My 6-Hour Sandwich: An Existential Odyssey in the Kitchen
Taking 6 hours to make a sandwich seems preposterous, but there is no better way to reaffirm the goodness of life than with food.
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It’s been a couple of days since I took the time, 6 hours to be precise, to make a most delicious sandwich.
The remnants of my farcical cooking adventure are not only present in my fridge and countertop but also in my personal growth as I moved beyond the “they 1” and entered the realm of a new now. “Dasein,” as Heidegger called it.
The realities of the week were difficult to put into perspective or even understand what was happening in my life and the world around me. It sounds ominous as I write these words, but as Nietzsche once stated, “Everything feels meaningless.” Sometimes, the reality is ugly to look at.
Sometimes, it becomes necessary to disengage from that ugly reality and take enough time to bathe the soul – to disengage so I can re-engage. To create a new now and emerge stronger and more determined…perhaps even wiser. Or, as Heidegger reminds us, “Anxiety wakes us up from being absorbed in the world so we can decide how to cope with daily life.”
It was time for an attitude adjustment – to wake up. I needed to pull myself together and give my life – or at least this day – a sense of cohesion and focus that was missing when I felt lost and scattered in the “they.”
I desperately needed some time in the kitchen, so I made a sandwich.
Most of the time, I can easily make and eat a sandwich like everyone else without worrying I will lose my individuality. But on that day…I needed to express myself differently…I needed to step outside social conformity and avoid going along with how things generally work. I needed to stop and be mindful about what I was doing.
I decided to lay out a few ground rules before I started building my sandwich. First, I wouldn’t worry about the time. I had no deadline to meet, so I could take extra time to expertly slice an onion razor-thin without putting my fingers at risk. I also wanted to make every element in my sandwich from scratch…and that takes time. Next, I would work on one project at a time…with the added obvious exception of doing things while the bread dough fermented quietly on the countertop. Finally, I had to keep thinking about the sandwich – the taste, texture, sharpness, look, and the first bite – I had to visualize it pleasing me. It needed to be an experience…a sandwich I wanted to write about.
“If our lives have no intrinsic meaning and we have enough to eat, then why do we take food so seriously? If the only reason is taste, then we are either a very shallow species or food is really important for a meaningful life.” – David Kaplan 2
The Focaccia
I decided to make focaccia my sandwich bread because it’s my all-time favorite bread…and I am slightly obsessed with it. Give me a sea coast, warm sunshine, a comfortable chair on or near the beach, and several slices of focaccia – yep, that’s about all I need to be a happy Jack.
I favor the focaccia style from the Ligurian region of Northwestern Italy. Here, the focaccia is slightly crispy on the bottom, golden on the top, has a fluffy interior with pockets of air holes, and is only 2 cm (about one inch) thick. The oil is light and fruity…which mysteriously seeps out and coats the bottom after it completely cools. Napkins are mandatory.
Most regions of Italy produce a style of focaccia. Sometimes, the focaccia is thicker and fluffier…and even has a topping of tomatoes, as is typical in Apulia. Some are boring facsimiles without much oil – sorry, Sicily. But…and I write this with the utmost respect…no other region matches the overall focaccia eating experience like in Liguria.
Years ago, I remember getting off a train in a small seaside village in Cinque Terre. I was hungry, and there wasn’t much open during the mid-afternoon. But I did find a small shack near the train station that sold focaccia. I ordered a couple of slices – with onions, I think – and after one bite, I knew…this was the best damn bread I ever tasted. I couldn’t get enough and sampled plenty more during the next few days.
These breads are traditionally baked in a large, commercial pizza oven – not wood-burning pizza ovens, but the stacked kind. Those ovens don’t exist for household use, so how would it be possible to create a focaccia at home…and in a traditional oven with the same kind of focaccia goodness found in Liguria?
That question stayed with me for several years until I met up with a chef friend who lived in Manarola, one of the beautiful Cinque Terre villages. Claudio had worked previously in one of the bakeries, and he agreed to work with me to convert his commercial recipe to one that would work at home.
