[Disclaimer: The following words do not in any (most) way(s) reflect an intentionally malicious or slanderous opinion of mine towards any specific short-order sandwich-making establishment, as I realize that most of them are going about things in equally unscrupulous ways.]
Being the son of a quality guy (by profession and by lifestyle), I have been brought up to understand the credo "quality before quantity", and have unofficially adopted the phrase as my life motto. I am morally convicted that the primary concern of any endeavor should be that it's product is more than worth the effort. Anybody can sling garbage at breakneck pace, but true virtue is found in the craft of one's hands.
Thus, when I'm told that the cheese goes beneath the patties of a double cheeseburger (in the glorious name of economy), I feel as if my morals have been thrown into the deep-fryer. It is my duty to provide customers with a culinary experience that is somewhat comparable to the $5 investment they've made; a feat that becomes extraordinarily more difficult if the cheese must go under the patty.
Let me explain myself a bit more clearly. Few things in this life are certain - nearly nothing lies within the realm of black or white. Everything seems negotiable these days. I fervently contend, however, that when it comes to the architecture of sandwiches, right and wrong are distinct entities. (My brother and I have actually been intending to write a book concerning the matter of correct sandwich construction, but at the moment that undertaking is on hold.) That's right, I'm a firm believer that there is an incorrect way to make a sandwich (however, variations of correct assemblies do exist - but those will be outlined in detail in the book).
Anyway, back to the kitchen of a certain unnamed sandwich joint... I stared incredulously at the burger before me and at the manager who had "corrected" my method of its making. My world spun out of control as I was told that, for efficiency's sake, the lettuce and tomato would be placed on the bun first, followed by a slice of cheese, two patties, and topped off with the other slice of cheese and the cap bun. I didn't even know where to begin to criticize this miscreant burger.
Lettuce and tomato FIRST?!?! No. Not now, not ever. The entire purpose of this sandwich is the hamburger, thus it goes first. This is the case with 99.9% of meat sandwiches. Protein comes first; it must always be touching the bun. There is a physics to this which I won't dive into at the moment (keep an eye out for that book), but essentially you don't want the meat floating carelessly around in the middle of your sandwich - for ergonomic and gustatory reasons.
Cheese BENEATH the patty?!?! This one seemed obvious to me. Cheese goes on top of the patty. Boom. I thought that people were born with this intuition. But apparently this concept needs explaining... First, assuming you're making a hot sandwich as I was, you're expecting the cheese to melt; and going back to the first point I made, if there is anything under the meat - notably melty cheese - then attempting to eat your sandwich becomes a desperate juggling act as you try to prevent it from sliding apart. Secondly, the cheese has properties which demand that it be closer to the roof of the mouth; for instance its tendency to stick. Imagine how much more of a pain it is to remove a sticky food from beneath your tongue as opposed to the roof of your mouth. It's a whole different experience. Thirdly, in the case of the double cheeseburger, the aim is to provide a smooth, even bite - an aim that gets exponentially harder to reach as the inconsistency of the burger increases. "Patty, cheese, patty, cheese" makes much more sense than "cheese, patty, patty, cheese."
In a defiant act of civil disobedience, I continued making my burgers correctly, and - if I do say so - with an ignorable difference in construction time. Confident of my ability to make a decent sandwich (value of ingredients aside), I reviewed my reasoning for the making of a good sandwich:
Bottom Bun (toasted) -> Self explanatory. The bottom bun goes on bottom.
Burger -> (See Above)
Cheese -> (Also, See Above)
Bacon (if included) -> Keep the interesting parts of the sandwich together. You don't want to be separating the taste. Also, the bacon gives some friction to the cheese, helping to hold the sandwich together.
Lettuce -> The placement of the lettuce hinges on what kind of lettuce is being used. Since the role of the lettuce isn't as much to provide taste as it is to provide texture, the key is to find a place for it where it won't be interfering with the structural integrity of the rest of the sandwich. This is usually right after the cheese, and always under the tomato. For shredded iceberg (like the kind regrettably used by most burger joints), it goes directly on top of the cheese/bacon. This creates a sort of "nest" for the tomato and the rest of the condiments. This is its only function because, after all, it's iceberg lettuce.
