Sometimes even a sandwich can get pretty complicated. And sometimes a “complicated” recipe won’t have you searching for scores of obscure ingredients or washing countless bowls. Sometimes it’s just that a “sandwich” typically means a fresh stack of things between slices of bread, and the atypical is a bit more involved, but surprisingly tasty.

This is an overnight sandwich. Make it if you find yourself with the right ingredients and a spare minute at 10 PM one night.

You will need:

• A “medium-soft” baguette
• Smoked turkey, sliced
• Brie cheese, sliced
• Cucumber
• Salt, flakes if possible
• Crème fraiche (optional)

Let’s break down the ingredients. I’ll cover the turkey last.

By “medium-soft” baguette I mean, not super-fluffy and not super-rustic either. The bread should give when you squeeze, but it shouldn’t collapse. 

I prefer English cucumbers for raw preparations. Why? Well, they’re nearly seedless, and they’re unwaxed. Instead of wax, they’re wrapped in plastic. This is not entirely wasteful packaging - unless your cucumbers are grown very locally, they’ll lose moisture quickly if they’re not sealed in some way. 

Now, the turkey. The most convenient sandwich turkey is, well, sandwich turkey - those huge, pale, dry slices of baked breast that adorn every supermarket’s fridge across from the deli. I buy this stuff often - it’s not bad. But you know what’s better? Smoked turkey.

More precisely, whole, unsliced turkey drumstick and thigh. This is where things get downright prosciuttal (you know, like prosciutto.) Where breast meat is predictably inoffensive, thigh meat is fatty and juicy, with loads of texture and flavor. Slice it yourself, and use the remaining bone in soup or stock.

You should be able to find smoked turkey at a good butcher or deli; around here, Whole Foods carries the Diestel brand. I hate to be a tease about this, but I actually used home-cured turkey made by my dad. He cold-smokes it, a bit on the rare side (which I should point out is probably not cool with the FDA, but my stomach has never complained.) I’d love to share a recipe for this, but it involves a custom-built smoker, so, maybe some other time. Take it as a suggestion to befriend a knowledgeable butcher! 

Whatever turkey you end up with, this should make at least a very good sandwich. Follow these easy directions:

Slice the bread and salt one side just a bit. Top with cheese. Top with cucumber. Top with turkey. Close.

Simple, huh? So let’s add some complications and clarifications:

Depending on how salty your turkey is, you may or may not need to add salt. If you do add it, the reason it goes on the bread (!) is because otherwise, it would either touch the cucumber (which would then release water) or the already salty turkey.

The cucumber goes in the middle so it’s bookended by two soft layers, which will minimize sliding. Nobody likes a poorly structured sandwich.

If you went with pre-sliced turkey, or whatever else you got is on the dry side, top it with a bit of crème fraiche. If you don’t have crème fraiche (who does, on a normal day?) you’ll still be ok.

Now wrap the whole thing tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate it. I mean, you don’t have to do this, but if you’ve trusted me this far, trust me another eight hours: the flavors will blend beautifully, resulting in a sandwich that tastes prepared more than assembled. Before enjoying, let it sit out of the fridge for 10-20 minutes, then serve with slices of tart apple and a glass of light white wine. 

This is another recipe inspired by a Portland food cart - this time, Addy’s. They’re friendly, quick, and they take credit cards. Now, I mean no insult to Addy when I say that I prefer my version. It’s just that not everyone has a dad who’ll send them home from Florida with a backpack full of freshly cured and smoked poultry.

“Fishy” is one of the great, underused flavors. Those who know and love it must perform lingual acrobatics to describe what they mean and why it’s a good thing: we speak of fresh sea flavor, of salty air, of garlic’s pungency; of bacon, even. And these terms are helpful; a good fishy fish indeed has all those components. But so specific and irreplaceable is the dominant flavor dimension of a small, oily fish that I feel it would be best to instead develop an appreciation for the “fishy taste” instead, accept it, and then find it as a component in other foods (and not vice versa).

I said “oily fish”, which has a pretty technical meaning. Oily fish include tuna, salmon, trout, sardine, and anchovy. They are distinctly different from whitefish like cod and pollock. A not-too-controversial statement, I hope: the typical fish sandwich served in the US of A contains a fried or grilled whitefish, dressed in tartar and lettuce. And that’s fine; I’m sure many places do that well. But there’s a whole world of fishy flavor waiting to be discovered. Let’s start with three sandwiches.

