GOOD SAMMIES

By Francesca Arniotes

Not talking about good Samaritans today. It’s good sandwiches, or “sammiches” as our little kids say, or “sangwiches” as all the old Italian ladies in the neighborhood used to say. Making lunches for the grandkids last week, I was thinking back to my elementary school days and the excitement, only a hair behind Christmas Day, of flicking open the latches of my tin lunchbox to see what marvelous creation was waiting to be unfolded from its wax paper wrapping. 

On Mondays, it was likely to be a tasty slice of roast beef or capon breast from Sunday’s big midday dinner, between two slices of pizza bianca – white pizza –  from Sunday night’s supper. This is crazy to think now, how Sundays, while we were getting ready to go to 9:00 Mass, my mother or grandmother (depending whose week it was to host) was prepping a roast and side dishes so that the extended family could sit down together for our gigantic Sunday “dinner” at 1:00. Somewhere somehow in that same time frame, my mother would start pizza dough so it could slowly rise all day and be ready to be our evening meal. Half the dough was used for a tomato/cheese/meat toppings pizza and the other half was baked with olive oil, salt, oregano and cheese – pizza bianca. In the lunchbox the rest of the week, it could be pot roasted tongue or Roberts’ bologna and white American cheese on sliced Italian bread. Sometimes, it was juicy fried peppers and onions, with or without sausage, between the bread. Crispy bacon or thin sliced steak mixed with scrambled eggs was another inspiration. On Fridays, it might be peanut butter and grape jelly, my mother’s proud all-American-cookery moment, or (ditto) tuna salad. But it was just as likely to be a sandwich made with a tin of sardines in mustard and a lettuce leaf, or a slice of frittata, an omelet of sorts, with chunks of potato and onions bound together with eggs. All of these I loved. 

As a teen working in our butcher shop, with the entire deli case at my disposal, I enjoyed some thin slices of Virginia baked ham (baked by me in the back kitchen, not in Virginia, but nevertheless scrumptious with a brown sugar-mustard glaze) stuffed into a kaiser roll from Amaroso’s bakery in Philadelphia, delivered fresh daily!  But my hands-down favorite to fill that roll was Roberts’ bologna. Years later when we began to spend time in Italy, I discovered that the whole country is gaga over mortadella, which is, well, basically Roberts’ bologna with the addition of chunks of lardo. Are we hard-wired for certain things, I wonder? 

In Italy a sandwich, or panino, contains a couple of slices of only one kind of meat or one kind of cheese. The favorite by far is mortadella, followed by prosciutto, cured or cooked ham. Mozzarella and tomato is a fresh choice. Here, Italian sandwiches are called by many names, depending upon what part of the country you live in. There are hoagies, submarines, grinders, heroes, zeps, wedges, po’boys and torpedos. My cousin Scott carries on running the family butcher shop and he makes the kind of sandwich that you’ll dream about forever after. Scott makes a hoagie, on a long Amaroso roll, with extra virgin olive oil, a variety of shaved salami and provolone cheese, black olives, sweet peppers and an incredible tossed salad. It’s juicy, salty, savory and satisfying heaven.

My Greek husband is happy lunching most days on grilled horseradish cheddar cheese sandwiches on Dave’s Killer bread but sandwich-wise, he absolutely lives for Thanksgiving which is a hybrid holiday at our house. It is a feast of our favorite Greek dishes and roast turkey, which, honestly, was just his mom’s proud all-American-cookery moment. The turkey is not the center of attention at dinner, but is instead the star of the next several days’ sandwiches: sliced turkey breast with sausage dressing and feta cheese between slices of his homebaked bread. Soon after he and I met, by the way, he introduced me to Reuben sandwiches, a massive pile of thin sliced corned beef on rye bread with Swiss cheese, sauerkraut and Russian dressing. Wow. And I introduced him to the Philly cheesesteak: a hollowed-out long roll filled with grilled shaved round steak “wit” white American cheese and onions.

Boulder in the 1970’s was a much slower place that smelled of The Good Earth’s spice tea and introduced us to new flavors and sandwich combinations which became my favorites. Falafel in a warm pita bread with garlic sauce is something I never pass up. To make it at home is a bit of work, but well worth it when we sometimes just get tired of standard fare. Sprouted multi-grain bread spread with hummus, topped with havarti cheese, fresh Campari tomato slices, alfalfa sprouts and slivers of avocado is a healthy feast of tastes and textures that makes one sad when it’s all gone. 

Sandwiches are an opportunity to be creative, reduce food waste and use leftovers in an interesting way. I hope you have gotten some ideas not only for lunch, but for suppers too – like frittatas, pot roast or a Middle East feast from which tomorrow’s sammies might be built.

• Falafel

• 2 cups dried chickpeas (Do NOT use canned or cooked chickpeas)

• 1/2 tsp baking soda

• 1 cup fresh parsley leaves

• 3/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves

• 1/2 cup fresh dill

• 1 small onion, quartered

• 7-8 garlic cloves, peeled

• Salt to taste

• 1 tbsp ground black pepper

• 1 tbsp ground cumin

• 1 tbsp ground coriander

• 1 tsp cayenne pepper, optional

• 1 tsp baking powder

• Oil for frying

• (One day ahead) Place the dried chickpeas and baking soda in a large bowl filled with water to cover the chickpeas by at least 2 inches. Soak overnight for 18 hours (longer if the chickpeas are still too hard). When ready, drain the chickpeas completely and pat  dry.

• Add the chickpeas, herbs, onions, garlic and spices to the large bowl of a food processor and run 40 seconds at a time until all is well combined. 

• Refrigerate for at least 1 hour or (up to one whole night) until ready to cook.

• Just before frying, add the baking powder to the mixture and stir with a spoon.

• Scoop tablespoonfuls of the falafel mixture and form into patties (wet hands)

• Heat frying oil on medium-high until it bubbles softly. Carefully drop the falafel patties in the oil, let them fry for about 3 to 5 minutes or so until crispy and medium brown on the outside. Avoid crowding the falafel in the saucepan, fry them in batches if necessary. Drain on wire rack.

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