You Say Sandwich, We Say Yeah!

Having poked my head into see their assortment of organic and gluten free fare, as well as a fair stock of Scottish treats like wild nettle cordial and real Scottish oats, I tried out their deli section with fresh ready when ordered sandwiches. Accompanying a mighty good parsnip soup, I went for the smoked ham, which I had plain with the grainy mustard as when prompted if I wanted "salad", I declined, thinking it was a side order. What they meant was all the fillings of lettuce, tomatoes and cheese that goes inside the sandwich. I don't regret my choice. It was a mighty tasty smoked ham, and while I have no sweet tooth, I was intrigued by Dovers Farm Organic ginger and brazil nut cookies made with stem ginger, and made without gluten, wheat, milk, salt, buckwheat, soya, eggs or hydrongenated fat. But like most gluten free products, they crumble in your mouth like dust, but albiet, a gingery tasting dust.

Nestled in the heart of Merchant City, the Trans-Europe Cafe is a quiet little spot that boasts a selection of classic gourmet European sandwiches. Stopping in after a meeting a few doors down I felt I needed a pick-me up, and so I went with what I thought would be the spiciest, the Madrid: chorizo with pesto and mozzarella. The sandwich was all right, but not classic or gourmet, though perhaps relatively so to the aforementioned toasties. The flavour was arguably more Italian than Spanish, or worse, it was sort of American, as it was still a hoagie bun, just sliced diagonally and pressed. The accompanying sides of coleslaw, argula salad (which they listed as spinach), and salted crisps were a nice touch, as was my spiced apple tea. Taking a quick look over their menu , I would return to see what Zurich is all about.

A classic Scottish fare, the toastie is basically a sandwich consisting of toasted white bread filled with some sort of mayonnaise-heavy melody. Ordering the cheese and tuna toastie one Saturday morning before I went to explore the river, my curiosity is satisfied, and need not be reminded again. The hot rolls, on the other hand, will be for another day, and probably another blog.

True to culinary fashion in queer circles, the grilled cheese sandwich at Montreal's Cagibi was accompanied by a mini salad with grated beet and pumpkin seeds. The soggy appearance of the side pickle, perhaps not so much, but a sign of things to come: from wholesome lesbionic salad to  crispy grilled  seedy bread, that bracketed an also soggy marriage of cheddar and mozza cheese, pesto and tomato. By soggy marriage don't mean to evoke anti-assimiliationist critiques of the institution, but I do mean complete integration into a unified and undistiguishable new flavour. This is probably satisfying, like porridge, or baby food, but not particularly refined or exciting. It does in a pinch, but other cooks, like my new fuck buddy, have revived this old standby far beyond the pleasure of easy and comforting.

My third meal in transit in 10 hours and I settled on something hot, but still, a sandwich, because it is the most convenient and perfect meal to eat on the go when you don't want to be bogged down by utensils or greasy fingers. A breakfast sandwich with sausage, ham and eggs (I am in Scotland now, no doubt), the heat of the sandwich was a warm welcome from the cold sandwiches I've been inhaling at every stop. A pretty good breakfast sandwich, if a bit on the heavy side, I savoured every bite of this hot griddle sammie and appreciated how the sausages were split horizontally down its side to accommodate the sandwich form.

A quick stopover in Manchester equaled a lap around the airport through security and its shops and this new spicy BLT that Soho Coffee had to offer. This would be the first meal I have in the UK and certainly I would be reminded that "spicy" means something entirely different here. More sweet than anything else, I bid farewell to flavour with each passing bite as the plane once again reloaded for my journey into the North of Scotland.

On the plane over to Reykjavik from Seattle, I watched "Horizons", a documentary on sculptor Steinunn Thórarinsdóttir . She said she enjoyed her public art piece at the Keflavik airport because every visitor is forced to see it. On my way out, and the beginning, or the middle, of a very long day of travel, I saluted my morning chicken sandwich to the four figures facing each direction of travel. And if you think a chicken sandwich is a strange choice for breakfast, it is not, as it wasn't really breakfast, though it was 8 a.m., but it was the 25th hour I would be awake in what would be 40 hours of semi consciousness.

I was brought to Sandholt, one of the oldest bakeries and restaurants in Reykjavik, to try the Kleiners, a sort of Icelandic doughnut that was apparently really good, but they had all sold out. Being hungry, but knowing we had a full day of eating ahead of us, my Icelandic/Winnipeg friend and I split a cheese and salami sandwich. It had a lot of soggy remoulade on it, like most things in Iceland, and it did not serve the brie or salami well at all.

The Blue Lagoon is one of the world's most spectacular geothermal spas. After six hours of wading in that silica mud, in a pool that overlaps two tectonic plates, my energy was renewed, but also completely drained. A simple lox and egg sandwich was had, and a bit of salt, or capers would have really elevated this sandwich to a whole new level, but for my state, it satiated my most immediate needs.

Long standing as the best gallery cafe across this fair land, the VAG cafe has the best atmosphere for relaxed chilled out coffee meetings, solo lunches, or something more formal. Ducking in on a rainy afternoon for a quick bite with my mum in the dwindling hours of the afternoon, we shared a perfectly grilled Mediterranean panini and kale salad. There was no skimping of artichokes either, which is possibly one of the most underrated sandwich ingredients out there. I hope when they move the gallery, that they'll keep the cafe in tact.

From the outside, the Cambie General Store Bakery and Cafe looked decent, if not downright cute. On a sunday afternoon as Gas Town was surprisingly dead, this was also the only place open for business as I was heading towards the seabus, so it was decided. The Cambie Club, which the girl behind the counter said was the most popular, was nothing to write home about. The roll on which it came on was straight from Safeway or something equivalent, and the sandwich was bland and loosely assembled as the tomatoes and cucumbers kept falling out. The service was also weak as my coffee was forgotten, and the soggy breadsticks sucked, and when asked to be retoasted a second time, the guy actually threatened my dining companion that it would be the last time he's doing this. No shit this would be the last time. Who would want to come back?

the worst part of the meal was not the salad dressing in a bag or the rubbery lettuce, or even the forgettable sandwich in an equally forgettable airport, but it was the high pitchy squeaky squeals of the chairs and tables being shuffled around all around me as I ate this mediocre sandwich as the staff tried to keep busy and clean the empty cafe. I've been on the other end of this service, sweeping up the amazing amount of dust and debris collected in a 5 hour shift, but sweeping all around a customer for the entire time they eat a bad sandwich is really just poor hospitality.

What I love most about getting a fresh sandwich from Van Loc in Edmonton is the simple paper bag it comes in. The bread is still warm when I rip the paper open, and it's the best present everytime!