Coming this fall to Disney World's Downtown Disney Marketplace is an eatery called The Earl of Sandwich. It is affiliated with England's 11th Earl of Sandwich, who in 2001 tasted commercial success after he started an upscale sandwich business in London, complete with the family crest as its logo.
John Montague, the fourth Earl of Sandwich, supposedly was so addicted to gambling that he refused to halt his card game even to dine. According to legend, he ordered his kitchen staff to bring bread and meat, and then stacked them together for an impromptu meal. However delightfully debauched such a tale might seem, it is probably fictional, according to Montague's biographer, N.A.M. Rodger: "There is no doubt, however, that he was the real author of the sandwich, in its original form using salt beef, of which he was very fond. The alternative explanation is that he invented it to sustain himself at his desk, which seems plausible, since we have ample evidence of the long hours he worked from an early start, in an age when dinner was the only substantial meal of the day, and the fashionable hour to dine was four o'clock."
Regardless of how it was invented, it was a brilliant stroke. Among the best sandwiches I ever ate was one made in Bath, England, not far from the Montague family's ancestral stomping grounds. It was a Welsh rarebit sandwich, blessed with the best cheddar cheese I ever tasted, perched upon a fabled "Sally Lunn" bun — a fluffy, round soft bread made from the same recipe the baker Sally Lunn originated in 1680. It was heated, melting the cheese into a lascivious pool atop the bread, forcing me to eat primly with knife and fork. I washed it down with a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea.
But you don't have to go to England or Orlando to sample a decent sandwich. Why not try a few outstanding specimens of the genre right here?
Ciccio & Tony's Restaurant So what if wraps don't look like sandwiches? They're based on the same principle: various meats, sauces and cheeses wrapped into tortillas and eaten by hand. I'm partial to the California Wrap ($8.75), grilled chopped chicken breast, black beans, marinated cucumbers, rice and jicama; or the Club Wrap ($8.95), taking a page from the classic club sandwich and featuring roasted turkey, bacon, lettuce and diced red tomato. Choose one of 17 dipping sauces, including honey mustard, basil pesto, ginger wasabi and Ciccio salsa. With each wrap comes a "daily starch" and steamed veggies.
The day we visited, the side dish was a brownish wallow of mashed potatoes, one of the more exotic versions you'll find locally, made with Marsala wine and crimini, porcini and shittake mushrooms, and a big hit of butter. It resembled mud, but tasted delish. The veggies were crisp-cooked cauliflower, carrot and broccoli; the cauliflower exhibited a couple of age spots, but it was edible.
For those of you who are cutting back on carbohydrates, there are the non-sandwich sandwiches, known as lettuce wraps. These involve various types of fillings, generally meats, wrapped in bibb lettuce leaves and accented with cucumber salad, julienned vegetables, bean sprouts, black bean and water chestnut salad, and dipping sauce.
Chicago Dog House & Grill Let's go from the chi-chi modern sandwich to classic Americana. Consider the lowbrow chili cheese dog, a steamy hotdog ($2.85) layered with chili the color of used motor oil and lavished with a sunny layer of melted cheddar. It's the kind of sandwich designed to keep residents of The Windy City going on a cold days — heavy, hearty and filling.
The all-beef dog was steamed just right for a few minutes in hot water and placed upon a fresh white bun sprinkled with poppy seeds. The chili was not exactly a paragon of its ilk, but it tasted reasonably good and was redeemed by a crown of gooey, messy, melted cheese. (You might want to leave your white gloves at home.)
My dining companion liked his Reuben dog ($2.75), sauerkraut, Russian dressing and melted Swiss cheese on a bun.
The décor is strictly lowbrow fun as well, with walls decked out in Illinois license plates, Chicago Bears and Northwestern University memorabilia, and Chicago street signs.
On the day I visited, a 6-foot-plus-tall man wearing a Chicago Bulls T-shirt was eating an enormous, Chicago-style beef sandwich, jumbo-size with six ounces of beef ($7.75), marinated in an Italian gravy and layered with roasted peppers, sautéed onions, and set on crusty Italian bread. The sandwich was so big that he had trouble fitting it into his mouth, but time and persistence paid off, and eventually, the only thing left was crumbs.
Food Editor Sara Kennedy dines anonymously, and Weekly Planet pays for her meals. She can be reached at sara.kennedy@weeklyplanet.com or 813-248-8888 ext. 116.
This article appears in Sep 4-10, 2003.