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Everything-but-the-kitchen-sink sandwiches, Philly-style

We're talking about between-bread creations so dense, so rich, and so calorically triumphant that taking one on is akin to clearing one's schedule.

Appointment sandwiches - the kind that are so big, so awesome, that you have to make a plan to eat them. Like the Super Torta at El Jarocho.
Appointment sandwiches - the kind that are so big, so awesome, that you have to make a plan to eat them. Like the Super Torta at El Jarocho.Read more

Josh Kim's Brewerytown sandwich shop, SpOt Burgers, has been open less than a month, but it already has its signature: The Jawn, a blessed union of sliced rib-eye, Sloppy Joe meat, Cheez Whiz, and onions, with a Pittsburgh-style crush of french fries serving as a starchy crown.

It's big. It's beefy. It's messy in the most complimentary sense of the word. And it's just the latest addition to a sub-canon of Philadelphia grillcraft defined by its own slightly twisted brand of culinary ingenuity: the "appointment sandwich," between-bread creations so dense, rich, and calorically triumphant that taking one on is akin to clearing one's schedule.

Cheesesteaks, roast pork, and Italian hoagies tend to dominate the Philadelphia-sandwich conversation, but appointment sandwiches have their niche, too. They're the type of thing adventurous eaters boast about to their friends, social-media-friendly fodder that inspires incredulity and jealousy in the comments.

The Schmitter, the unique cheesesteak hybrid that was invented by McNally's Tavern in Chestnut Hill, is the granddaddy of the local appointment sandwiches, but there are plenty more, each with its own hearty backstory.

The Jawn, for example, was born not of a single stroke of culinary inspiration, but from a set of conditions: a little free time, unfettered access to good ingredients, and a willingness to ignore the accepted rules of sandwich decorum in favor of something more ambitious.

Kim, who operated SpOt as a food cart near Drexel's campus prior to opening his new restaurant, was offering Sloppy Joes as a special one day, and he and his employees started messing around, layering the meat with different additions on a burger bun. "It was a staff meal that just went crazy," he said. It started out as a secret, off-menu option, but it grew so popular with the crowds that it made its way onto his menu.

In other cases, sandwiches develop as a reaction to tight working conditions. When Sal Licastri and Derick Warren first opened Fishtown's Coffee House Too in 2011, the partners wanted to serve full-on breakfasts, but their York Street kitchen was much too small.

"So we thought, 'How about putting the entire breakfast in a hoagie roll?' " said Licastri. That's how they came up with their top-selling Hangover Hoagie - three eggs, cheddar, hash browns with peppers and onions, and your pick of breakfast meat, all housed on a long roll slathered with garlicky butter.

The cafe has since expanded, as have the variations - depending on the day, you can get a Hangover Hoagie with smoked mozzarella and Italian prosciutto, or a spicy rendition akin to a fajita. The origin of the name?

"We were probably drunk," said Licastri, "I'll be honest with ya."

Cultural and family traditions inform the art of the "yuge" sandwich, too. At the friendly South Philadelphia taqueria El Jarocho, the Super Torta lives up to its comic book-y moniker. It doesn't come wearing a cape, but it doesn't have to. On a light, fluffy roll roughly the size and shape of a rugby ball, the cooks here layer meats (steak Milanese, ham, crispy pork), vegetables (lettuce, tomato, jalapeño, avocado) and unexpected toppings (refried beans, pineapple, a fried egg studded with spicy chorizo) with an architectural precision that would make I.M. Pei blush. It's an extreme take on Mexican overstuffed-torta technique, but one that really works as a sandwich, so long as you take it a quarter at a time.

At Meltkraft, the grilled-cheese shop with locations in Center City and in the Reading Terminal Market, chef Rebecca Foxman taps into a tradition of her own - her bubbe's, to be specific. Needing something rich to stand up to sharp Valley Thunder cheddar cheese, she looked to her grandmother's Jewish brisket recipe, braised in a cumin- and fennel-fragranced tomato sauce. But she didn't stop there - the Valley Thunder sandwich also features generous scoops of macaroni and cheese. (It's a full 5 inches tall before it hits the sandwich press.)

As it turns out, not even the mastermind is immune to her creation's unavoidable side effects. "I have to take a nap after it," said Foxman.

Regardless of origins, the intrinsically over-the-top nature of these sandwiches, and the physical effects on those daring enough to dive in, is the one soporific thread connecting all these beauties across the city. It's definitely on the brain at deep South Philly's Grubhouse, where owner Jim Lord pays homage to fine swine with his Three Little Pigs - a grilled cheese with bacon, pork roll, and Carolina-style barbecue pulled pork, stacked up with American and cheddar. "It fits right in with our whole comfort-food theme," said Lord, whose pig-loving customers lobbied for it to earn a permanent slot on the menu.

Paesano's, from chef Peter McAndrews and his partner Nathan Baynes, follows a comparable game plan, especially when it comes to offerings like the Bolognese - a hunk of veal-beef-pork lasagna, battered and deep-fried, then tossed on a roll with two types of cheese and topped with a fried egg. A shy, subtle sandwich this ain't - but no appointment sandwich is.

It's "unapologetic," said Baynes, "full-flavor love for your mouth."