BREAD AND BETTER

Ever since Chic Young first had Dagwood build a tower of cold cuts and glop, that’s been widely taken to be the model sandwich. Especially in restaurants, where the quest for novel combinations of ingredients is as fervid as the hunt for Tiffany lampshades. It’s time to call a halt to such wretched excess. The simpler a sandwich is, the better it’s likely to be. Conversely, the more complex it is, the more likely it is that the restaurant has something to hide-and is hiding it inside your sandwich, under relishes and condiments and layers of lettuce, pickle, and onion. Herewith, a few rules for sandwich making and eating.

>Any sandwich with more than three ingredients, excluding bread, isn’t a sandwich. It’s an indiscriminate heap. (My wife, peering over my shoulder, sniffed, “What about that peanut butter, banana, honey, and wheat germ sandwich you made?” Doesn’t count, I reply; the wheat germ is an attempt to give some flavor to the bread, like salt on a boiled egg.)

>Mayonnaise belongs on salads, not on sandwiches. Mustard sometimes, horseradish when appropriate, butter always.

> Sandwiches are supposed to beeaten with the hands. If you have totake it apart and eat it with a knife andfork, it isn’t a sandwich.

>Bean sprouts should be allowed to grow up.

> Toast is something you eat forbreakfast. If the bread on your sandwich is toasted, that probably means itdidn’t have any taste to start with.



Fortunately, there are a few first-class restaurants that serve first-class sandwiches. Here are my nominations for the four best sandwiches in Dallas.



THE TARTAR SANDWICH AT KUBY’S



About as basic as you can get: raw ground beef mixed with raw chopped onions and served on buttered rye bread. The flavor of the bread mingles nicely with the flavor of the beef and the onions. There are potato chips and a dill pickle and a little cup of wurst salad if you need them. And there’s a pot of excellent horseradish if you want to add a piquant note. If for some peculiar reason you don’t want to eat raw meat, you can order a tartar sandwich to go, take it home, grill it, and have the world’s finest hamburger.



THE OYSTER LOAF AT S&D OYSTER COMPANY.



First-class French bread, split, with a half dozen juicy fried oysters and a little tartar sauce. This is a perfect example of how the sandwich can be a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Normally, I insist that there’s no point in frying good oysters, and that tartar sauce is an insult to fish. But somehow this sandwich transcends its transgressions.

THE SAUCISSON AT CALLUAUD’S

More elegant than ever in its new location, Calluaud’s still serves the most inelegant of sandwiches-salami-in its most superb form. Actually, what it amounts to is a hunk of French bread sliced transversely and spread with un-salted butter, a few slices of excellent Italian salami, and thinly sliced, crisp, sour cornichons for garnish. You can have mustard if you want it. I don’t think it needs it.



THE AVOCADO, CRABMEAT, AND BACON AT PITTMAN HOUSE.

This violates every rule I have for sandwiches, and I love it. The bread is a tasty whole wheat, the three principal ingredients a delightful complement of tastes and textures. You can scrape off the excess garnitures if you wish.