INSPIRED SANDWICH

     

     Last night's dinner came straight out of a recipe book in the Joy of Cooking, page 21, it sounded so good without tweaking, faithfulness was a must. It called for "finely chopped moistened pecans to mayo and take that tapenade onto a sliced bread and lay them together on nasturtium lettuce, and one side of bread grilled, buttered and mustarded on the face." The author of this classic is not only a consummate epicurean, Ms. Rombauer is also poetic in delivering her instructions, and this sensitivity to inspire makes all the difference in food (and eating) - her choice of nasturtiums as greens for a sandwich in the 1950s was evidence of her high-culinary ethos ahead of her time. In the book following this recipe was another interesting ingredient mix to an original club sandwich layer suggesting crushed pineapples between the hot bacon and cooked chicken (although I am vegan, just reading through this ensemble she's putting together on a club is like a breath of fresh air). So the search was on. It's past 6pm when I was feeling hungry as I read through this recipe whetting my appetite, I ran to the store. My local grocer is indeed "local," this nomenclature respective of Hawaiian-oriented food, and expecting not finding nasturtiums and pecans, a plan b was devised on the go. Canned garbanzos will definitely do, and butter lettuce has that mild-peppery and crisp quality to it as nasts are in substitute, so I grabbed them hastily, my stomach time was ticking. But I am the type of cook (or eater) that maximizes combinations of flavors if I can achieve them without much ado, therefore in the same aisle as the canned chickpeas executively I took from the shelf each of these: artichoke bottoms, crushed pineapples, yes!, English green peas and pimientos peppers. In my head I was already thinking of a type of vegan egg salad sandwich mashing the chickpeas with the chokes and folding in the rest of the sweet-smokey ingredients with mayo, mustard, salt and pepper, olive oil - and the final piece was, voila, on sourdough bread. I had everything I needed and couldn't wait to make my sandwich (by the way, a local purple taro chips was available at Tamura's and I got one bag of those for side). Again, think of maximum flavor, and reuse; I had in my fridge from that morning's cooking the remaining stock liquid from chayote squash simmered in butter and chili flakes, I rendered the garbanzos and chokes into this emulsion and paste them together for - yes - maximum flavor. Whipping up my "egg salad" was downhill from that point, all I needed to do was slice some chilled tomatoes and wash the lettuce and pat dry them, then grill my bread in butter and olive oil on the inside only, not both sides, so when I slop over the salad the toasted side is a bread support hard and firm it will uphold my layers nicely and abundantly. This hefty sandwich might not be as genteel as the pecans and nasturtiums tapenade but it is no doubt still all-American in nature and portion and could never go wrong with the chips. I was eating to my heart's content last night absorbing the qualities I imagined in the book to render in the dish of my own version and gladly at the table worked their poetic justice. This is, my friends, the reward in the joy of cooking.