Private Fare

Today I met the sandwich of my dreams, primordial snack stuff, maybe even the genesis of it all. Last summer I made manifest the smorgastorta and it was stupendous. But it was pomp and circumstance, a primped up sandwich cake full of smug satisfaction demanding adulation and trumped up ornamentation. Yet underneath the chiffon cream top and fussy radish rose festoons sat plain the noble and elemental desire to mash together whatever is on hand in the larder and turn out a meal or finer yet, a midnight snack. I don’t mind admitting that the one that called to me first and has eluded me until now is the rather unexpected sardine sandwich.

The sardine sandwich has been an idea or an icon born off the nightly illustrations of Blondie. It represented an adult world, a far away place both charming, whimsical and perhaps even a touch mystical. There are foods that enchant us, possess us with their full bodied allure and for me those tiny tinned fish led the way. Stacked obediently in rows, the somnolescent school afloat in tomato or mustard-y brine intrigued me with its unapologetic realism. Appended to the side of a bullet shaped body, a scrape of silvery skin, the stiff ridge of fin and even the jointed stem of spine could be found. Nothing hidden, no buffer, life and death and in between contained within a palm sized sarcophagus. For a child accustomed to chicken morphing into nuggets and pig snouts turning into hot dogs, these miniaturized ocean water creatures became another world sought for, if not in dreams.

But as I’ve discovered, not all dreams are meant to be shared by others. There can be something lost in translation as one tries to convey meaning and significance to another body, case in point the chicken sandwich. Years ago after going to the SF Farmers Market I’d amble over to a café in the Justin Herman Plaza. It was a fancy place that served over priced build-you-own sandwiches and perfectly roasted chicken. Over months I created a flawless sandwich which consisted of a juicy herbed chicken breast on top of a crusty sourdough roll slathered mercilessly with mayonnaise. To enrich the snack a 1/3” slab of truffle mousse liver pâté was lightly pressed into the bread along with 2 pieces of thick cut bacon, sliced onions capped off with a juicy tomato on top. I’d slink off possessively guarding my prize, moments later free to sink into a private reverie. The mistake I made two times later was to have my friends meet the sandwich. Suffice to say one thought it too rich and the other was relatively unfazed by this gastronomical wonder. I was crushed twice and seriously miffed at least once.

The moral of that story is that there is an important place for solo food experiences. Maybe one doesn’t always need to share, connect with or even accommodate another’s taste or preference. But instead relish in a space where one feasts on food in a wolfish kind of way, primal, free and without utensils or apology.

Variation on a Sardine: I tend to always have a variety of sardines on hand for snacking with crackers. A combination of thinking about the Adriatic Sea where I first had fresh grilled sardines, missing pickled herring on knäckebröd with sweet butter, and wishing for a springtime picnic á la Wind in the Willows with Ratty and Mole, inspired me to gulp down this simple treat. I am working up a Vietnamese bánh-mi version as well.

Idea on a theme Take 1: AM Sardine sandwich
Lightly toasted walnut bread, cooled
Unsalted butter, cold
Thinly sliced onions
Sliced hard boiled egg
Sardines in tomato sauce
Lemon zest
Chopped parsley
A few capers
Lightly toasted walnut bread, cooled

Take 2: PM Sardine sandwich
Lightly toasted pumpernickel, cooled
Unsalted butter, cold
Sliced Jarlsburg cheese
Generous slather of secret sauce or mayo if you must
Thinly sliced onions
Sliced thin sweet and spicy pickles and/or sauerkraut
Sardines in mustard sauce
Horseradish
Lightly toasted pumpernickel, cooled