I've been on the hunt for the perfect sandwich.
I had the most confused 'pulled-pork' sandwich at a restaurant called Chill Winston the other day and to say that it left a bad taste in my mouth would be a euphemism. Truth be told, it just made me feel really sad.
It could have been great. It had the foundation straight: pulled barbecue pork and caramelized apple spread on a toasty baguette. Check.
Here's where it got weird: Vietnamese condiments were a part of this sandwich. Pickled carrots, cucumber and small, spicy chilies topped my wanna-be southern shredded meat.
I tried, unsuccessfully to eat this poor, sad, confused 'wich. It had me distraught all day. I got so caught up dreaming about what it could have been...
I know how a pulled pork sandwich is supposed to taste. It should be saucy, not dry, and it should have deep, golden brown colour resulting from hours of slow cooking.
This meat did not possess either of these qualities. It was beige, dry and completely underwhelming. It wasn't even the messy affair that required a wet nap to clean up the sauce up to my wrists like I was hoping for.
So the other morning I kept pushing back breakfast thinking that maybe I could find a date to go to my favourite spot, Bandidas. The Alan's breakfast (bowl of mixed greens, pinto bean mash, guacamole, fresh tomatillo salsa, fried eggs, cornbread muffin tops with honey butter, pleaaaaaase) was calling my name. Alas, no luck on the date, so I hit the streets with my heart set on a sandwich that would make me forget about the Chill Winston Experience (C.W.E).
I went to a long-time favourite local's spot called Paul's Place - The Omlettery, on Granville and W7th Ave. The omelettes here are exceptional, no questions asked. The colour on the perfectly cooked egg outside is golden yellow, with the fillings inside always fresh and a perfect crunch. To make sure you always get the omelette you ordered, the kitchen thoughtfully places a definitive piece of whatever is inside, on the top. It acts like an affirmation: 'Yes! I am the chorizo and corn egg roll--up that you ordered!'
Today, though, I had sandwich on the mind. So, I went out on a limb and ordered the Big Bubba Breakfast Club:
Triple decker sourdough bread topped with egg, fried mushrooms, avocado, cheese and sprouts.
It sounded great. It was definitely not stupendous. It didn't even make me forget about the C.W.E.
The yoke was hard, so there was none of that perfect, golden dribble to dip the 3 pieces of bread into.
Strike number one.
The crusts of the bread were hard and sharp and cut my mouth, while the bread in the middle of the sandwich was soft and almost on the edge of soggy. It wasn't up for the job to support the Big Bubba Club. It didn't know there would be so much to hold up.
That warrants strike two, no?
The cheese was orange and generic and the whole thing was pretty boring. I am a fried egg sandwich connoisseur and this was no fly egg sarnie.
I left with resigned lamentation at Vancouver sandwiches' inability to impress me. I was daydreaming about days when I lived down the street from the mom and pop Italian deli, Pepinos, that made sandwiches that would make you weep with joy. The roasted turkey with roasted red peppers, eggplant, cheese and shredded lettuce with the house sauce? I'll take three please. Brown bread, and an cappucino on the side, please.
Where is Vancouver's Pepinos? Do you know? Will you share your sandwich secrets with me?
Yesterday I came home from a long day of work on my feet feeling exhausted and hungry. A friend offered to make me a tuna sandwich and I gratefully accepted.
Please believe it was of the best tuna sandwiches I have ever eaten. It had small chopped onion and jalapenos, miracle whip and lots of mashing up until it was smooth. The best part was that it was on top of Texas-style, soft, thick, fluffy, white bread. It was the kind of sandwich that brought me right back to childhood memories, working a booth at the Waldorf Christmas Faire, frantically looking around for the saviour of a sandwich man, who carried around trays of tuna, egg and salmon salad sandwiches. They were like gold.
A sandwich always taste better when you are hungry, and they almost always taste exceptional when someone else makes it for you.
I can tell you, while I was inhaling that soft, perfect sandwich, the memory of the C.W.E floated off into the distance. Always trust, the answer's usually closer than you expect.