I’ll Testify

The small Massachusetts city of Worcester recently bit off more than it can chew.

A superior court judge there ruled that a burrito is not a sandwich. For the most part, the judge relied on the testimony of Chris Schlesinger, a noted Boston chef and restaurant owner who also owns a sandwich shop that serves such items as a Pastraminator and an Atomic Meat Loaf Meltdown.

No offense to Schlesinger, an old pal of mine who is probably way smarter than me (if for no other reason than that he’s related to the great writer Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr.), but I believe a ruling based on his opinion can easily be reversed. After all, he has a vested interest in defining sandwiches his way. Schlesinger’s All Star Sandwich Bar in Cambridge sells muffalettas, melts, reubens, subs, and all manner of variations on the original theme of protein between two slices of bread. Signs at his shop denounce the wrap, which is nothing more than a variation on the burrito. It’s like deciding a legal issue between the Red Sox and the Yankees by calling in George Steinbrenner as the expert witness.

Schlesinger would qualify as a star witness if the case was to decide whether or not meat loaf is meat—the kind of issue a small central Massachusetts city is qualified to handle. What is and what is not a sandwich should be decided on a federal level, perhaps at the fabled Washington, D.C., courthouse that has had sandwiches named after it (I refer to the tuna supreme sandwich and the turkey supreme sandwich, of course).

The case went to trial after a cafe that had an exclusive right to sell sandwiches in a shopping center demanded the ouster of a Mexican restaurant that had burritos on its menus. The ruling stating that burritos were not sandwiches allowed the Mexican place to remain in business.

It’s likely this verdict can be overturned on appeal. When that occurs and the case works its way up through the legal system, a non-partisan expert will be required, somebody whose entire life in food has been defined by a pastrami sandwich he ate in the fifties in a small suburb of Philadelphia. That would be me.

The Worcester court’s ruling was much too narrow. Much is left to be determined where sandwiches are concerned, and I stand ready to offer my know-how.

Is an open-faced sandwich a sandwich? (I think not, and the name will have to be changed.) Is a club sandwich a sandwich? (Certainly, a sandwich-and-a-half, as a matter-of-fact.) Is an ice-cream sandwich a sandwich? (Not when it comes out of a convenience store freezer case and the cookies are revoltingly soggy.)

We haven’t even addressed the vital issue of fillings. Is a sandwich really a sandwich if it does not incorporate mustard or mayonnaise? (I often have my pastrami plain, so perhaps I am not the best person to answer that.)

This is all much bigger than the simple question of whether one flour tortilla is the equivalent of two slices of bread.

Another thing. Schlesinger testified that a true sandwich is made from "two pieces of leavened bread," which means that the traditional Passover sandwich of bitter herbs between two pieces of matzo (unleavened bread) can no longer legally be called a sandwich.

Religious freedom is at stake, yet another reason why this case is bigger than a Worcester courtroom. I will say, from a personal point of view, that if the final decision results in me never having to eat another piece of dry ceremonial matzo, I will shake Schlesinger’s hand.