At some point in college, I memorized the names, locations and restaurant choices present at every roadside rest stop between New York and Washington. I thought it was funny to refer to them by name — the Walt Whitman, the Joyce Kilmer — and, more importantly, I learned to plan my drive and fueling schedule around the best available fast-food choices.

Over time, though, I lost track of the names and many of the particulars. I developed instead some sort of conditioned subconscious feel for the location of every Roy Rogers along the route, and which Roy Rogers I’d be stopping at based on the amount of gas in the tank at the outset of each trip.

Usually it was the Delaware Travel Plaza, a little past halfway when leaving rested from New York and a great place to recaffeinate when driving back weary after a weekend in DC. It boasted clean-enough bathrooms, a Sbarro for aroma, a Starbucks for coffee, and I think maybe even a Cinnabon for quick and glorious death by sugar — but don’t quote me on that. What mattered most was the Roy Rogers, and a fine one at that.

Look: I don’t mean to knock the other fast-food choices present along the route. (Except Burger King; I’ll happily knock Burger King.) Several stops have Popeye’s Chicken, and Popeye’s Chicken is amazing. But you can get Popeye’s practically anywhere. Except Westchester, of course, unless you’re willing to pay the $1.25 toll to get on the Thruway north from Yonkers to stop at the Popeye’s in the rest stop in Ardsley, which, incidentally, I usually am.

To me, a drive down to DC means a rare opportunity to eat Roy Rogers — the staple fast-food of my early childhood — and I almost never pass it up.

The sandwich: Gold Rush Chicken Sandwich, Roy Rogers, many locations, but not nearly as many as there used to be. For some stupid reason.

The construction: Fried chicken fillet on hamburger bun with bacon, Monterrey Jack cheese and honey mustard. I added lettuce and pickles from the Fixins Bar.

Important background information: I knew the Delaware Travel Plaza closed for renovations last year sometime, but I figured it would be operating again by now and just kind of assumed it would still have a Roy Rogers. Like I said, it’s not something I really thought about, but sort of an ingrained understanding of accessible Roy Rogers restaurants — Roydar?.

Words cannot express my disappointment when I spotted the sign for the new and “improved” Delaware Travel Plaza boasting a Burger King and a Popeye’s. Again, no disrespect to Popeye’s. But c’mon. Just, c’mon.

Worst part was there was roadwork throughout the state, so I had to sit in traffic like a goon, staring at the new, gleaming, vaguely postmodern Travel Plaza. If you’re playing at home, Delaware now has like a billion tolls, endless roadwork, and zero Roy Rogers. For shame, Delaware. For shame.

Luckily, I had enough in the tank to make it past the Chesapeake House and all the way to the Maryland House, by which point I was starving.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Disappointing. Really disappointing.

I got to the Maryland House pretty late — past my dinner time, and apparently late enough that the sandwiches had been sitting wrapped in foil under the heat lamp for quite a while. And I understand how it goes at rest stops. Don’t get me wrong, I’m hardly asking for my order to be made fresh. But I’d rather not unwrap a soggy mess, honey mustard spilled out onto the foil and creating a thin, gooey coating on the outside of the bun.

The chicken itself was rubbery, the cheese underwhelming, the bacon thin and limp. And not enough honey mustard was still on the sandwich proper; it was just kind of all about the sandwich, and all over my hands. The pickles were pretty delicious.

I should say that this sandwich was still OK. There’s only so badly you could screw up fried chicken, bacon and cheese. Roy Rogers tested those limits, and I still devoured the thing. It just didn’t match the quality I’ve come to expect even from roadside-rest Roy Rogers. And I like to imagine Roy Rogers himself wouldn’t stand for this.

What it’s worth: Food tends to be a little more expensive at rest stops because they’ve pretty much got a monopoly on your options. Sort of like Disney World, except if Disney World were among the most depressing places in the world. I think the Gold Rush cost me $6 or something. Pricey, considering.

How it rates: 45 out of 100. A once-very good sandwich clearly past its prime, still boasting some qualities that vaguely resemble a good sandwich, but nonetheless hovering barely above replacement-level. The Miguel Tejada of sandwiches.

This is last week’s sandwich of the week, which I meant to publish Saturday. I failed on that, but here’s a sandwich:

The sandwich: Honey-Maple Turkey, bacon, muenster and cole slaw on a “wedge,” from Pop’s Deli in Hawthorne, N.Y.

The construction: All of those things I just mentioned, piled onto a hero roll, which for some reason they call a “wedge” in Westchester (and some parts of Jersey).

I should note now that I think there’s a difference in the bread styles used for long sandwiches between the delis I grew up with on Long Island and those I now enjoy in Westchester. This could be a small sample size thing, but I’m pretty sure the standard “hero” on Long Island comes on bread that’s a bit flakier and more airy than the Westchester “wedge” bread, which is dense and chewy.

I’m obviously partial to the one I’m more familiar with (more on this to follow), but both are good. And I’m open to the possibility that, in each area, I’m only eating bread from one specific wholesale bakery that supplies bread to all the local delis (for Long Island, I know this to be true).

Is this the difference between Italian and French bread? Hmm… come to think of it, is there a difference between Italian bread and French bread?

Important background information: I think all discussions of effective branding should start with Boar’s Head. Bad lunchmeat can be downright disgusting, but I know when I order Boar’s Head products I can expect a certain quality. And yeah, I recognize that Boar’s Head probably isn’t the best lunchmeat available. But it’s consistently good, and I’d rather not take my chances with an unknown quantity, given the risk.

For that reason, I often order specific Boar’s Head products like Honey-Maple Turkey at delis, since it assures that they’re not going to try to slice up some off-brand turkey that will turn out gross.

This particular sandwich was the product of endless sandwich tinkering from  my years behind the deli counter, and it’s good enough that I think it should be given a name and standardized like the Reuben once was. Preferably, it should be named after me.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Very good, of course. I came to this sandwich, I think, after determining that the sweetness of the Honey-Maple Turkey goes well with bacon (like just about everything else). Pop’s does a good job with bacon — always well-done and crispy — and the turkey was sliced nice and thin, maximizing surface area and thus flavor.

If you appreciate cole slaw even a little bit — I know it’s a divisive salad — I strongly recommend you try it on a sandwich. It adds the moisture you might hope for from mayonnaise or mustard, but it’s obviously way tastier than mayo plus adds an additional crunchy element on top of the bacon.

Muenster cheese you know about, presumably. I don’t remember why I initially put muenster on this sandwich, but it plays. There are a lot of flavors here, and I think a stronger cheese like a cheddar might conflict with the cole slaw, or something. The muenster here is just about complementing the rest of the sandwich, and also making sure the sandwich has cheese on it.

Like I said, both forms of the long-sandwich bread are very good, but I find the Westchester variety fills me up a lot faster than the Long Island type. I think it’s a density thing, but I’m also willing to consider that this sandwich was probably 14″ long and filled with bacon. Could be a simple size thing, too. In either case, this sandwich beat me. Too long, couldn’t finish, to paraphrase the Internet.

The other issue is I’ve now had this sandwich so many times that I’m probably almost biased against it. It’s a bit routine now, even though it’s still really good.

What it’s worth: Cost me about $7.50, I believe, which is a pretty great deal. This really should have been two meals, and I should have known better than to start the second half of the sandwich. I didn’t know better, but that’s on me.

How it rates: 80 out of 100. I can’t find many baseball players from Westchester and this sandwich is a lot better than Dan Pasqua, so I’m just going to go ahead and go with a Long Island guy that’s probably better than an 80: The Frank Viola of Sandwiches. I have no idea why.