Korean-American Fried Chicken Sandwich
A double-fried boneless fillet brushed in gochujang or soy-garlic glaze, on a soft bun with kimchi slaw and pickled daikon. Bonchon's 2006 New Jersey arrival, on bread.
A double-fried boneless fillet brushed in gochujang or soy-garlic glaze, on a soft bun with kimchi slaw and pickled daikon. Bonchon's 2006 New Jersey arrival, on bread.
Not a sandwich, but potato or meat filling in dough; sometimes split and filled.
Alaskan king crab meat on bread; luxury item.
A Kentucky communal stew cooked so thick a spoon stands in it, ladled open-faced over bread or cornbread. Burgoo is a kettle tradition first, a sandwich second.
Hot dog topped with sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and Thousand Island dressing; KC's Reuben-inspired hot dog.
Kansas City puts the sauce in front: burnt ends or chopped pork on a plain bun under a thick, sweet tomato-and-molasses glaze that clings rather than cuts. The most sauce-forward barbecue city.
Kalua pork is the leftover of an underground pit oven where shoulder cooks under banana leaves and hot stones for hours. When it ends up on a sweet roll, the bread is the smallest decision.
Minneapolis stuffed burger: a slug of American cheese sealed inside two ground-beef patties so it melts molten and bursts when the crust is cut.
The bartender slides it over and tells you to wait. Cheese sealed between two raw patties, now a molten pocket holding more heat than any slice on top. That one relocation is the whole burger.
Genoa salami, capocollo, and smoked ham shingled with provolone on a soft French roll, dressed cold and built in under a minute for delivery, the #9 from Jimmy John's.
The plantain is fried twice, and the second fry is the one that makes a sandwich possible: two green planks set rigid enough to carry hot steak and garlic mayo, no bread anywhere.
A thin mung-bean crepe poured and egg-bonded on a hot griddle, sweet bean sauce and a fried cracker folded in before the whole thing is handed over still steaming.
A two-foot Italian roll dressed in oil and vinegar, wrapped for the sand. On the Jersey Shore it is a sub, not a hoagie, and the famous counters trace back to White House in Atlantic City.
Six cured meats shingled to order and dressed "Mike's Way" with the vinegar and oil applied last over the top, the #13 Original Italian from Jersey Mike's.
The New Jersey breakfast sandwich is pork roll, egg, and cheese on a hard roll, and the order names you: Taylor ham in the north, pork roll in the south, the same disc on the griddle.
Panko-breaded pork or chicken cutlet (tonkatsu) with shredded cabbage and tonkatsu sauce between crustless Japanese milk bread (shokupan)...
Oatmeal cookies with ice cream, dipped in chocolate; SF classic since 1928.
The generic Italian sub the US Northeast calls a hero in New York, a hoagie in Philadelphia, a grinder in New England, a wedge in the Hudson Valley, and a zep on the Schuylkill.
A Maine Italian is ham, American cheese, green pepper, onion, tomato, sour pickle, black olives, and oil on a soft roll that folds shut. Traced to Amato's of Portland, dockside, 1902.
Hot dogs (often two) fried in a 'pizza bread' (round Italian bread) with potatoes, peppers, and onions.
Genoa salami, capicola, and ham shingled with provolone on a seeded Philadelphia roll, dressed with oil and oregano. The cold-cut argument of the South Philly deli counter.
Capicola, salami, ham, and provolone shingled down a long roll with oil, vinegar, and oregano. New York's cold deli default, and the unproven Paddleford story behind the name.
You order it by telling the counter how wet you want it: dry, wet, dipped, baptized. That vocabulary is the giveaway, the cook controls the moisture and you do not.
The dipped Italian beef sends the whole assembled sandwich back into the jus before serving, called wet, soaked, or dipped at the counter. Al's #1, Mr. Beef, Johnnie's.