Having standards is important. Without standards, we have no way of knowing if we’re experiencing something good or if it’s total crap. How can we know the quality of a thing if we have nothing to judge it against? Standards. This applies in a lot of ways in our lives: the clothes we wear, the groceries we buy, the music we listen to, the books we read, the dumb memes we send our wives, and so on and so on and so on. For me, one of the most regular expressions of my standards is when I go out to eat at a new-to-me restaurant.
When I go to a new burger place, I always get the same thing. Cheeseburger with lettuce, onion, mustard, American cheese, and mayo. Fries, too, because a burger is inseparable from fries. Always. The next time I go back I can get the blue cheese and barbecue sauce monstrosity, but I need to know how well they prepare a simple, no nonsense burger before I allow for extravagance and specialty ingredients.
When I go to a new upscale-ish restaurant that I am reasonably sure I’ll return to, I order the chicken. A restaurant can do all sorts of things to mask a lack of fundamental technique, but a chicken breast? Pretty easy to screw up. If they nail a chicken breast during a busy dinner service, it’s a fair bet that everything else on the menu will also be prepared well. Get the filet mignon with the sea foam spinach and wet smoked pistachios next time. For the first time? Chicken breast.
When I go to a new diner, I order an omelette with feta cheese, peppers, and onions, home fries, and rye toast. Unlike a burger place, this order is an even greater tell. No feta on the menu? Strike. Only white toast? Strike. Those things inform me and help me decide if I’ll be coming back. The kind of diner I want to have a meal by myself in while I read my book and sip on below-average coffee has all the correct ingredients to make the omelette.
By far the most important standard is the humble cold cut sandwich from a deli. It’s also the most telling of a place. The perfect sandwich is as follows.
- Sourdough bread, sliced or roll
- Roasted turkey
- Hot soppressata
- Cheddar cheese
- Lettuce
- Onion
- Mayo
- Mustard
That’s it. Seems simple, right? And it is! But that soppressata throws a wrench in the works. It’s a critical part of the construction and balance of the sandwich: a little spice and a little fattiness to complement the roasted turkey’s stolid structure. Yet, many places don’t have it, especially as you get away from major population centers. That’s understandable. It’s sort of a specialty ingredient and maybe off the radar if you’re in the sort of place where you grew up eating chipped beef. But when you find it in some deli that’s really out in the cuts? It’s a good sign that your sandwich is going to be delicious.
It’s no great loss, either, that the sandwich I’ve described above is rock solid, even if you have to sub in regular salami or pepper turkey or some other cheese. That’s the point, really: to possess a perfect baseline against which to judge other sandwiches and other sandwich-making operations. Next time you can have the barbecue tri-tip sandwich with spicy fritos from the shack off the highway in Prunedale. (Dude’s going to give you a cup of soup even if you don’t ask for it, so show up hungry.) But this time, the first time, go with something that will tell you how the place actually is. It will change the way you think about dining out, even for something as mundane as lunch.
Be First to Comment