The Tomato Sandwich

I couldn’t let summer slip away without talking about the tomato sandwich. It is, in my humble opinion, the season’s perfect food. Simple, fresh, and straightforwardly delicious, there is something about that dripping concoction that refreshes and satisfies like nothing else when the temperatures are hot and the humidity is thick and bearing down on you (our local weatherman has accurately coined it “air you can wear”). To be clear, the sandwich I am speaking and dreaming of is the Southern tomato sandwich, which consists of nothing more than fresh white bread, a generous slather of (preferably Duke’s) mayonnaise, ripe tomatoes, and hearty doses of salt and pepper. This is not the time and place to get fancy.

I am sad to say I haven’t had one of these delectable sandwiches yet this summer, because the idea of making one on my now mandated gluten-free bread is blasphemous to me. A tomato sandwich should not occur on multigrain, sourdough, not baguette nor marble rye—it should be made on the softest slices of white loaf bread you can find and the only debate to be had is whether you choose Wonder Bread, Sunbeam, or a generic store brand variety.

As for the tomatoes, I want to be a purist and tell you that only homegrown, garden fresh tomatoes will do. However, I am a city-dweller who possesses a black thumb, and the best I can manage is to procure my tomatoes from a farmer’s market or beg them from a friend’s garden whenever I get the chance. Store bought tomatoes are usually grainy and less than ideal for making delicious sandwiches. Some folks insist that on a two slice maximum, because overloading the white bread can cause it to give way; I prefer to let greed be my guide and I stack my slices like a game of Tetris until I can’t stack any more. No risk, no reward, in my book. I will also confess to you something I never gave a second thought but am now starting to puzzle over: all my sandwich making life, I have peeled the skin off my tomatoes. Does anyone else take this step, or are you all simply slicing away? It’s an extra step, but a labor of love, and one I assumed everyone was doing that I now realize may be an anomaly.

You should, by now, already know my stance on mayonnaise: Duke’s mayo or bust. There is a reason this beloved spread has a cult following; it’s simply the best there is, and no Hellman’s or Miracle Whip can stand in the same room (I will begrudgingly allow the use of Blue Plate as a runner-up in emergency situations). Use whatever spread your heart desires, but if you truly want to make yourself a Southern “sink sandwich” (aptly nicknamed because they are often eaten standing over the kitchen sink to catch the flowing, messy juices that run down your chin and hands), Duke’s is the only way to go.

And when it’s time to season your magnificent creation, I prefer simply salt and pepper. A few years ago, a friend boldly suggested the use of celery salt. Feeling adventurous, the husband and I gave it a try one wild weekend. Clint was a fan, but only as a now-and-then change-up and not as an every time use, and I am just a creature of habit who cannot be so bold as to embrace trendy fads such as these on my tried-and-true beloved sandwich. Another acquaintance who clearly thought I was a renegade once suggested adding basil; the mere thought made my heart race. People really are mad out there. I cannot even bring myself to use kosher or sea salt in place of regular old iodized salt straight from the shaker (and the more salt the better, if you ask me. My husband jokes that I like my sandwiches to glisten). If it ain’t broke, after all.

I recently came upon this recipe in which the author heralds “My Best Tomato Sandwich” and was intrigued. After all, I have a deep, abiding love for tomato sandwiches and have been eating them since I was able to chew, so what, pray tell, would make one the Best? Y’all. This lady, who bless her heart, after a slight bit of internet research revealed heralds from New York, has no idea about tomato sandwiches AT ALL. First of all, she toasts multigrain bread. Toasts? What kind of bread? What in the devil? She also suggests we slather mayonnaise on just one piece of this bread, which I feel is a huge mistake. Southerners know you need lots of mayo to act as glue and hold those slippery ‘mater slices onto your bread, although the “Eli’s Health Loaf” she recommends using may offer a tighter grip (it’s giving me the heebie jeebies thinking about a tomato sandwich on something called a health loaf, to be honest). I don’t know what kind of sandwich that winds up being, but it is not a Best Tomato Sandwich. I bet she’s never even eaten hers standing right over her sink. I could invite that lady down South and whip her up a real bonafide sandwich with some Sunbeam, Duke’s, and a garden tomato that would knock her socks right off.

There’s a reason the tomato sandwich has been around for over a decade and we still never get tired of eating them. In the South, are summers are long and hot, and tomatoes thrive in the heat even if we do not. It’s easier to stop complaining about the heat and the gnats and the mosquitos if you’ve got sandwich bread stuck to the back of your teeth. While there’s still some summertime left. pour yourself a glass of sweet tea, slice up some watermelon, and make yourself that perfect Southern tomato sandwich (maybe even make an extra one and eat it for me). Just make sure you don’t serve it up on Eli’s Health Loaf, okay?

Now that is what I call a work of art.