Tomato -> The tomato is the sandwich-maker's best friend; and his worst enemy. It can add the perfect amount of juiciness to the sandwich, completing its purpose; or it can cause the sandwich to self-destruct, leaving the eater frustrated and wholly unsatisfied. The slipperiness of the tomato is the source of its power - for good or for evil. If you can manage to successfully tether the tomato to the sandwich, you have won a great victory. Therefore, it is paramount that the slipperiness of the tomato must not be equally matched by the slipperiness of its neighbors, lest you create a rift in your burger. The tomato must be surrounded by ingredients that are inherently frictional, i.e. iceberg lettuce and the cap bun.
Cap Bun (toasted) -> Self explanatory. The cap bun goes on top.
At the (insert name of burger place at which I'm employed), we stop here. The condiments are left for the customer to add, according to his wishes. However, if I was to add them in the kitchen, their placement would be like this:
Mayo/Mustard/Ketchup -> Between the cap bun and the rest of the sandwich. They act as a lubricant and an introduction to the sandwich, so it's important that they are on top.
Pickles -> Depending on the characteristics of the other "vegetables", the pickles could go either above or below the lettuce. You want them close to the middle of the sandwich because 1.) they need to be secured, and 2.) they have too strong of a flavor to exist on the outsides of the sandwich.
Onions -> Should go on top of the tomato, simply because no other place works for them.
This is the architecture of a cheeseburger. This is it's true form. There is no grey area here, simply the fact that this is the way it is done and there is no other way. No cheese under patties.
I marvel sometimes at the simplicity of making a good sandwich, and the unavoidable inclination of mankind to screw it up. If we can't even get sandwich-making down, how can we possibly pretend to have our entire lives in order? It's a reminder to me that we should leave the thinking to the Man back in the Kitchen. He certainly knows what He's doing.
...
I'm open to any questions/comments/complaints/outrages about sandwich techniques, and I cheerfully encourage them, provided you first put down the paring knife.
Also, seriously. Keep your eye out for that book. It will happen.
Being the son of a quality guy (by profession and by lifestyle), I have been brought up to understand the credo "quality before quantity", and have unofficially adopted the phrase as my life motto. I am morally convicted that the primary concern of any endeavor should be that it's product is more than worth the effort. Anybody can sling garbage at breakneck pace, but true virtue is found in the craft of one's hands.
Thus, when I'm told that the cheese goes beneath the patties of a double cheeseburger (in the glorious name of economy), I feel as if my morals have been thrown into the deep-fryer. It is my duty to provide customers with a culinary experience that is somewhat comparable to the $5 investment they've made; a feat that becomes extraordinarily more difficult if the cheese must go under the patty.
Let me explain myself a bit more clearly. Few things in this life are certain - nearly nothing lies within the realm of black or white. Everything seems negotiable these days. I fervently contend, however, that when it comes to the architecture of sandwiches, right and wrong are distinct entities. (My brother and I have actually been intending to write a book concerning the matter of correct sandwich construction, but at the moment that undertaking is on hold.) That's right, I'm a firm believer that there is an incorrect way to make a sandwich (however, variations of correct assemblies do exist - but those will be outlined in detail in the book).
Anyway, back to the kitchen of a certain unnamed sandwich joint... I stared incredulously at the burger before me and at the manager who had "corrected" my method of its making. My world spun out of control as I was told that, for efficiency's sake, the lettuce and tomato would be placed on the bun first, followed by a slice of cheese, two patties, and topped off with the other slice of cheese and the cap bun. I didn't even know where to begin to criticize this miscreant burger.
Lettuce and tomato FIRST?!?! No. Not now, not ever. The entire purpose of this sandwich is the hamburger, thus it goes first. This is the case with 99.9% of meat sandwiches. Protein comes first; it must always be touching the bun. There is a physics to this which I won't dive into at the moment (keep an eye out for that book), but essentially you don't want the meat floating carelessly around in the middle of your sandwich - for ergonomic and gustatory reasons.
