I always made a good sandwich. I’m stuck with it. Some people get to play the piano, others explore the universe. I know somebody who has been studying synapses in monkey brains for 40 years, so I shouldn’t complain.
The first time I stood behind a grill for serious money, I was 14. And by serious I mean turning over 20 cheese steaks a minute. Because those people weren’t fucking around. They came to eat.
Don’t get me wrong. I dreamed a lot. I had myself all over the world, like James Bond without the danger. Just the girls. I was also making contributions to science, upending canons, and selling out Carnegie Hall. Who wasn’t? But I always stayed behind the grill, right through college and out into the world. I guess in some respects, I managed the James Bond thing, but with a spatula.
When you have a talent for something it’s like a trap, a disease. You just can’t help it. It’s a curse as much as a blessing. I could always walk into any town and get a job just like that. I could double business in a week, but I never stayed long. I used to break the owner’s heart. I got offered more partnerships than I can remember, but I always said no. I had bigger things in mind. What they were, I just couldn’t say. I was really offended once, when some guy referred to me as Mr. Cheesesteak. And I was making him a cheese steak.
If I had to tell you what makes a good sandwich, I would assume you don’t have taste buds. The first bite is the place where hypothesis gives way to formula. And everybody has a formula when it comes to sandwiches. My problem is that I have too many. I think it has something to do with the fact that I can also remember phone numbers. I must have a thousand in my head. I remember the phone numbers of dead people - lots of dead people, people I’d like to feed if I could, although I still make their favorite sandwiches. Call it a living memorial.
Unity, complexity, and intensity - I learned that in college, only it had to do with critical theory. Still, it goes for sandwiches. Depth, character, and economy make a masterpiece. You have to confront ideals, consider the opposite, entertain whimsy, and above all, experiment. But within limits. No sandwich should exceed the bread. Everything has a crust in Germany, where they like their sandwiches to bite back. It’s all happening on the outside. You have to chew one for quite a while before you find out what else you’re eating, unless it’s a hot dog, in which case there’s no bread at all, just the wiener.
Take a cheese steak hoagie with mayo. Where’s the unity in that? Or a grilled cheese, which is simplicity itself. Sometimes, chaos is simply complexity and simplicity, intensity. But in the end, like all great art, who gives a shit? If it’s good, it’s good. It’s only something to consider if you have to make the sandwich. Otherwise, just choose something from the menu and let me take care of it.
