The deli where I worked sat conveniently between Merrick Road and Sunrise Highway, two of the bigger east-west thoroughfares on Southern Long Island, so on Saturday mornings in the summer we’d always get hit with a wave of beachgoers stocking up on provisions for a day of laying about.

At some point early in my tenure there I somehow stumbled my way into Saturday-morning griddle responsibilities, a duty no one else ever wanted but I didn’t mind. I was usually operating on only a few hours’ sleep, tops, and in no mood to plaster on a sunny face to greet customers.

Plus I found some odd satisfaction those foggy mornings in managing that surface, plotting out space for each piece of bacon, ham and sausage and every egg, keeping track of everything happening at once, aiming to get the timing of everything just right. It was vaguely like playing Tetris, only there was way more pork involved.

The other employees wrote orders on paper slips and folded them into a clip above the griddle, and I churned out egg sandwiches for hours. Once I got real comfortable with it I’d privately try to keep tabs on trends: The only consistent one I found was that there was a greater variance in meats earlier in the day and a greater variance in condiments as we approached noon.

Then I’d look up and it’d be around 11:30, the rush would be over, and there’d inevitably be a sandwich left hanging around that someone ordered and neglected to pick up. Breakfast.

The sandwich: Two eggs, bacon and cheese with ketchup and hot sauce from Pop’s Deli in Hawthorne, N.Y.

The construction: Two eggs, bacon and cheese with ketchup and hot sauce, on a poppy-seed roll. They scramble your eggs at Pop’s unless you specifically request otherwise, which is fine by me.

At DeBono’s, where I worked, I just want to note, we had little check-off boxes on those paper slips for over easy, over medium, over hard, scrambled and whites only, so we always gave people that choice. And I don’t want to boast, but I like to think I was deadly accurate in my griddle duties. Honestly, I’ve said this before: That’s the only  job I’ve ever been confident I was awesome at. You may think I’m a decent sports and sandwich blogger, but you have no idea. I was such a great deli man.

Important background information: Those Saturday-morning left-behinds helped me develop an appreciation for pretty much every type of breakfast sandwich conceivable. I was grossed out at first that people eat mayo on egg sandwiches, but then when I tried it, not so bad. Same goes for salami, actually. But all the sampling worked to hone my current taste in breakfast sandwich, and especially helped me recognize the awesome power of hot sauce and eggs. I don’t think I ever realized how great hot sauce is until I worked at the deli. I liked spicy foods, but I didn’t know you could just add hot sauce to so many things and make them better.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Like a bacon egg and cheese from Pop’s. Oh, I guess now’s a good time to mention that I get a bacon, egg and cheese from Pop’s pretty much every weekend, since it’s an excellent local deli around the corner from my house. It’s an unpretentious, friendly place — a lot like DeBono’s actually — the type of deli that feels familiar as soon as you walk in.

And same goes for the bacon, egg and cheese, really: No surprises here. Crispy, well-done bacon off the griddle, fluffy eggs folded over to cover the roll, melted yellow American cheese. Hard to go wrong with any of that, to be honest. Just don’t mess it up. They don’t.

This particular sandwich, to be honest, was not the best I’ve had from Pop’s as it didn’t boast quite the right balance of ketchup and hot sauce, though I will admit that’s a tough thing to get right. The last thing you want is your egg sandwich swimming in ketchup, and the folks at Pop’s usually nail it with the appropriate gentle touch, but on this one I could hardly taste the tomatoey sweetness the ketchup adds. There was probably the right amount of hot sauce, come to think of it, it just wasn’t mixing with ketchup the way I like. But I nitpick.

Wait, why doesn’t someone market a ketchup/hot sauce hybrid? Like mustardayonnaise, but for ketchup and hot sauce? I’d buy that. I mean, I guess the problem is I’d still want to keep individual ketchup and hot sauce bottles in my fridge for the times when I only need one in isolation, but it could really save me some time for situations involving eggs. Get on it, science.

(Update, 11:55 a.m.: According to just about everyone on Twitter, both Heinz and Tabasco already make that. I guess I’ll have to try it.)