Tuna Sandwich

• 1 rustic baguette
• 1 can of good tuna, drained
• 1 egg
• 1/2 green pepper, sliced
• 5-6 black olives, halved; preferably whole Kalamatas, freshly pitted
• 1-2 tbsp vinaigrette of balsamic vinegar, mustard, mayo, olive oil, salt & pepper.

Hard-boil the egg using the technique described in our Pickled Eggs post, then slice it. Halve the baguette and “canoe” it, meaning, remove some of the fluffy inside to make room for the toppings. (You can use the removed bread to make breadcrumbs, or heck, just eat it.)

Make the vinaigrette (this is a whole other post, but in brief: start with vinegar in the bowl, add a bit of mustard and mayo, stir until smooth, then slowly drip in the oil while stirring, making sure it’s all integrated and the oil doesn’t float on top; season.)

Fill the bottom half of the bread with the tuna; pack it in well. Follow with the sliced egg, the halved olives, then the green pepper. Drizzle with the vinaigrette. Close the sandwich and…

…Wrap it tightly in plastic wrap. This is when permeating, integrated, rich flavor is born. If it’s going to be a few hours before you eat it, store the sandwich in the fridge. I recommend, however, leaving it on the counter and eating it at room temperature after an hour or two. Pair with white wine and a bag of chips.

Notes: My favorite tuna is Ortiz. I usually buy Peloponnese olives. Frantoia olive oil is still the best I’ve had.

Sardine Sandwich

• 1 soft baguette (Vietnamese if possible; these are fluffier and lighter than the rustic, Italian style used in the tuna sandwich.)
• 1 can sardines in tomato sauce, the best you can find (recommendation below)
• 1 large shallot or 1/2 onion, sliced
• 1-2 tbsp Kewpie mayo
• Butter, salt, sugar
• Balsamic vinegar

We’ll be caramelizing the onions first. The secret to this is to cook the onions twice, first at high heat (to brown them) then at medium heat (to soften them). Heat some butter over high heat; as soon as the butter is melted, go in with the onions, salt, and sugar. Give it a few minutes, making sure the onions soften but don’t burn. Then turn the heat down to medium and cook for another 10 minutes, stirring often. When almost done, splash in some balsamic vinegar and stir lightly. You should end up with sticky, dark onions - not melting-soft, though.

Slice the baguette with a knife sharp enough to not crush the fluffy inside. Spread the mayo on both halves. Fill the bottom half with the entire contents of the sardine can - sauce and oil and all. This will be a juicy sandwich (hence the fluffier, more absorbent bread!) Top with the caramelized onions. Eat pronto, perhaps with a side of pickled daikon and a glass of Saison Dupont.

Notes: I love Pollastrini and Connétable sardines; the stuff you find at Safeway (Crown Prince, Brunswick) is almost unusable. Find the real deal at your friendly, fancy deli. As for mayo, I either make my own or use the excellent Japanese Kewpie; no US mayo comes close. Always cut with the sharpest (i.e. safest) knife you have - mine is a Global santoku.

For sardine discussion and recommendations, and a general argument for eating small fishes, make sure you follow the peerless Society for the Appreciation of the Lowly Tinned Sardine.

Anchovy Sandwich

• 3-5 anchovy filets, lightly patted dry
• 1 ball fresh mozarella, sliced chunky
• 1 handful spring mix (endive, arugula, radicchio, mâche, frisée, etc.)
• 1 sandwich-sized square of good focaccia bread 
• Olive oil and balsamic vinegar
• Black pepper

As simple as it gets: slice the focaccia, top with mozzarella, anchovies - acciughe, alice! - then finish off with the salad drizzled with the wetware, and season to taste. Enjoy with a Chianti or an Italian soda, or maybe even some drinking vinegar if you can find it.

Notes: For this recipe, your best bet is to visit the local Italian deli. Hopefully they’ll have fluffy, shiny focaccia; a big jar of mozzarella balls in whey; maybe even some Ortiz or Scalia anchovies (the former are amazing, but a bit hard to track down.)

And a final note regarding the product links above and on Salt & Fat in general: they point to our Amazon affiliate accounts, which means we get a small percentage of any money you spend on Amazon when you follow our links. We believe in shopping fresh and local, but if something is hard to find in your area, Amazon is a pretty good option these days. Beats settling for subpar substitutions from the local brick & chain & mortar.