The Turkey Bread of El Salvador: Panes con Pavo
This Salvadoran turkey sandwich made me as happy as a sandwich has made me in a long time, a little spot of joy in an otherwise ordinary week.
This Salvadoran turkey sandwich made me as happy as a sandwich has made me in a long time, a little spot of joy in an otherwise ordinary week.
If asked, where would you say the sandwich called Oyster Loaf originated? New Orleans? San Francisco? Chesapeake Bay? Points North or East?
The ham in this sandwich is almost a non-presence in the face of the attention-grabbing bread and the quietly delicious tea eggs, to my mind the star of the show.
There isn’t really a wrong way to shape frybread. I’ve come to prefer the methods done by hand though. They are more prone to introducing imperfections in the bread’s shape, which are the best part.
Deep-fried, on a stick, and wrapped in bread? That, my friends, is the street food trifecta. A treat combining all three of those features is worth exploring.
The textural deficiencies that the spread has by itself are almost entirely masked by combining it with squishy white bread. You can almost fool yourself into thinking that it’s something better.
The final step includes adding sugar and bringing the marmalade to its setting point, somewhere just north of the boiling point of water. Of course where there is room for human error, I will find a way to make it.
Like other comfort foods, the Manhattan is fatty and carby, rich and warm and filling, and not especially challenging. It is the culinary equivalent of a warm blanket and a snuggly dog.
This is the essence of street food, a hot, dripping handful of cheap but delicious food, slathered with condiments, its only significance to bring joy into someone’s life.
The crunch of cabbage in a breakfast sandwich is brilliant. It introduces an element of textural variance that is both surprising and needed.
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