything but the big blue sky that umbrellas us all.

Lookie here for Mark Furstenburg’s new adventure. G Street Food. Gee. I mean GEE, been here so long that G Street is not the street I knew. No 3 story, warren of treasures that was G Street Remnant. My mind’s nose smells G Street and conjures discarded food. After hours street scents and scenes.

This is a new day, however, and DC is re-re-re-born. You go, Mr. Furstenburg. And go and go and go. 71 is the new 69. In my family that is 43. When we utter, “Oh, to be 81 again”, it means something.

Nevermind. Whatever. No bundle in my undies over this slight slight. Banh Mi is the It Wich, according to my Sandwich-O-Meter, and she is a fine choice. Bout time she left the safety of the suburbs, grabbed her trendy bag, and teetered the downtown sidewalks in spike-heeled boots. You go, Miss Banh Mi. Banh Mi Mi to you, Handsome!

Thanks a banh million to Mike of ComicsDC for the linkety link.