Cheese BENEATH the patty?!?! This one seemed obvious to me. Cheese goes on top of the patty. Boom. I thought that people were born with this intuition. But apparently this concept needs explaining... First, assuming you're making a hot sandwich as I was, you're expecting the cheese to melt; and going back to the first point I made, if there is anything under the meat - notably melty cheese - then attempting to eat your sandwich becomes a desperate juggling act as you try to prevent it from sliding apart. Secondly, the cheese has properties which demand that it be closer to the roof of the mouth; for instance its tendency to stick. Imagine how much more of a pain it is to remove a sticky food from beneath your tongue as opposed to the roof of your mouth. It's a whole different experience. Thirdly, in the case of the double cheeseburger, the aim is to provide a smooth, even bite - an aim that gets exponentially harder to reach as the inconsistency of the burger increases. "Patty, cheese, patty, cheese" makes much more sense than "cheese, patty, patty, cheese."
In a defiant act of civil disobedience, I continued making my burgers correctly, and - if I do say so - with an ignorable difference in construction time. Confident of my ability to make a decent sandwich (value of ingredients aside), I reviewed my reasoning for the making of a good sandwich:
Bottom Bun (toasted) -> Self explanatory. The bottom bun goes on bottom.
Burger -> (See Above)
Cheese -> (Also, See Above)
Bacon (if included) -> Keep the interesting parts of the sandwich together. You don't want to be separating the taste. Also, the bacon gives some friction to the cheese, helping to hold the sandwich together.
Lettuce -> The placement of the lettuce hinges on what kind of lettuce is being used. Since the role of the lettuce isn't as much to provide taste as it is to provide texture, the key is to find a place for it where it won't be interfering with the structural integrity of the rest of the sandwich. This is usually right after the cheese, and always under the tomato. For shredded iceberg (like the kind regrettably used by most burger joints), it goes directly on top of the cheese/bacon. This creates a sort of "nest" for the tomato and the rest of the condiments. This is its only function because, after all, it's iceberg lettuce.
Tomato -> The tomato is the sandwich-maker's best friend; and his worst enemy. It can add the perfect amount of juiciness to the sandwich, completing its purpose; or it can cause the sandwich to self-destruct, leaving the eater frustrated and wholly unsatisfied. The slipperiness of the tomato is the source of its power - for good or for evil. If you can manage to successfully tether the tomato to the sandwich, you have won a great victory. Therefore, it is paramount that the slipperiness of the tomato must not be equally matched by the slipperiness of its neighbors, lest you create a rift in your burger. The tomato must be surrounded by ingredients that are inherently frictional, i.e. iceberg lettuce and the cap bun.
Cap Bun (toasted) -> Self explanatory. The cap bun goes on top.
At the (insert name of burger place at which I'm employed), we stop here. The condiments are left for the customer to add, according to his wishes. However, if I was to add them in the kitchen, their placement would be like this:
Mayo/Mustard/Ketchup -> Between the cap bun and the rest of the sandwich. They act as a lubricant and an introduction to the sandwich, so it's important that they are on top.
Pickles -> Depending on the characteristics of the other "vegetables", the pickles could go either above or below the lettuce. You want them close to the middle of the sandwich because 1.) they need to be secured, and 2.) they have too strong of a flavor to exist on the outsides of the sandwich.
Onions -> Should go on top of the tomato, simply because no other place works for them.
This is the architecture of a cheeseburger. This is it's true form. There is no grey area here, simply the fact that this is the way it is done and there is no other way. No cheese under patties.
I marvel sometimes at the simplicity of making a good sandwich, and the unavoidable inclination of mankind to screw it up. If we can't even get sandwich-making down, how can we possibly pretend to have our entire lives in order? It's a reminder to me that we should leave the thinking to the Man back in the Kitchen. He certainly knows what He's doing.
...
I'm open to any questions/comments/complaints/outrages about sandwich techniques, and I cheerfully encourage them, provided you first put down the paring knife.
Also, seriously. Keep your eye out for that book. It will happen.
While I do frequently say "quality before quantity", the next phrase should be just as important...."but quality AND quantity is what the customer and shareholder desire"! So, flip those patties just a little bit faster, while creating that masterpiece! (p.s. The boss likes it better that way also)
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