CULTURED CLUB
A sandwich by any other name is a paltry excuse for dinner. But the club sandwich, that defiantly satisfying declaration of taste and style, is a true classic.
Fast Food was a franchise series I produced with Jean-Georges Vongerichten, published in CITY Magazine for nearly a decade. This is the second installment of re-publishing the features we worked on together over the years.
A sandwich by any other name is a paltry excuse for dinner. But the club sandwich, that defiantly satisfying declaration of taste and style, is a true classic.
WHAT MAKES THE ULTIMATE CLUB SANDWICH?
It’s a very personal subject. Not unlike lasagna, barbecue, and Bloody Marys, it’s purely subjective—a recipe to which countless people have claimed authority. White or wheat? Turkey or chicken? Open or closed? As with any recipe, there is no right answer, only what you prefer. Here’s my favorite: an adaptation of the sandwich we offer on the room service menu for guests at the Trump International Hotel and inspired by the tastes of Thailand.
Like any much-heralded recipe, the origins of the club are a little fuzzy, but we can thank the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis for introducing it to the public at large. The sandwich’s early fans championed its complete-meal benefits—meat, bread, mayo, and veggies claim four of the basic food groups (though mayo is hardly an ideal source for dairy). I added avocado and an egg to give it an Eastern appeal.
Remember, though, it’s the layering that defines a club sandwich; the ingredients depend on the cravings of its creator. Just don’t forget to add toothpicks.
Ingredients
3 slices sourdough bread
8 oz skinless, boneless chicken, pounded thin
Mayonnaise
3 slices bacon (2 oz)
¼ avocado, sliced
1 large romaine lettuce leaf
4 slices tomato
1 egg, cooked over easy
Method
Toast bread. Season and grill chicken. Spread mayonnaise on each slice of toast. Then add the following to the first slice:
First Layer
Chicken
Bacon
Avocado
Then, cover with second slice of bread and add:
Second Layer
Lettuce
Tomato
Egg
Top with final piece of bread. Press sandwich down firmly, then skewer toothpicks into each corner. Cut on the diagonal, twice, to create four triangles.
Next up, Installment Three:
LIQUID LUNCH: Forget the bowl. Ditch the spoon. When a crock of hot stew seems out of the question on a steamy summer day, a shot of chilled soup is all you need. By Jean-Georges Vongerichten
This subject always makes me think of Dagwood.