On garnishes, the unsung heroes of every great sandwich

Why are sandwiches never as good when you make them at home? You might even buy your bread and meats from the same shop where you grab your to-go hoagies, but for the most part, your homemade version just won’t measure up. You might as well call it a sub. (That’s short for subpar, right?) So what gives?

While there are some special cases (you can hardly be faulted for not having a flattop seasoned by decades of bygone cheesesteaks at home), we’d venture a guess that your sandwiches may be lacking in one key area: the garnish.

Even the word “garnish” sounds like a total throwaway; condiments, an afterthought. But great sandwiches require balance. We say “roast pork,” but a bitter vein of broccoli rabe is implied. At least half of the appeal of a “tomato sandwich” is the silent mayo. And while we might let laziness or barren pantries get between us and fully realized sandwiches at home, we’d be unlikely to forgive any sandwich shop that dared to be blasé about shredded iceberg lettuce or the proper white onion, sliced paper-thin.

Of course, your own tastes may disagree with one or more of the specifics cited above, which brings up the other major point about garnishes: they’re completely customizable. In Philly, where sandwiches are the ultimate staple food, there’s no shortage of worthy shops. So you might choose one shop over another based on what they pile on, or favor a spot that hands over a partially blank canvas and lets you browse the pepper-and-pickle bar at your own pace. To explore the possible variations on some of Philly’s most beloved sandwiches, we took several detours, but the place to start is, of course, Ninth Street.

For cold-sandwich canon, the obvious first choice is a trip to Sarcone’s. Grab a benchmark Italian hoagie and default to lettuce, tomato and onion, lightly dressed in oil and vinegar, with a sprinkle of Italian seasoning on top. If you prefer more acid or heat to cut through all those cold cuts and provolone, hot or sweet pickled peppers or roasted long hots do the trick. 

You can begin to venture into the classic roast pork at Sarcone’s, too — or, if you prefer a change of scenery, head to Chickie’s or Cosmi’s. Or find your way to Reading Terminal Market for DiNic’s, which earned the title of  “America’s Best Sandwich” in a bracket-style TV showdown hosted by Man vs. Food guy Adam Richman. Whichever way you go, you’ll find an archetypal combo that employs broccoli rabe, prepared as simply as possible, to add bitter intrigue.

Many of Philly’s signature sandwiches are being turned out of family-owned shops that have pedigrees going back to the 1930s or further. But there are some relatively new kids on the scene owned by trained chefs, many of whom take some liberties with the old standbys. That’s certainly the case a few blocks down Ninth, at Paesano’s. Their Italian hoagie, which goes by the name of the Daddy Wad, is irreverently topped to favor bigger flavors: There’s red onion in place of white, hot and sweet pickled peppers strewn throughout, and arugula standing in for iceberg lettuce. What you lose in crunch, you gain in astringent bite. 

Paesano’s version of the classic roast pork sandwich, though, takes more liberties with the pork than with what goes on it. Roasted suckling pig is the pork of choice. Shards of sharp provolone and broccoli rabe apparently couldn’t be improved much upon, though the sautéed rabe is more assertively seasoned than that of the competition. Chopped long hots are incorporated throughout, giving the entire sandwich serious heat. 

Another elevated take on roast pork that’s made some noise recently is chef Eli Kulp’s version at High Street on Market. Here, the broccoli rabe is treated with far more care than most: It’s fermented with bold additions like garlic, scallions, chile and horseradish. The process adds tremendous flavor and preserves the product allowing the restaurant to use locally sourced rabe for more of the year.  

What’s the impetus for this sort of riff, if DiNic’s roast pork has already been crowned the best sandwich in the country without the extra steps? For Kulp, it’s a matter of reflex: “Normally, every time you get that sandwich, it’s pretty much just steamed broccoli rabe. As a chef, I eat that sandwich and think, ‘Wow, that’s such a good combination; it’ll be even better if I take some extra care with that as far as season and balance.’” Here, as at Paesano’s, the desire seems to be to carefully compose a new perfect bite that still pays homage to the one the city already loves. Kulp specifies that his goal is “to represent the sandwich really well without getting too fussy.”

