Sandwich Semantics W10

What makes a sandwich? The Earl of Sandwich, for whom the food is named, first made a sandwich with two pieces of bread and filling to keep his hands clean while playing cards. This is the standard definition; it's the essence and Platonic form of the food.

Yet there seems to be debate surrounding the topic. A post from the blog Panini Happy questions whether such items as a hamburger, hot dog, quesadilla or crepe could be considered sandwiches. I would argue that this question could be clarified with a more nuanced consideration of the definition.

Sandwich has both etymological and cultural roots in England where John Montagu, the 4^th Earl of Sandwich, first ordered his meat served between two slices of bread. Here we must note that this was English bread, not flat-bread or tortilla, and the arrangement of fillings is stacked between their layers, which fits the definition of the verb to sandwich. Yet a much earlier incarnation of the dish from Medieval times used only one piece of bread: the open-faced sandwich. It is by this distinction that the sandwich transcends forms, and maybe here is the source of our present confusion.

So what is and is not a sandwich? It should follow that a hamburger is, in essence, a sandwich; it is simply meat and vegetables between two slices of bread. But what about the hot dog? Hot dog buns are long rolls sliced partially down the middle, and they don't look much like a sandwich. But in comparing this bun shape to other split-open sandwich buns like submarines and hoagies, it's clear they also fit the definition.

Quesadillas and other Mexican tortilla recipes fit the form of filling between bread, but tortillas themselves are a far cry from the soft, fat, squishy English bread and must therefore be excluded. Wraps are likewise excluded for the same reason. Crepes are made from folding toppings into thin pancakes of wheat flour, the farthest from our definition yet. (You wouldn't call an egg roll a sandwich, would you?)

There are other arguable foods: piroshki, felafel, gyro, etc, but these food items shouldn't be so disserviced by lumping them into the category of sandwich. Out of respect for their separate origins, I say let them have their own Platonic forms.

A Fine Food Memory W9

For this week's post, I've decided to share a memory of a meal, one I'd forgotten until only recently. This past weekend, my bandmates and I played a show in Columbus, and we decided to grab a bite at Buca di Beppo's, a massive restaurant adorned with colorful Italian memorabilia and photos. The restaurant was downtown in an alcove below street level, and the three of us were the only late afternoon diners in the whole place.

We ordered cheese manicotti and spicy calamari and stuffed ourselves with Italian loaves of bread with olive oil and red wine vinaigrette. Italian jazz played softly in the quiet restaurant, and we talked about our favorite restaurant experiences. The warm, secluded atmosphere of our booth reminded me of a memory from my early teens, when my whole dad's side of family came together to celebrate my grandfather's birthday at a wonderful old Italian restaurant in downtown Cleveland.

My family is not rich, but this was a special occasion, a time not to worry about money. It was a warm, mid-summer day and the men of the family wore their nicest suits and ties, the women did their hair and wore dresses and pearls. Everyone was talking and laughing excitedly as we drove into downtown Cleveland at sunset, the red sun was beautiful off the tall, glimmering buildings. The valet took our keys as we stepped out under the restaurant's gilded veranda and entered the soft, elegant glow of the foyer.

Inside the posh dining room, we had a long table to ourselves at the front of the restaurant with a view of the statues and classic architecture of Cleveland's old downtown structures. I was just 15 years old and delighted by the unassuming elegance of this place; around us were families large and small, couples young and old, their laughter and bantering intertwined with the lively jazz musicians playing in the next room. It felt like a movie, it was beautiful.

As night fell and the lights of the city glowed, we ate courses and courses of salad, calamari, eggplant and chicken parmesan, spaghetti and lasagna and a handful of other delicious dishes, exotic Italian things I haven't had since. We drank wine (only a few sips for me) and ate and laughed for hours, till the candlesticks on the table burned away and we were one of last of a few big family tables still there.

It was a wonderful, romantic experience as a teenager to be allowed in such a setting, to get a taste of the joy of fine dining, to dress up and stay out late and revel downtown, to be swept away in sights and sounds and tastes of the city. I wish now I remembered the name of the restaurant, but regardless, the food and the memories even now impress themselves upon me.

Haters Gonna Hate W8

B. R. Myers' “The Moral Crusade Against Foodies” attempts to argue that foodies are heinous gluttons, but he never explains himself more than sounding like a sour apple, tearing down popular food writers and chefs for simply lavishing upon strange foods. Myers' article is nonsensicle and bitter, and one gets the impression he's simply venting about the excesses of those he perceives as food elitists. Reading the comments on The Atlantic's web page shows readers also struggling to find the point of this diatribe; one says:

The point is simple. 1) Find a group of people with a large constituency, but not a majority one. 2) Create a straw man by painting the entire group with the worst characteristics of a few members of the group, even if you have to make them up. 3) Pen a screed in which you knock down the straw man. 4) Get page views. 5) Profit.

I'd have to agree. The semblance of an argument found in the essay is that appreciating your food more than what he deems 'normal' is gluttonous. He fails to support his own definition of either normal or gluttonous, and the article simply quotes 'gluttonous' passages from Michael Pollan, Anthony Bourdain and the Best Food Writing 2010. He argues that foodies are a subculture that get too much media attention, mainly from other foodie writers, that they hypocritically enjoy cruel animal dishes, that they eat too much, that they eat food too expensive and rare for mainstream eaters.

Well, they are foodies, aren't they? If they truly live for food, so be it; at least they know their life purpose. What's more, Myers' seems to be ignoring the basic fact of life, that food and eating is the one commonality between our human species. Therefore, there will naturally be those, our chefs and culinary explorers, that are in the business of trying all there is in the wide world to eat. After all, why close your mind to the customs of others, to enjoying the various ways our fellow humans serve their food? But his article seems to heap shame upon enjoying the practice too much, but how much this is he can't say.

OK, I concede with Myers that foie gras and ortolan are ethically dubious, and factory farms should have no place in the foodie diet. Yet most everyday foodies I know, the 'normal' ones that don't fly to France for cheese, take no part in foie gras and even reject the factory farmed meat Myers bemoans. He's making a big case against a small minority, and this cadre of foodies who have access to try such dishes are almost required to take part, if they truly live to cook and write about food.