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The sandwich has both moral turpitude and spiritual strength in its legendary origins. It was named for John Montagu (1718-1792), the fourth Earl of Sandwich and member of the infamous cabal of whoring, hammered, pseudo-satanic noblemen known as “The Friars of Saint Francis of Wycombe,” but better known as “The Hellfire Club.” Montagu, who had a fondness of deflowering virgins, was also fond of eating cold roast beef between bread so he could continue gambling at cribbage without getting the cards greasy. The treat itself, however, can be traced back to the Jewish Rabbi Hillel the Elder, who lived in Jerusalem in the time of King Herod and is said to have placed Passover lamb between matzos as a reminder of the slavery of the Israelites in Egypt. At this point, though, they’re pretty damned international. And that’s what this piece is about: a bringing together of world’s disparate peoples through the common enjoyment of meat between bread. Of course, there are meat-free sandwiches as well, but my olive branch only extends so far. (Duncan Davidson)

HOT PASTRAMI

In honor of Hillel the Elder, and his noble matzo-munchies of the Pre-Sandwich Era, I’ll start with a classically Jewish sandwich: the hot pastrami. A favorite nosh in New York, the HP, like tattoo work, is one of those “get what you pay for” items. At Katz’s Deli in the Lower East Side, they go for $13.45, with the following rejoinder written on the menu: “Ask for mayo at your own peril.” What is pastrami? It’s a beef brisket, cured with salt and spices in a brine (i.e. corned beef), then smoked. Some fancier pastrami-makers skip the brine and employ a dry salt cure followed by smoking. For the layman, you need only know the following about pastrami: it’s magic.