- The mustard is spread on the meat-side of the sandwich, and is in contact with the meat in the completed sandwich.
Why? The meat tends to stick to the bread just fine on its own. I find I need the condiments to help glue the lettuce in place.
- If there are multiple pieces of an ingredient in a sandwich, you should divide them up and put other ingredients between them.
For example, if you’re making a ham and cheese sandwich with three slices of ham and three slices of cheese, you should arrange them ham-cheese-ham-cheese-ham-cheese not ham-ham-ham-cheese-cheese-cheese.
No, no. You spread the mustard on one of the slices of bread, then slap the two slices of bread together and slide them around a bit (thus spreading the mustard evenly throughout the surfaces of both slices), then pull apart the two slices of bread and proceed to build the sandwich.
When making hamburgers this approach also works with ketchup.
- Good bread or there’s no point. Wonder bread is not good bread.
Mustard is spread generously on BOTH slices of bread. I do not subscribe to the Mayonnaise Heresy.
Here, here! Mayonnaise is an abomination worshipped only by the WonderBreadites.
Hand-cut farmer’s market sourdough, baked that morning. One of the few things that helps get me through the summer.
- If lettuce is to be part of the sandwich, it must be either of the outer-most layers, adjoining the bread. Under no circumstances is it to be placed between other layers, lest disaster befall when a bite is taken. Condiments are not to be considered layers under this rule.
I can get behind this.
Nonsense! I don’t always have thick slices of whatever it is I’m making my sandwich out of, so stacking up thin slices is the only way to go.
No sauce is better on a BLT than mayo! Don’t even get me started on how good mayo and hotsauce are on a turkey sandwich. And how dare you accuse me of Wonderdreadism!
Yes, mustard must not contact lettuce–acid in the mustard kills the lettuce taste.
Another one…
- IFF the sandwich has a salad filling (tuna, chicken, etc) and IFF the sandwich is not going to be eaten immediately then a leaf of lettuce must be between the bread and filling on BOTH sides of the sandwich. No soggy bread after 2 hours.
^—Helpful tip for those having sandwiches made at the airport to take on the plane.
[ul]No fries in the sandwich.[/ul]
[ul]If you can’t pick it up and take a bite from top to bottom, it’s not a sandwich, it’s just a pile of food.[/ul]
Good dopers! Hear my words.
A sandwich is not a sandwich unless it includes mayonnaise.
That remarkable emulsion is the sine qua non of sandwichness.
Without it, all you are ingesting is a suboptimal amalgam of bread and fillings.
So say I!
Others who dare to disagree are heretical.
They shall be dealt with.
<emit scary lightning bolts from butt now>
There!
See?
The Gods of Mayo are with me.
Bow down and worship them and (by the way) give me offerings of cold cuts and freshly baked bread.
There a people who just don’t like mayo. As long as they use mustard as the barrier between potential soggy-bread-making-things and the bread, I’m cool with it. Personally, I enjoy mayo on one side and mustard on the other. Best of both worlds.
Amateur. Everyone who is higher than a green belt in the sandwich arts knows that salad-based sandwiches are served on bread that is lightly toasted.
Patience, grasshopper.
- An open-faced sandwich is NOT a sandwich.
Really does depend on the sandwich. I hated Wonder-types of bread for the longest time. Now, not so much. Grilled cheese? Good on all sorts of bread, but American white bread is my comfort food. Pulled pork? Give it to me on the fluffiest, most tasteless bun imaginable. Don’t fuck with me with ciabatta or brioche or fancy-ass breads. I want to taste pork–the bread is merely to keep my hands clean.
I actually don’t have any sandwich rules that I could think of. I’m down with open-faced and normal sandwiches–in fact, I’ve been eating almost nothing but open faced toasted rye sandwiches with garden tomatoes and homemade mayo for the last two weeks (it’s tomato season, yay!)
My rule: Fresh Bread! Fresh Sandwich!
That would make my chip butty rather boring.
I’m a sandwich libertarian — whatever is done between two consenting slices of bread is none of my business if it doesn’t affect me, but your right to swing your butter knife ends where my lunch begins.
Specifically, when you’re making sandwiches for a group, for the love of all that is holy, put the fucking sauces on the side. My gustatory preferences have no place for mayonnaise and a limited role for mustard, and I’m far from alone in both regards — yet every premade sandwich on Earth has one of these substances slathered liberally onto the bread.
Just put them on the side! That’s all I ask! You’d think this would be win-win; the Mayonnites and Mustardarians could enjoy custom-sized portions of freshly-spread sauce that hadn’t been soaking into the bread for an hour or more, and those in my contingent might actually be able to get a sandwich we like. But no, time and again, the progressive movement is shouted down by the cuisinial conservatives, and the current climate leaves no room for compromise.
I declare thee an apostate!
Accommodation with the Mustardites is an abomination to the Gods of Mayo.
Repent or be stricken down!
…
OK, the voices in my head are silent for a little while.
For a little while.
Yes, mustard is remarkably good with salami or pastrami. Actually, it tastes pretty good with most beef.
My pseudo-rant was triggered by an amazing tomato sandwich that I ate for lunch.
Pumpernickel bread with both sides liberally slathered with <insert trumpets triumphant here> mayonnaise, as the container for a locally grown (right up there on the top of that hill) tomato thickly sliced and then seasoned with a little salt and pepper.
Summer tastes like that sandwich.