The Best Sandwich of Summer

O ne person’s perfect sandwich is sure to be another’s nightmare. Some of my relatives are gluten free, a friend is allergic to bacon, and a co-worker (who shall go unnamed but should be ashamed) loathes mayonnaise. These are (almost) all perfectly valid reasons for avoiding the BLT sandwich, but it is mildly distressing, as this is the poster-child food of summer.

During my childhood, my parents often grew a lovely garden on the side of the house. They didn’t attempt anything large, due to the poor quality of the Ohio soil, but our tomatoes (of big and small varieties) usually did well. Filling a skirt or basket full of cherry tomatoes and prickly cucumbers was always an exciting adventure, as you stepped carefully among the plants, searching for jewel-toned produce and avoiding large spiders.

Some years, the beefsteak tomato crop would be so abundant, it was impossible to eat them all on sandwiches or in salads. Then, my mom would slice up a few, layer them — with salt, pepper, and cheese — in a dish, top it with buttery breadcrumbs, and bake until all was golden, melted, and bubbly. This, along with freshly boiled corn on the cob (another quintessential summer food, but one I vehemently protest, unless I’m allowed to carve the kernels off and eat them with a spoon) and our BLTs, made for the most delicious meal.

To be honest, BLT builds vary wildly among my family members. Many of us do eat the full complement of components, but some refuse mayonnaise, others won’t touch tomatoes, and a few of us avoid lettuce at all costs. I’m decidedly in that last camp. If I could eat salads that only included the toppings and no lettuce, I would — and do. Truth be told, the best BLT I’ve ever had was at a seaside shack in San Diego, and its crowning glory was freshly sliced avocado (making it a BALT). If you want to play even more with the acronym, try adding a fried (or hard-boiled) egg to your sandwich, something I’d highly recommend.

It’s such a versatile sandwich, easy to serve all sorts of ways — including, yes, on gluten-free bread, though no matter how high-quality your gluten-free bread is, it will always be crumbly in this application. My uncle’s favorite restaurant sells an Eggs Benedict version of the BLT, and I’m fairly certain I’ve seen it advertised as a topping option at a pizzeria. Served for lunch or dinner (and apparently breakfast), the sandwich pairs with all sorts of sides, from chips to fruit salad to mac ‘n’ cheese to green beans. The trickiest part for our family, however, was always the bread. Everyone wanted theirs toasted, but even with a four-slice toaster, it took some time before everyone’s bread was BLT worthy.

Now on my own, and attempting to grow tomatoes on a third-story patio, I was dreaming of a summery BLT dinner.

First, the bread. While I’m not opposed to a soft, squishy sandwich made on store-bought white bread, I was in a baking mood and made my own sandwich loaf. It’s not good manners to boast about one’s bread success, so here’s a picture instead:

After the bread was baked and cooled, I popped my bacon in the oven (it makes life less messy, and doesn’t leave your house smelling like day-old bacon), then started washing lettuce — yes, I did cave and put lettuce on this iteration. Today’s tomato, freshly picked, was of the heirloom variety (“Cherokee Purple,” I believe), and had a rich, dark hue. The tomato, sliced and drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, was set to marinate while I toasted the bread. Out came the bacon, and since I was feeling naughty, I dipped the toasted slices quickly in the pan drippings. Next came the mayonnaise, then the layers of bacon, tomato, and lettuce.

Glorious.

The success of this sandwich led to another attempt the next day, this time with a lightly salted and peppered “Bigger Boy” tomato in the lineup. My garden was now reduced, however, to cherry tomatoes, and until my larger varieties produced again, no more BLTs.

Unless. . . .

I began the countdown to Saturday, when I knew the local farmers’ market would reopen.

Saturday dawned bright and clear, as the poets are fond of saying, and I wandered around among crowds of eager shoppers, eyeing breads, cheese, and meats, the quality and price of which made me wish and sigh. There were tomatoes everywhere, large and small, in vibrant colors reminiscent of a rainbow’s beginning. But as I wandered, some inexplicable and strong force pulled me away, out of the sunshine and into the dusty, musty halls of the local antique store. An hour later, I emerged, my tote bag heavier with its new literary additions. BLTs will be but a happy dream this week.

Maybe I’ll go read about “bacon” in my new dictionary.