Local venues weigh in: Is sandwich making an art?

Art is in the eye of the beholder, but what about the stomach?\nEven though college town food markets are often saturated with pizza palaces, burger bordellos and ice cream parlors, sandwich shops provide community refugee for students, residents and guests to explore the art of stuffing just about anything between two slices of bread. Bloomington offers Hoosiers several local, regional and national-brand sandwich choices for community members to digest while they ponder the art of sandwich making, presentation and delivering.\n"We make monster, sky-scraper sandwiches," said IU alumnus John Santos, owner of 21-year-old and still-standing Dagwood's Deli & Sub Shop, 1799 E. 10th St. \n"Some of the art of sandwich making is really simple -- like what ingredients to use -- and some of it is difficult -- like which dressing tastes better with which meats, which dressing to put next to produce and how much dressing to use. We also have our own special sauce that helps makes us unique," he said.\nIU alumnus Tim Nelson, Dagwood's head-delivery driver who "dabbles" in sandwich making, added his perspective on the art of sandwich making.\n"Anybody can throw two slices of meat and cheese together and call it a sandwich, but it really takes an extra effort to make a delicious treat that is mouthwatering," he said. "There are no special skills in making a Dagwood's sandwich, but there is a secret in making the sauce -- a special blend with 30 different spices."\nFolklore about the art of sandwich making dates back to before the birth of Christ, when the Jewish rabbi Hillel the Elder is thought to have served mutton mixed with herbs and spices inside flatbread called Matzo during Passover. The word "sandwich," in reference to two slices of bread with meat or cheese between them, is thought to have followed the 18th century English aristocrat fourth Earl of Sandwich's preference for piling meat between bread so he could continue playing the card game cribbage while eating without mucking up his fingers.\nBloomington resident Jeff Bryant, a sandwich artisan at the Jimmy John's at 430 E. Kirkwood Ave., said the art of sandwich making is in your "pinky." He said he and his fellow Jimmy John's food artisans have developed a "magic" pinky throughout time that is unlocked when they make their sandwiches, but he declined to specify what makes their pinkies so magical or the process by which that magic is projected into the food.\n"You can make anything a work of art -- like I could build a castle out of cups on the counter," Bryant said. "The art of sandwich making depends on what you like because you could make a sandwich out of just about anything." \nCommon connotations of sandwich art often include everything from hamburgers to pitas to sliced buns called "submarines," although typical deli-style sandwich art often refers to only two slices of bread packed with sliced meat or tofu, vegetables and dressing. Similar to a Picasso painting left outside during a rainstorm, sandwich art is no art at all if the presentation is unacceptable.\nBecause the art of sandwich presentation is often beholden upon the eye of the sandwich eater, Nelson said his sandwich shop makes the extra effort to ensure the color combination of toppings is pleasing to both the human mind and the belly.\n"A good sandwich encompasses not only taste and flavor but visual aesthetics. If a sandwich doesn't look good it might not taste good," Nelson said. "We use only the finest of ingredients so our sandwiches speak for themselves."\nJimmy John's has no pictures of sandwiches hanging from their restaurant walls, and Bryant said that is for a good reason. The art of sandwich presentation, he said, only lasts for a few moments before customer consumption.\n"Our customers do like the look of our sandwiches but they like the taste even more," Bryant said. "Our customers usually say 'Wow, that's a beautiful sandwich' before they mow it down."\nBecause the art of sandwich making and presenting is a niche not seen in most museums or galleries anywhere, the art of sandwich delivery might seem just as absurd before community members talk to the delivery artisans.\n"We say 'we're fast but not fast food.' Fast delivery on campus means walking spiritedly -- if you're dilly-dallying you get there slowly," Nelson said. "Our delivery drivers also have to possess a sublime knowledge of roads and intersections: 'Where are the lights?' and 'Where are the stop signs?' We want our customers to be happy before they even start eating our sandwiches."\nDagwood's and Jimmy John's are not the only sandwich shops on the Bloomington block, but they both claim their speedy catering to students is dependent on the art of sandwich delivery.\nBloomington resident Eric Alexander, a delivery bicyclist for Jimmy John's, said the art of sandwich delivery is often shown is staying on the road and not passing out from heat exhaustion. \n"You've just got to go, and sometimes I zone out riding in the heat for four or five hours," he said. "Even though the heat clouds your mind, I love it. It's the best job in the world"