What it’s worth: One of the craziest things about egg sandwiches is how much food you get for the money. And that’s almost a universal deli thing. You know you’re someplace too fancy when your egg sandwich is expensive. This thing costs like $3 or something and comes with coffee. And I’m still full now, and it’s like three hours later. Lots of protein in there. It’s awesome to convince yourself that bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches are good for you.

How it rates: I’m struggling with this one. Russ from work keeps criticizing me for rating every sandwich too favorably. But how do I hate on a bacon, egg and cheese? I mean, it’s just a bacon, egg and cheese, on one hand, but on the other, this sandwich is a classic! I can’t reasonably give this sandwich less than an 85 out of 100. A consistent performer, underrated by many, consistent in its performance, and a cult hero to the enlightened few. The John Olerud of sandwiches.

There’s a nasty legend that Ted Turner and Jane Fonda once went into a busy steakhouse in Montana and demanded to jump the 45-minute wait by playing the “Do you know who I am?” card. It’s not true, and people shouldn’t drag Ted Turner’s good name through the mud like that.

I don’t really know much about him personally, mind you, but he’s on Team Ted and he created pretty much the best place to go for lunch meetings near our office, and it happens to be named Ted’s, so he’s cool with me.

Oh, and lunch meetings are amazing. Seriously, meetings are one of my least favorite things about having a job, and lunch meetings are one of my very favorite things about having a job. Meetings are often awkward and conducted in cold conference rooms with harsh fluorescent lighting. There’s always plenty to talk about at lunch meetings because there’s food about, and you get to eat it.

Also, I’ve been to the Montana steakhouse in question. It’s called Sir Scott’s Oasis and it’s completely amazing. I can’t even begin to describe it, and to attempt to do so now would be to undercut or overshadow the sandwich I am about to review. But trust me, if you ever find yourself within 100 miles of Manhattan, Montana, go to Sir Scott’s Oasis. Just go.

The sandwich: The Spikebox Bison Burger from Ted’s Montana Grill, many locations.

The construction: Toasted hamburger bun with bison burger, jack cheese, bacon and fresh jalapenos.

Important background information: I want to try all the meats that people eat. I think I’ve probably made this clear before, and look: I mean no disrespect to the pig, cow and chicken, which do great work. I’m just always concerned that there’s some amazing meat out there that I haven’t tried yet, something like elk or ostrich or bear, and it’s going to completely blow my mind, totally open up my perspective to whole new meat things, stuff I can’t even describe because I haven’t tasted the meat yet. Only I know it’s not elk or ostrich because I’ve had those and they’re only OK. Holding out hope for bear.

Bison depends on the preparation, I’ve found. It’s beefy, a little bit gamey — what does gamey mean, really? Just meatier tasting than the standard meats, right? That’s what I mean when I say gamey — and it could be tough if overcooked.

What it looks like (in a dark, dark restaurant):

How it tastes: I am consistently impressed with the bison burgers at Ted’s. There’s not a lot to distinguish the bison meat from beef, but I’m not certain it matters. The burgers are tasty, tender, juicy, everything you’d expect from a top-of-the-line restaurant burger. There’s nothing in particular that distinguishes this burger from others, so it’s not really something to write home about (though technically I’m doing that here, since my parents will probably read this), but really solid all around. And they get your order right, too — medium is medium, not over- or under-cooked.

The Spikebox, in particular, is a good choice because of the bacon and jalapenos, obviously. I don’t think I need to sing the praises of these toppings any more than I already have here. Bacon adds bacon. Jalapenos add spice and some additional crunch.

Throw on a little ketchup and you’ve got a rich, full-bodied burger with a breadth of flavors. Good show. You’re doing the Teds proud, Mr. Turner.

What it’s worth: Ted’s is in Midtown so these things aren’t cheap. Plus bison will run you a few extra bucks, about $16. But what do you want? You’re eating out in Midtown. It’s a struggle to find any lunch for less than $10, and certainly one this good. You could get a slightly cheaper burger at Heartland across the street, but it won’t be as big or as tasty.