After scaling the ingredients for home use, Claudio told me the flour had to be “0” Italian flour (ironically, made from Canadian wheat), which is not readily available everywhere. (Fortunately, substitutes are relatively simple if they have similar amounts of fat, protein, and starch – easily determined from modern labels. The amounts to look for are 2% fat, 13% protein, and 70% starch. Find a flour with those amounts, and you’re in business.)
Claudio shared some essential secrets with me on that day years ago. He was adamant about using smaller amounts of yeast in the dough, which meant the fermentation was slow…like really slow. Time became a key ingredient. Next, the focaccia needed a second fermentation in the baking pan. Forming the characteristic dimples in the dough was also essential, and allowing enough time for the yeasts to do their thing again. Finally, the baking temperature had to be high enough to create an initial oven spring and setting of the dough that would create a thickness of about 2 cm (one inch) after the yeast dies. That temperature is 200° C (395° F). After 15 minutes, the focaccia has reached its peak height and only needs to finish…and that’s where problems can occur at home. A commercial baker opens vents in the oven to control steam and temperature – after 15 minutes, those vents are opened wide when baking focaccia. But home ovens are smaller and don’t have vents…which means the higher temperature is trapped. The focaccia can brown too quickly…or worse, the interior can dry out when too much steam burns off…or double worse, the interior is not thoroughly cooked and turns gummy. The solution was to reduce the home oven temperature to slowly finish baking the focaccia, which generates that irresistible crispy, golden crust, and fluffy interior.
And that’s the perfect Ligurian-style focaccia, which is also the ideal variation for making a sandwich.
I began my odyssey by mixing and kneading the dough, then tipping it into a lightly oil bowl. I covered the bowl with a double layer of plastic wrap and carefully wrote Antonio on the plastic – this would be the name of my focaccia…which could sit on the counter for the next hour or two – perhaps more – to simply grow and develop.
Pickled Onions and Roasted Red Peppers
When I finished making the dough for the focaccia, I decided what else would go into my sandwich. I wanted something with a bit of crunch…maybe some heat…a touch of acid – yes, that too. I also thought…hmm…I should also make a sauce, but nothing came to mind immediately.
No worries…I prepared a small pot of green tea – my favorite Blue Sencha from Fukamushi - and put my stainless-steal pot on the stove to slowly heat.
I grabbed two small red onions, peeled them carefully, and cut them in half using my favorite Japanese knife. I was in no hurry – I allowed my razor-sharp blade to effortlessly glide through the onion, producing very thin half-moon shapes. I worked deliberately. I felt focused – the world around me emptied.
I reached under the counter and grabbed a small bowl. I added apple vinegar – probably several tablespoons – a spoon or two of sugar, a spoon of mustard seeds, sea salt, and some chili pepper flakes. I tasted my pickling liquid and decided it needed a bit more punch…in went a few more bits of chili pepper. I was satisfied. I popped all the onion slices into the liquid and gently massaged the onions. It felt good to get my hands wet and slightly sticky.
The onions were finished – I just needed to wait an hour or so before I strained them. I was happy…I could begin to taste this sandwich.
Next, I moved to the sweet red peppers – the long horn-shaped ones. I split them in half, removed all the seeds, and then sliced them horizontally about 1/2 cm thick (1/4 inch). Like the onions, I took my time – it’s a lot of fun to slice things with my sharp Japanese knife. I even challenged myself to see how identical I could make the slices while moving the blade along the pepper in a tip-to-heal movement. It reminded me of my knife skills class during my first week of culinary school all those years earlier. I chuckled as I remembered how many first-year newbies like me walked around with bandages after that first week.
My pan is now hot enough. I put the sliced peppers into a bowl, added enough extra virgin olive oil to coat the peppers, dropped in a good chef’s pinch of salt (I did this from high above the bowl – the cool factor in doing this amused me), and added a heaping tablespoon of Hungarian sweet paprika. After a quick mix, I scraped all the peppers and seasoning into the pan…delighting in the gentle hissing noise. I gave it a quick toss and turned on the oven – I wanted these peppers to ultimately roast; starting them in the pan was my way of giving them a turbo boost.
I cooked the peppers over moderate heat for about 3-4 minutes, then added a 1/4 cup of water to release the spices and any bits that may have stuck to the bottom of the pan…then onto a baking pan and into the hot oven for 15 minutes.
