Nem's banh mi sandwich.
So many sandwiches, so
little time. Unable to pick just one, we narrowed it
down to eight.
BY ROB PATRONITE
534 Ninth Avenue, near 40th Street
Before they got uppity, good sandwiches were simple
and primordially satisfying like Planet's French
dip: just beef, bread, and luscious pan juices.
Salt & Battery
112 Greenwich Avenue
You can't shove just any old thing lying around the
kitchen between two slices of bread and call it a sandwich.
Or can you? French fries on white bread sounds like
an act of desperation, but admittedly, from time to
time, we crave it.
105 Sullivan Street
Alessandro Gualandi is a moody maestro, the David Bouley
of sandwich-makers. The Pinocchio soppressata, prosciutto,
mozzarella, red-pepper dressing, and tapenade on baguette
or focaccia -- is worth enduring the occasional mood
70 Greenwich Avenue
Addictively garlicky, freshly roasted pollo asado on
pan de manteca slathered with ajilimojilo sauce and
aioli, and deliciously smooshed in the sandwich press.
Bresaola, Rucola, and Grana
21 Bedford Street
The prettiest sandwich in town. A seductively simple
masterpiece of paper-thin bresaola, pristine lemon-splashed
arugula, and grated grana, carefully layered between
crustless Pullman-loaf slices. Dainty looks, huge flavor.
150 Fulton Street
Rainbow’s falafel is a soupçon spicier, but Alfanoose's
is a rarity in the falafel trade: a tidy, structurally
sound sandwich rolled like a burrito in a pliant pita.
Only one or two napkins required.
Grand Central Terminal
Yes, it's a dummied-up, wussified beginner's banh mi,
devoid of any unidentifiable Chinatown lunch meats,
but the excellent crusty bread it's served on gives
it a big textural boost.
246 West 4th Street
Mary Redding's exceedingly fresh pan-fried cod, lavishly
spread with homemade tartar sauce on a grill-toasted
ciabatta roll, is nearly identical to the one at Pearl
Oyster Bar, from which she recently parted company.
But Mary must have kept a few secrets to herself --
her tastier tartar wins by a caper.