You Say Sandwich, We Say Yeah!

  After passing up a $30 open-face sandwich toppling with an impressive vertical assortment of dilled shrimpies, caviar, and a generous lemon slice, I opted for this miserably flat $9 boxed sandwich. There’s not much to say here through the tears. So instead, I post a picture of the one that got away, as a reminder to all readers: if in doubt, spring for the real deal. Post Script: thankfully, our correspondent in Norway made good this summer and became well acquainted with the classic Scandi-sammie, the glorious open face piled high with various seafoods.

This focaccia fella already had spinach, tomato, roasted eggplant, roasted red peppers and grilled portobello mushrooms, so why the hell not add some thinly sliced roasted yams? Focaccia sandwiches (that are not subjected to the panini grill) are such a delight because the soft inner bread absorbs some of the moisture and flavor of squishy roasted ingredients without becoming soggy. For a college cafeteria sandwich, this combination had an impressive freshness, fantastic and integration of flavors. Deep bites of grilled mushroom work so well here that the yams might be overkill. My bad.

I found myself at Costco, and in the back of my mind, I remember an old acquaintance going on about how great their smoked meat sandwich really was. He was in the restaurant business, and has braised enough pork belly to have serious health concerns, so when he talked meat, I have tended to listen. Only, I generally find Costco to be overwhelming and gross. The excess of everything is less than appetizing. But there I was assisting someone at Costco and she wanted to have a snack. I should have known. This was a terrible smoked meat sandwich. Over-steamed (if such a thing was possible) on a wedge of focaccia-like bread. The portion was over generous horizontally, but the best smoked meat sandwiches show their strut in verticality. The pickle was also rank. If I ever see that acquaintance again, I am probably going to shove him into a meat freezer.

You know you’re close to laying hands on a “waffle sandwich AKA Dutch taco” when you see a wooden hut in gravel parking lot fenced off with barbed wire and chain link at the corner of Mississippi and NE Freemont. In a more pretentious culinary scene, this trash palace of sorts certainly isn’t a spot that would be venerated in local food guides. But FLAVORSPOT is emblematic of things that are great about many Portland eateries: food is excellent, cheap, and served up without a side of snobbery. Locals seem to embrace delicious eccentricity instead. Amen!  My sweet cream and jam number was delish, my friend's MB9 had so much bacon spanning both sides of the 49th parallel that we offered a slice to a passing dog. Is it a sandwich? A taco? Who cares, it is pure brilliance or something.