How it rates: 82 out of 100. No one’s calling this burger a Hall of Famer, but it would probably make a few All-Star Games in it’s career since it’s about as good as you could reasonably expect a burger to be, and consistent. There aren’t very many baseball players from Montana, but conveniently enough, former Orioles lefty, the late Dave McNally seems like a good fit.

I never felt like I fit in when I lived in Brooklyn, which is perhaps why I liked it there so much. As I’ve said, I’m contrarian by nature. I am also irrepressibly suburban, unwilling to forgo my khaki cargo shorts even in a sea of skinny jeans or baggy jeans,or jeans befitting whatever the trend in denim in either of the Brooklyn neighborhoods that housed me for most of my 20s.

I remember my first night back in the borough after a month-long study abroad grad-school program in China, the most unfamiliar, overwhelming and downright different place I had ever been. I went for a walk around Prospect Heights and came back to find the teenage kids who hung out on the stoop of my apartment building freestyling, their session ending with the inevitable refrain, “It’s Brooklyn!”

It was a too-perfect moment, something that would’ve seemed lame if it happened in a movie — especially timed the way it was — but I was groggy from travel and it felt perfect. I wanted to wrap my arms around the whole neighborhood. After a full day of airplanes, and after a month of strange food, strange air, strange places, I felt so rooted, so comfortable, so thoroughly home. It was a connection I never made with a place before, and one I didn’t even know I had the capacity for.

The sandwich: Egg salad with bacon, BKLYN Larder, Flatbush Ave. in Park Slope.

The construction: Egg salad, lettuce and bacon on white bread.

Important background info: I go back to Brooklyn from Westchester almost weekly; a lot of my friends are there and I play baseball in Red Hook on Saturdays. But when I find myself in my old neighborhoods, I often feel strangely put off. Who are these people? Look at how young they are! What are these places? BKLYN Larder? That sounds pretentious.

And sure, I know that I was myself a transplant, patronizing a bunch of new stores that probably seemed pretentious to someone who lived there before me. And I recognize that every lifelong Brooklynite I know maintains that the constant change, frequent turnover — the general fluidity to everything — is part of what feeds the bustle, the vivacity that made me so appreciate the borough in the first place.

But that’s the rational mind. The initial, visceral reaction doesn’t think it through that thoroughly, it just screams, “What the hell is going on here? What’s happening to this place I loved? It’s not how I left it!”

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Hmm… that’s a good sandwich right there. Simple, dignified, tasty.

The white bread is soft, hearty, thick-cut and obviously fresh. The egg salad tastes freshly made, too, and perfectly seasoned with pepper. I sense a hint of vinegar, maybe — either in the egg salad itself or
on the lettuce, that gives the whole thing some depth.

And that bacon. That’s some delicious bacon. Perfectly prepared, thick, crispy, flavorful, bacony bacon.

I need to re-think this. I judged this place before I came in, but that’s on me. This place is pleasant. It’s clean, they serve good sandwiches, the people are friendly. The showcases display an array of fine meats and cheese. This is a good place.

So it’s new. So it has sort of a silly name. Whatever.

And those young people outside? How old could they be, 24? That’s exactly how old Mike and I were when we moved here, isn’t it? Dammit, I have no right whatsoever to claim ownership of a place that’s been growing and changing and living for centuries, that I passed through for half a decade and happened to enjoy.

Straight up: Who the hell do I think I am? I am aging, and I moved, and those things kind of suck. But Brooklyn is here and going nowhere. I need to put aside my hangups and learn to just sit back and enjoy the sandwiches of this fine borough when I have the opportunity to do so.

What it’s worth: This thing was pretty pricey for an egg-salad sandwich, even if it was a classy one, especially considering that it wasn’t very big. Cost about $7, if I recall correctly, and across the street at familiar Bergen Bagels you could probably get it for half that. But what price amazing bacon?

How it rates: All the elements of this sandwich were excellent, but it was probably limited by its size and scope — how high could an egg-salad sandwich possibly rate, even if it’s got delicious bacon? It was an egg-salad sandwich maximizing its ability, but still an egg-salad sandwich. I’m thinking an undersized shortstop making the most of his potential — the Orlando Cabrera of sandwiches. 68 out of 100.