This may disappoint the great kendynamo.

The sandwich: Turkey Joe from the Millburn Deli, Millburn, N.J.

The construction: Sliced turkey with Swiss cheese, Russian dressing and cole slaw on sourdough rye bread. There are three slices of bread in all — I believe it goes bread>turkey>bread>cheese>cole slaw>dressing>bread — and the sandwich is cut into thirds.

Important background information: The Millburn Delicatessen is a beautiful place, and something of a sandwich oasis. It’s also not terrible far out of the way when traveling from Westchester to DC, assuming you’re circumventing the five boroughs by starting on the Tappan Zee Bridge.

There are bright colors and delicious-looking meats and pre-made sandwiches everywhere. Everything in there says amazing deli. Only thing is, I struggled to figure out their system — they had a red take-a-number thing with an LED sign, but as soon as I came in one of the deli men asked for my order. But I wasn’t ready!

This happens to me sometimes: I panic. As a former deli man myself, I want so badly to accommodate my brethren behind the counter that I just sort of blurt out an order instead of carefully considering what it is I really want. I remember it being something of a pain in the ass when I would have to wait on someone who couldn’t make up his mind, so I overcompensate and often wind up costing myself.

That’s how I came to the Turkey Joe. It seemed like the Sloppy Joes are the thing to get at the Millburn Deli, and turkey was the first one on the list. Sort of a choke-job on my part.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Like cole slaw. There’s turkey and cheese in there somewhere, and if I think about it I can kind of pick out the creamy sweetness of the Russian dressing, plus the bread is soft, fresh and excellent. But the overwhelming flavor here is unmistakably the cole slaw that’s dripping out the sides of the sandwich and onto my pants.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s really good cole slaw — I’m guessing it’s housemade, and it’s definitely not the soggy shreds that come out of big plastic jugs at many delis. The cabbage maintains its crunch and its got a nice, sweet, vinegary flavor to it.

But someone tell me: Is the big revelation here just that cole slaw is really good on a sandwich? Because I knew that already. And beyond that, it’s hard to figure what’s special about the Turkey Joe here. Again, that’s not to say it isn’t tasty; it is. I guess I’m just eager to know why it’s considered a destination sandwich by so many in Jersey.

Dividing the sandwich into three is a nice touch. Creating triangles rather than squares gives the eater better angles at which to bite into the sandwich, a concept I toyed with way back in Sandwich Week.

I suppose I should note something about the extra slice of bread in the middle of the sandwich — club-sandwich style — which I support in principle because screw Atkins. But the bread was thin enough, and weighed down enough by the massive heap of cole slaw, that it was difficult to distinguish on the inside of the sandwich.

What it’s worth: I think it cost $7.25, and there was a lot of sandwich here. I was only able to eat two of the three sections in my first sitting, which meant I was able to eat more — and get more cole slaw on my pants — around the time I hit Baltimore.

How it rates: 76 out of 100. A tasty and well-constructed sandwich, but static in flavor. Needs bacon.

Less talk more rock:

The sandwich: Cheesesteak with Cheez Whiz, without onions, with hot peppers from Carl’s Steaks, 34th and 3rd in Manhattan.

The construction: Basically all those things I listed above, on a hero roll (hoagie if you want to be all Philadelphian about it).

Important background information: OK, I don’t want to make this a whole thing about cheesesteaks because I’ve already written a whole thing about cheesesteaks, way back when. But I suspect that, at least in part due to the simplicity of their construction, cheesesteaks have a higher floor and lower ceiling than most sandwiches. More on this to follow.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Primarily, it tastes like a cheesesteak.

Whenever I eat a cheesesteak that someone has recommended to me — as I have at Pat’s in Philly, and as I did at Carl’s — I come back to the same question: What is it about this particular cheesesteak that merited the mention?

Obviously there are particulars that impact the taste, some clearer than others: The roll has to be fresh. The cheese has to be reasonably plentiful. There should be ketchup, added by the sandwich’s maker or by me.

But once we get beyond that, what is there to a cheesesteak? Almost the entire sandwich is constituted of the thinly sliced steak, which tastes pretty much the same no matter where you get it — mostly dry, and more than anything a beefy conduit for delicious cheese and ketchup flavors.

Obviously cheese quality matters, but if you’re opting for the choice that’s standardized across many cheesesteak purveyors — the Cheez Whiz — then it just seems like there’s not going to be a hell of a lot of difference between the best and worst cheesesteaks*.

As for this cheesesteak: It was a pretty good cheesesteak, even on the narrow cheesesteak spectrum. The bread was clearly fresh, the proportions were fine, and the hot peppers added a nice kick to it. Would I say it was the best cheesesteak I’ve ever had? No, but then I can’t remember a specific cheesesteak deserving of that honor.

Is the one from Carl’s better than the one from the Midtown deli/foodbar place downstairs from my office? I think so. The bread is better and there’s a little more meat. Plus the place downstairs uses sliced American cheese, and I like the gooey creaminess the Whiz adds to Carl’s offering.

Can the cheesesteak at Carl’s compare to the famous sandwich at Pat’s? It’s not as big, for certain. But then I didn’t have to go to Philadelphia to get it. And the people at Carl’s are nice, to boot. I’ve said this before, but there’s really nothing I detest more than places that make it their shtick to be mean to customers. I’m paying you. It’s just a cheesesteak, bro, no need to be a jerk about it.

What it’s worth: The cheesesteak was $6.75 and the peppers were an extra 50 cents — totally reasonable. Also a trek around Murray Hill, but that’s a different story.

How it rates: I’ll say 73 out of 100, and note that a 73 is still a very good sandwich. And I’ll offer that probably all cheesesteaks made on even remotely fresh bread fall between 60 and 80 on the scale. I’ve yet to be blown away by a cheesesteak, though I remain open to having my mind changed about the whole narrow-deliciousness-spectrum thing.

My bad on not posting a Sandwich of the Week this weekend. I was busy buying and preparing the last thing of cocktail franks in the Thornwood Shop-Rite.

Image via Jon Bois.

After a harried day in the office, meal planning may be the last thing on your mind. It might be evident on your face, though.

That’s the premise behind an interactive technology Kraft and Intel recently introduced called the “Meal Planning Solution.” The kiosk-like display, which is likely to show up in at least one retail location this year, is meant to help weary shoppers find new recipes during last-minute grocery trips.

Forget filling out a profile of favorite recipes and ingredients, though — this bad boy scans your face to figure out what you may be interested in cooking.

– Erica Swallow, Mashable.

Just wanna make something clear: We’re basically talking about phrenology here, right? I mean, there’s no conceivable way a scan of my face could actually know what I like to eat. Unless — and I really hope this is the case — it just goes based on how fat you are. So like a skinny person goes up to the kiosk and it spits out the recipe for a salad and I go up there and it’s all, “Bacon and Butter Souffle.” Mmm…

Also, is it only going to tell you to eat Kraft products? I know that a good 92% of food in any grocery store is produced by Kraft anyway, but is it just going to keep telling everyone that the science of facial imaging suggests they want mac and cheese? And if so, is that really a bad thing?

And furthermore, oddly creepy. What do you want with a scan of my face, Kraft?

Via Jorge.