Whoa.

“the Kevin Butler sandwich is a bacon double cheeseburger on two deep-fried monte cristo sandwiches.”

http://www.npr.org/blogs/waitwait/2011/02/14/133750392/sandwich-monday-the-kevin-butler

Yes, that is a burger and fries stuffed into a calzone (unknown source, unknown origin)

Or at least I thought. I have so far discovered two very incredible things that go rarely mentioned about this epicenter of the dairy state; the beer, and the sandwiches.  The beer is amazing, but I will pass on that variety of fancy adjectives in describing the huge variety of local brews (and yes, in Wisconsin, Schlitz is a local brew, available on tap no less).

But the sandwiches. My god, the sandwiches. To only discover the secret of how this small city makes anything between bread so incredible, so perfect, all the way from delicate deli sandwich to full-blown novelty burger, just an absolute embrace of the True Sandwich Ideal.

I plan to bring more news from the sandwich front, but the device I ate tonight must be shared immediately. From The Great Dane, a pub featuring something like 15 beers of their own invention, and a newspaper menu detailing a full page of sandwiches, comes the Brat & Bacon Pretzel Burger. I will let the menu description do justice:

A one-third pound U.S.D.A. choice ground beef patty and a one-quarter pound bratwurst patty grilled with caramelized onions and topped with Applewood smoked bacon, sharp cheddar cheese, lettuce, pickles and tomato. Served on a pretzel roll with a side of Peck’s Pilsner mustard.

Let’s review: a beef patty, a sausage patty, applewood bacon, sharp Wisconsin cheddar, all on a pretzel bun. The bartender stated “never put it down. It just won’t look the same if you do,” and it wasn’t long to see the wisdom in this. Once you commit to eating this ‘burger’, you have no choice but to delve in with blind devotion and kill it off as fast as you can. To stop and reflect will only lend to fear and guilt, uncertainty and doubt.

My fellow pretzel-burger consumer could only mutter a string of repeated “oh my god…. oh my god…” after wiping his hands of the affair, staring down the bar at some other patrons who voiced their curiosity with further “oh my god… oh my god… I can’t walk… yes I recommend it.”

And now, with a Fat Sandwich Company and a Come Back In yet to explore, I wonder if I might have found the true Mecca of Sandwich. More to come.

I used to try and grab these anytime I cruised through Elgin, but now I’ll make the drive just for the sandwich. Don’t forget to pick up some raw Elgin Hot Sausage too, $3 a pound and well worth the grilling.

The real debate was what to have for lunch. It was either mix and match leftovers or hot dogs on the grill. I voted for leftovers but was overruled by the padres. 2-1. I no longer had my partner-in-crime sister to get my back. To make things worse we only had one bun.

Normally I’m fine eating with sliced bread but I draw the line at hamburger buns. Something is not right in this picture…

That was until I arrived in Tucson. Known as The Sunshine Factory for the constant abundance of sunny skies, it was anything but. My friend Steve and I arrived the day before while on a cross-country road trip from New York City to California. We stopped for a day in Austin, Texas before pushing on to Tucson where we crashed with my former roommate Rick.

“You can’t leave town until you have a Sonora Dog,” Rick said.

“What’s a Sonora Dog?” I inquired.

The Sonora Dog is a local twist on the traditional Hot Dog. For starters, the hot dog is wrapped in a piece of bacon, cooked on a grill and topped with diced tomatoes and onions, mustard, mayo, chipotle sauce and avocado puree. But wait, there’s more! The imbiber then has the option to add cheese, mushrooms or jalapenos. The brave (or brazenly ignorant) can opt to have a guerito on the side – a small white spicy pepper named after the Spanish slang word for little white boy. The resulting dog almost spills over the bun.

On this particular afternoon, we walked to the corner of Prince and Mountain where a cart was set up in the parking lot of Lucky Market which advertises liquor, beer and wine. I approached the cart and was greeted in Spanish by Jose Ramon. I ordered myself a dog and he quickly went to work. I gazed upon the glorious dog and paused long enough to snap a few photos before devouring the tasty snack.

It is the perfect combination of spice, meat and overwhelming flavors. It creates a hodge-podge of flavor as you chew through the different layers. It’s 100 % Sonorense, according to the sign. And to think it all costs the consumer $2.50 a dog. There is also a special for two Sonora Dogs and a soda for $5. New York City vendors would surely whimper in fear if they ever encountered this wiener.

Tucson's Sonora-style Hot Dog. (photo by Matthew Huisman)

XXXXX serves up Sonora-style Hot Dogs in Tucson. (photo by Matthew Huisman)

Sonora-style Hot Dog stand in Tucson. (photo by Matthew Huisman)

I pondered this question late last week as I ate yet another meal in the Columbia University dining hall, which looks more like something out of Hogwart’s than the Ivy League. I made my pass by the usual stations: the omelet line, pizza, salad bar. Nothing looked appetizing until I came upon the main course. Ah yes, bastardized Chicken Cordon Bleu consisting of fried chicken topped with a slice of ham and swiss cheese. I stared at it a second before a devilish smile stretched across my face.

I grabbed two pieces of the Cordon Bleu and put a waffle in between them. I topped it with some syrup and served it up with a glass of orange juice. Oh, and don’t forget the hot sauce. Now that is one sticky, greasy, spicy sandwich. Kind of appropriate considering chicken and waffles were created in the 1930′s kitchens of Harlem. My guess is that this sandwich is the perfect hangover cure. And while I wasn’t hungover -it was a Thursday for fuck’s sake- the nontraditional sandwich would no doubt satisfy the craving for both sweet empty carbs and greasy meat. I definitely need to corner the market on this one.

Why thanks Reid, I’ll take the honor of posting the first actual Ham on Rye sandwich. Of course, I didn’t stop there.

First Bavarian Rye bread. What do Bavarians like? Has to be pork. Cue the rosemary ham and, what the hell, then the pheasant and rosemary pate.

I covered it in a little smoked gouda, some French Dijon moustard and some frisee.

I finished with a few rosemary chips and Feudi Falanghina 2008 to pair. The Falaghina grape is lightly herbal, with refreshing acidity and good weight. It paired very well.