Kulp’s long hots get treated with a similar abundance of care. In his kitchen, the peppers get pickled with garlic, thyme and bayleaf and are finished with a quick char on the grill before being served alongside each sandwich. Kulp describes long hots as “iconic,” which explains why they have such prominence on his menu, even though, he admits, “most people don’t even eat them.” He thinks that a few people might be unsure how to eat them, but guesses it’s mostly a bit more straightforward than that. “The thing is, honestly, some of them are really fucking spicy. You have to be careful to find the right balance as you eat.”

Back in the Italian Market, it seems unlikely that anyone would be unsure of what to do with a long hot. “Iconic” does seem an apt description for the peppers, which, despite their heat, are a deli mainstay. At Sarcone’s, you can buy them by the pound, roasted and packed in seasoned oil. Stuffed pepper shooters remove some of the fiery seeds and pith, to be replaced by sharp provolone. They’re eaten as a snack, plunked wholesale onto a sandwich, or chopped up and incorporated throughout. While their heat varies from pepper to pepper, they’re typically much hotter than the pickled banana pepper rings or cherry peppers that are also standard.

Of course, Ninth Street and the area around it now hosts plenty of diversions from the classic Italian-American fare that gave the neighborhood its name. While hoagies and roast pork may be Philly’s best-known signature sandwiches, it would be fair to say that tortas, cemitas and banh mi are now eligible for that pantheon. The flavors and ingredients are all different, but the basic idea of balancing out rich and carb-y elements with crunchy, spicy or tart embellishments is entirely familiar.

You’ll find tortas at almost every South Philly taqueria — and because most of the owners in this area come from Puebla, many offer that state’s signature sandwich, the cemita, as well. Typically, you choose a filling from selections that echo the meats you might select for a taco (carnitas, lengua, al pastor) plus things like breaded and fried cutlets, ham, eggs and cheese. In some cases, as with the “Cuban” tortas at El Jarocho or Los Gallos, the sandwich comes layered with several of those potential fillings. 

The toppings, then, are crucial to keeping the sandwiches from veering into overkill territory. And they’re pretty standard: On most tortas around town, you’ll find layers of lettuce, tomato, onion, avocado, jalapenos, mayo and often a thin layer of refried beans. At Los Gallos, the mayo is flavored with chipotle, and the jalapenos are pickled. Cemitas, in addition to occupying a different sort of roll, vary a little more in their toppings from place to place, but there’s one unifying, defining garnish: papalo. Julia Moskin once described papalo as “a fresh herb with the bite of watercress and the breath of cilantro,” and no one has probably done a better job of describing it since. Less articulate types usually just default to describing it as “kind of like cilantro,” though with a lack of conviction that suggests that it’s “like” cilantro in the sense that they are both Mexican herbs. The flavor is distinct, and it’s a crucial component.

Just steps off Ninth Street, at Nhu Y, there are fine examples of Philly’s other great sandwich, the banh mi. West Philly spots like Fu Wah are famous for these, even if people do insist on calling them “tofu hoagies.” But tofu is just one option: typically, fillings include fatty pork, spiced and charred chicken and rich pate, often with a smear of mayo or butter. Here, the garnishes are really the star of the show, yielding a far lighter sandwich than any other we’ve discussed: julienned or shredded carrots lightly pickled in rice wine vinegar, whole sprigs of cilantro and batons of cucumber and jalapeno. The meats, though typically quite flavorful, function more as a counterpoint to the crunchy salad.

Ultimately, all of these examples from across the city serve to illustrate a basic takeaway for enjoying better sandwiches. Consider: What is central to your sandwich? Next: What is its opposite? Add that. Make sure each element tastes good on its own.  Otherwise, just go out and let someone else do all the thinking.