A sandwich is not a sammich

A sandwich is merely a combination of food items, usually always including 2 slices of bread and a some sort of meat product in the middle of them. A Sammich is an event. A sammich may or may not be life changing. A sammich is deserving of a lot of hard work to make and a special nickname when it's complete, such as 'Sexwich' or 'Deathwich'.

If any sandwich is arousing or almost kills you because of its sweet, sweet goodness, it is a sammich.

If you spend more than 10 minutes making a sandwich, and you do so with special care and love and lots of ingredients, it is most likely a sammich.

Anything with more than 3 layers is definitely a sammich.

And finally, if it's the best sandwich you've ever had (Like the Quiznos turkey-bacon-guacamole sub) it's safe to call it a sammich.

I went to a place called the Frost Stop yesterday. I'm fairly sure that I was served a sammich in place of a dull, run of the mill, sandwich. Looking at the menu for the place, I noticed a food item entitled yatwich.

Now, according to the rules, since it already had its own special name, it was a sammich. But a name doesn't mean anything. We all know that that which we call a rose, by any other name would grow out of the dirt. However, the guy behind the counter, when I asked what a yatwich was comprised of, told me that it had, "everything."

I asked him to hold the mayonnaise.

It took a little while longer to make than it did for the burgers that my compatriots were getting, but when the guy behind the counter called out the number 54, I stepped up to reap the delicious bounty that I had ordered. This particular food item was divided into thirds, it had three different kinds of meat (the meat which I so desperately crave), the likes of which I wasn't sure. I love me some meat, but I'm not a connoisseur of meat products so much as a person who just enjoys them. There was lettuce, and fresh tomatoes, and gravy, and it was just dripping with the goodness of it all. I am at the ideal weight for an average man who is 8" shorter than me, and usually I'm not a big eater, but I downed that wholesome delicious meat-filled, cheese-amplified, gravy-enhanced monster faster than any of my friends could begin to approach burger completion.

This food, a bit of pure, concentrated, wholesome goodness, without an ounce of not-goodness, truly deserves the appellation of sammich.

Ah, but there are those things that transcend the everyday world of mere sandwiches and sammiches, things that take on an almost mystical profundity when viewed through the eyes of gourmonds the world over. I am speaking, of course, of the po' boy and the muffuletta. I dare not profane these wonderful creations with the name sandwich, for that is far too mundane and sterile a description for these delectably messy delights, and yet sammich seems somehow inadequate and entirely too vulgar to properly convey the wonder of indulging yourself in these.

The muffuletta is a scrumptious meta-sammich consisting of three types of lunch meats, two types of cheese and olive salad on a round loaf of italian bread. Remember the mega-sandwiches Shaggy and Scooby used to create in the haunted mansions? You've got the idea of about how many layers your muffuletta should have. I've never seen anyone eat an entire one of these, most people stick to quarters, a few hungrier souls manage a half; I once saw a nearly insatiable person pull off three quarters, but even he had to stop, and come up for air. You will probably never see a supermodel taking a bite out of a muffuletta.

Then there is the Po' Boy. They come in an astonishing number of varieties; while shrimp and roast beef or both popular, there are also oyster, ham, cheeseburger and fried catfish po' boys. You can eat them dressed (with lettuce or cabbage, mayonnaise, tomato and pickles) or with nuttin' on 'em (although with a roast beef po' boy, gravy will still likely be included, and perhaps a little zatarain's creole mustard). What po' boys have in common is the bread; the best have french bread with a very crunchy crust and a very light center, rather reminiscent of the pain ordinaire or baguettes you might find in france. Eating a po' boy is almost always a messy experience, a dressed roast beef po' boy drips with gravy and mayo mixing together in one sloppy mess. It is not a refined experience like nibbling lightly on an assortment of cheeses while sipping a slightly nutty but mature chateau latour; it is a joyful, sloppy expression of the wonder of food and the richness of life.

Sandwiches are things they make at Subway and Quizno's that will fill a hungry stomach, sammiches are an art, but a good po' boy or muffeletta can be an affirmation of the joy of living.

I am happy that Everything has provided me with yet another fine vocabulary item, one that allows me to tell the following story.

I used to work at an Italian restaurant in Boston. As they had a substantial lunch crowd, they offered a number of "gourmet" sandwiches for those young executives on the go. Many of these involved some of those really disgusting Italian hams, and the ones which included prosciutto tended to contain only three paper thin slices.

My favorite was the simple yet elegant Pollo Pesto sandwich (excuse me, "sammich") which offered grilled chicken breast, marinated in pesto, served on a sub roll with provolone. Others added lettuce, but I felt this detracted from the sheer flavorious force of the chefs' fine pesto. I ate these by the ton, and what's more, they were generally free and came with a cookie.

I graduated from college and moved to Denver, leaving my life at the restaurant behind. Flash ahead about 4 years--I was working for a company and spearheading their efforts to create a multimedia sales presentation. We were scheduled to interview some guys from a Boston production company located almost across the street from the old restaurant. I strongly hinted that it would help their cause if they could pick me up one of these sammiches and bring it on the plane. Sadly, they had to postpone the meeting, but the next day I received the sammich via Federal Express. I'm sure it was unhealthy to eat it, but eat it I did, and it was a wonder.

We did not award the job to these guys. Them's the breaks.

The most rewarding aspect of the whole thing, apart from the sammich, was what I heard later. During my time at the restaurant, I worked with an asshole named Murad. He was still there when I got the sammich. One of the owners taunted him, saying that, thanks to my restaurant experience, I could compel guys in suits 2,000 miles away to order sandwiches for me, while Murad was still washing dishes.

Oh, yes. And I owe it all to the Pollo Pesto.