Let’s talk about the tomato sandwich

Classic Southern Tomato Sandwich photographed for Voraciously/the Washington Post by Scott Suchman. Food styling by Lisa Cherkasky

I am a tomato sandwich interloper. While that might automatically make me a rabid fan, I hide my late-to-the-game status with nonchalance. Of courrrse, it must be white bread. “I prefer Sunbeam.” See, no hard line for me. Prefer is the word. Just prefer, not a requirement. Duke’s mayo, too. Goes without saying for those to-the-tomato-sandwich-manor born. Shhh, do not shout Duke’s from the rooftop, lest you betray your newbieishness.

The tomato sandwich is an older food, but not that old since it is reliant on white bread, the kind that yields maximum puff from minimum wheat, landing it in early mid-century America. Right? Probably wrong. The Virginia Chronicle references it in 1911, although the bread must have been meatier and yeastier and all that good stuff. Yup, lots of people – anecdotal research here – prefer “good” bread and I can’t blame em. That tomato sandwich is a whole different animal. Worthy. Delicious. Different.

Shameless Self Promotion Number 4 Billion

Which is bigger, the sun or that bun in your hand?

The solar center is a sandwich, with a shine that outbrights other spinners in the galaxy. Now and then one must turn away or be blinded, so yes, make your lunch a taco today. Tomorrow you will be back, basking in a sandwichy glow, dabbing a mayonnaisey magnetic field from your lips. 

Photos by Scott Suchman. Styled by your favorite sandwichstronaut – me!

Our global orbit is around sandwiches. No matter how far out your planet, it will eventually be drawn, by a force beyond its strength, back to a sandwich. Count on it. For at least another five billion years. 

 

You Had Sandwiches Without Me?!

Photos by Scott Suchman

One can only eat so much, so often. My friends at the WaShinGtoniANNNN MagAzzxxXZZZine ate a buncha sandwiches and printed a story about it which you can look at here. Thank you, Scott Suchman, for putting a mountain of napkins to use for READING.

Apple Core, Baltimore, Who’s Your Friend?

 

Neopol Savory Smokery, that’s who.

 

 

The magazine had me up to Baltimore for the cover – with Scott Suchman behind the camera – at Petit Louis Bistro – Hotcha! – but, alas, not for the Smoked Salmon BLT at Neopol Savory Smokery.

Holy smokes, I gotta get over there for a BEE ELL TEE, and pronto. Thank the lord of the sandwichdance, there is a Neopol at Union Market in DC.

 

 

Buttoned Up DC Goes Extreme

Shameless Self Promotion Alert

Photo by Scott Suchman, Styling by Yours Truly

The Washingtonian’s 25 Best Burgers was created a while back but I failed to post it here. Extreme oversight.

Traipsing around town, the photo crew – Michael Goesele, Diane Rice, Scott Suchman and me – took pictures at several hamburger outfits. Ray’s Hell-Burger,  Red Apron Butchery and Food Wine & Co were all in the running, on what criteria I do not know. They all make damn fine burgers.

The extremist burger I have styled to date was a jaw-dropper, although to wrap your mouth around it would require the engineering of a snake’s lower jaw. Extremely wide opening for eating things larger than one’s own head. Yuck, who would want to? Well, say you did, this burger was a humdinger.

Two disks of macaroni and cheese, breaded and fried, surrounding a lobster cake, cheese-topped beef burger, lettuce and tomato. What’s with the dinky salad, buried and wilted? Were it up to me I might have included a couple fried green tomato slabs. If you’re going extreme, go extremely extreme, say I. Brown, brown, brownish orange, orange, orangish brown, top to bottom, dripping and crispy.

Toast Poast Number 22314

While Scott Suchman takes pictures that will be put in Cathal Armstong‘s upcoming book from Ten Speed Press, I hover around the perimeter, pressing napkins, snatching toasted buttered brioche on the sly, running paces between the kitchen and the set, moving food from plate to plate to plate, marveling at Chef Armstrong‘s immense skill and talent. I also managed to scarf the lion’s share of a teetering tower of spiced beef and butter sandwiches.

Occasionally I take a snapshot of the sidelines, especially when something looks as pretty as this leftover toast and jam.

In July the two men – three actually because Eammon Armstrong, that lucky boy,  is accompanying them – will be in Ireland, seeing, eating and recording food and the makings of food. We shall see what they collect when the book appears in print. Bound to be beautiful.

Spiced Beef Sandwich