I tasted the peppers…then the onions. I was satisfied. More than 50% of my sandwich elements were complete. I was about an hour into my project now, and Antonio (the focaccia dough) hadn’t progressed much.
It was time to clean up a bit…and drink some more tea.
The Sauce
It seems obvious now that I was destined to make a mayo-based sauce for this sandwich…a variation with some added pop.
I decided to use my standard 2-minute method to whip up a batch of mayo. I added a spoonful of tomato paste, a teaspoon of sweet paprika, a small amount of smoky paprika, and a touch of my mix of ground-up chili peppers from my garden. It was just enough to produce a mild tickle in the throat.
Crispy Breaded Eggplant
My sandwich elements were coming together – I could begin to understand how this sandwich would taste…but something was still missing…I needed a bit of crunchy texture.
There were two elements I knew I wanted to make: focaccia and crispy breaded eggplant. The focaccia was on the way; it was beginning to look good. Now, I needed to focus on the eggplant element.
I settled on using a coating featuring panko because I think it consistently produces a crispy texture…and works perfectly in vegan versions that do not use egg to help bind the crumbs to the ingredient.
It was time to pull out the air fryer and get it hot.
I made the first batch – they looked terrific. They were exactly what I was hoping to create. I tasted one of the rounds. It was crunchy, lightly seasoned, and oozed out the eggplant's soft white interior – like dipping chips into an eggplant dip. I couldn’t resist trying a second round, but this time, I tasted it with some enriched mayo sauce. Again, the flavors worked perfectly. Nothing overpowered anything else…and I could still feel that tickle in my throat from my chili powder mix. I asked my wife to try one. She went for two…and then another one, and suddenly, I didn’t have any more left for my sandwich.
It was time to make more eggplant…and to start thinking about finishing the focaccia.
Finishing the Focaccia and the Final Touches
It took Antonio more than 2 hours to properly ferment. But eventually, the process was complete, and I could carefully tip the dough onto my oiled baking sheet.
I carefully stretched the dough with oiled fingers while creating those characteristic dimples. I thought about my sandwich and how it might taste. I wondered…was there anything I could put on top of the focaccia to enhance my experience – nothing dramatic…just another subtle layer of flavor?
Garlic…maybe a single grated clove of garlic that I could spread over the top. And yes…chopped green garlic stems. I went to work, chopping and grating the garlic elements, which I carefully pushed into the focaccia dough before the second fermentation.
I was closing in now… I only needed to bake the focaccia – that would take about 40 minutes, plus 10 minutes of cooling. It was time to clean and prep some rocket leaves…and, finally, put my sandwich together and crack open a beer.
I can’t commit to the notion this was the best sandwich I’ve ever tasted…or even made. It was delicious – that’s not a dispute. And it was (by a large margin) the most time-consuming sandwich I’ve ever made. Would I do it again? Probably…or perhaps some variation. The entire escape into my kitchen served me well. I was escaping my powerlessness to change a world that felt upside down. It felt good to take a deep breath and search for the basic goodness in life, which I found in my 6-hour kitchen odyssey while making a sandwich.
Endnotes
1 The existentialists urge us to find our meaning in life. The reason is that the ones we inherit from others (they) are not always so great. The existentialists were concerned about how blandly dull and homogenizing social life tends to be. For example, Kierkegaard warned against the complacent indifference of “the crowd.” Nietzsche warned of blind obedience to “the herd”: living as docile, faceless, obedient animals. Sartre criticized the dull, alienated life of the bourgeoisie, who live in bad faith and refuse to take ownership of their freedom. And Heidegger is critical of our “average everydayness,” where we take on the roles that anyone could occupy, absorbed into our inauthentic daily lives. They believed we could overcome the worst tendencies of social life and find better ways to live together.
2 Food Philosophy: An Introduction, written by David Kaplan. Find out more about this book.
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I love this SO MUCH. And this quote: “Anxiety wakes us up from being absorbed in the world so we can decide how to cope with daily life.” Now that’s something to contemplate as someone who struggles with anxiety! Thank you.
Oh, my. Hanging out with you in the kitchen by reading your odyssey was the perfect escape for me, too. Thank you for slowing me down, Jack.