You Say Sandwich, We Say Yeah!

At first, not salty enough, though the curried creaminess dotted with mango and raisins builds in flavour and eventually, I don’t question it anymore. Still, the logic of tomato and lettuce on this sandwich escapes me. A crispy green apple might work better, but at the end of the day I've got no complaints because "The Potrero Hill" (as it's called at Klein's) ranks as the best airport sandwich in recent memory.

There’s a lot going on here. Eating this in a taxi on the way to the airport, I swore to myself to remember the details of what made this creamy Sammie explode but it’s hazy. The 5-inch thick sandwich included the typical three slices of plain brown bread, and played host to many layered ingredients expected in the Club Sandwich genre. A roasted veggie tomato spread of some sort, lettuce, cucumber, turkey, a rather tasteless cheese I didn’t realize was there at first, perhaps avocado or some other greenery before a fantastic fried egg and the customary bacon. Lots of mayonnaise with unidentified green herbs or onions perhaps and butter, providing a deliciously slippery mess of a Club. From the brightly inviting storefront, the nice service, and cute-named breakfast plates, the ladies who work here also seem quite fun. 

I've walked by The Dirty Apron countless times, and you think I would have walked in at the mere hint of SANDWICHES so prominently written across its chalkboard, but something kept me away, perhaps because I felt the sandwiches would be made by those taking the cooking classes, and well, I don't want an amateur. On the suggestion of someone who was briefly in town and ate their take out sandwiches for a week, I thought I would try it out en route to a meeting. Offering both baguettes and paninis, I opted for the baguette to see what they're really made of. Choosing the roast chicken sandwich that comes with chipotle mayo, roast tomato, parmesan, and watercress and a few anchovies, I agree with Young Elvis's recent observation that watercress is a damn fine complement in a sandwich. That said, I had a few issues with this sandwich. While the chicken was fine and accented by the anchovy, there seemed to be more chipotle mayo than chicken, and the baguette t...

I feel special when I unpack this sandwich in its little green box from EAT at London Heathrow. The British have really got the watercress thing right.

I’m not sure how my love of the British egg salad sandwich began, but it’s my go-to choice when visiting. There are some clear right and wrong preparations of this favorite, also common during catered lunches and funerals. After unwrapping the cello package, I fear my choice of gluten-free bread will doom this version. Soon though, I am waxing on the merits of the sandwich and my museum-going companion has asked for a bite, promptly commandeering half of the sandwich as we become distracted by the excellence of watercress. It is simply the only correct garnish here. Large chunks of celery and green onion are not, and they are thankfully included in a balanced proportion in Tate Modern’s version.  We approve ,  though the salt and pepper needed a boost. After busily scooting around to choice artworks on floor two and three, we take another break, and guiltily scoff down a second. For round two we decide to give the gluten-free bread a pass and opt for what seems ...

These guys are such nerds. Sandwich puns, earnest enthusiasm, hand-done signs, lots of thumbs up icons and evocations of good vibes. But, it's all true. The sandwiches themselves are pretty good. There's a certain ambiguously satisfying greatness in a simple toasty, and it seems difficult to say exactly why, but for the sake of accuracy let's start by saying these sandwiches are warm . Maybe that's it. Both the Potbelly Mediterranean and their Turkey had a fair creaminess to them, due to hummus, melty feta and mustard, mayo respectively, which also lent flavour integration to each bite. The bread enclosed the ingredients without bracketing them or being a wrap per se, and the ingredients like cucumbers and tomatoes were sliced thinly enough that their crunch didn't dominate, meaning that no one bite involved too much bread, or individual tastes that popped out above others.

The evergreen backdrop of the Gordon tartan sure offers a contrast to the bright yellow filling of the coronation chicken sandwich wedge. Dined during a private presentation at the Gordon Highlanders Museum a wee while back, this would be my first taste of the extra mayonnaisey chicken filling popularly known as the mixture that celebrated Queen Elizabeth the Second's coronation. A heavy hand of dry curry powder seems to be the base of this concoction, which in a bite, is bland, barbaric, and colonially tasteless.