Katherine’s excellent Sandwich of the Week map has been, well, compromised. A well-meaning reader removed all the sandwiches he wasn’t planning on eating without realizing he was editing the public version of the map. I emailed Google to see if they have any sort of cache for these things, but they never responded.

I added a few of them back, but if you want to help out by finding an old sandwich review from this site’s archive and adding it to the map, well, that’d be very cool of you. Just follow Katherine’s color code and copy relevant info from the review into the description part. And I realize you don’t owe me anything, of course. But if every sandwich-eating TedQuarters reader helps out with just one map marker, it should be complete in no time. Then we all have a map with which to chart sandwiches I’ve eaten, and obviously that’s something you want.

The sandwich: The Original 1762 from Earl of Sandwich, 52nd street between 5th and 6th in Manhattan.

The construction: Roast beef, cheddar cheese and horseradish sauce — mayonnaise and horseradish — on house-made bread.

Important background information: The Earl of Sandwich, you may know, is a chain owned by the 11th Earl of Sandwich, a descendant of John Montagu, the actual Earl of Sandwich credited with inventing the meal. The store claims The Original 1762 is the sandwich for which all sandwiches are named, though I’m skeptical that the original had so much mayonnaise. It is possible, though, since the Wikipedia says mayonnaise first made its way around Europe after a French victory over the British in a Seven Years War battle at Minorca in 1756.

You hear that a lot, incidentally: The cross-cultural exchange of foodstuffs during wartime. And I wonder how that goes down. Did soldiers storm through villages raiding pantries for unfamiliar condiments? Like, “Hey, this might turn out to be useful on a dish someone will invent six years from now!”

But then I suppose if I were a soldier in 1756, that’s exactly how I’d play it. John Montagu was a military type, and since we know him to be a culinary pioneer it’s entirely possible he asked his underlings to bring him any new sauces they pillaged.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Like horseradish sauce, mostly. Which is fine — the horseradish sauce is good, assuming you like the commingled flavors of horseradish and mayonnaise. But it’s by far the strongest taste on the sandwich.

The beef is there and adds bulk to the thing, but it could just as easily be sliced chicken or turkey or anything meaty and a little chewy that can be drenched in horseradish sauce. Earl of Sandwich toasts all of its sandwiches, so the cheese is warm and melty, adding a nice texture if not enough flavor to distinguish it from the sauce.

The bread is delicious. From the looks of it, they put it onto the toaster-belt thing slightly undercooked, so it comes out tasting fresh-baked and with a nice, toasty crust. Easily the highlight of this sandwich, and, for that matter, the two other sandwiches I’ve had from The Earl of Sandwich since it opened a couple weeks ago.

What it’s worth: It costs $5.99, which is a very good deal for lunch in this part of Midtown.

How it rates: 65 out of 100. This is better than everything I’ve had from the big-name chain sandwich stores, so relative to the competition it’s great. But it’s a bit too monotonous to hold up to any of this city’s finest offerings.

Let’s get right into it.

The sandwich: Roast Pork Special from Shorty’s on 9th Ave. between 41st and 42nd in Manhattan.

The construction: Thin-sliced roast pork and broccoli rabe with sharp provolone on French bread, served with au jus.

Important background information: This is the second pork cheesesteak I’ve had. The first made the Hall of Fame. It’s a great concept: Pork is delicious, but the only thing that might hold it back on sandwiches is its toughness. Slicing it thin combats the chewiness associated with poorly prepared thick-cut pork chops.

Shorty’s provides the option of sharp or mild provolone. I chose sharp, because subtlety is for chumps and suckers. This… well, more on this to follow.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Oh my sodium.

I started by pouring about half of the au jus over the sandwich, which might have been my mistake. Between the pork, the au jus, the provolone and whatever the broccoli rabe was cooked in, biting into this thing felt like plowing face first into a giant wall of salt. Still tasty, I should say, but so, so salty.

When I thought about it, I could pick up other flavors: Garlic, oregano, and some of the sharpness of the Parmesan. But tasting the broccoli rabe required either a great deal of focus or separating the vegetable from the rest of the sandwich. That’s a shame, as broccoli rabe is both an underrated and underutilized sandwich topping. Here, its natural flavors were almost entirely obscured by much more aggressive tastes.

Like our man Karl Welzein — referenced here in the last Sandwich of the Week as well — I appreciate bold flavors. But a sandwich needs to be more than a ferocious onslaught of powerful tastes, lest the palate be overwhelmed. A delicate balance must be achieved.

People watch action movies for the massive explosions and white-knuckle chase scenes, but if a movie were just a 120-minute long, mega-budget action sequence, it’d probably get boring no matter how many things blew up. I fear this sandwich drifted into Michael Bay territory.

Meh, that’s a bit too harsh. The pork was tender and juicy, the bread was fresh, and the sandwich-eating experience as a whole was an enjoyable one. It’s a fine sandwich. It’s just disappointing, since all the elements here should add up to a great sandwich.

What it’s worth: It cost $10. It was a decent-sized sandwich, but I wouldn’t call it a bargain at that rate.

How it rates: 72 out of 100.

This one came recommended by Ryan. I’m still looking for your sandwich recommendations. I misplaced a pad I had with a list going on it, so if you’ve sent them in the past, feel free to pass ’em along again, especially if you happen to know of a good sandwich that’s reasonably accessible from Midtown.

The sandwich: Chicken Parm hero from Manganaro’s Hero Boy, 38th and 9th in Manhattan.

The construction: Chicken cutlet with melted fresh mozzarella and marinara sauce on a hero.

Important background information: Every time I’ve seen Manganaro’s Hero Boy mentioned in any media, it is noted that the place is not affiliated with Manganaro’s Market next door. I suppose this is to avoid confusion. Now you know. Apparently there was some family spat in the past that doesn’t much affect my sandwich today.

Second, it’s worth mentioning that I eat some form of chicken parm sandwich more often than I eat any other sandwich besides peanut butter and jelly. Most of the best take-out places near my home are pizzerias, so whenever I want a change of pace from pizza I wind up with chicken parm. Plus the best of the crappy lunch places near my office makes a decent chicken roll, basically chicken parm wrapped in pizza dough.

At Hero Boy, the chicken cutlets sit in chafing dishes already topped with melted mozzarella but not swimming in sauce as you see elsewhere. They ladle the sauce onto the sandwich last, presumably to prevent sogginess.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Good. Very good, even, but I feel like chicken-parm heroes have a pretty high floor. They are fried chicken covered in cheese and tomato sauce.

Let’s think on this: How would you craft the ideal chicken parm hero? I’d start by fresh-frying my chicken cutlet. Hero Boy’s were sitting out in the chafing dish, but there was enough traffic in the place that I imagine they don’t sit there long.

The chicken cutlet tasted reasonably fresh, and keeping it out of the sauce until the moment of sandwich completion meant the breading stayed crispy. That’s a nice touch. On my perfect-world chicken parm, I might season the breading a bit more than they did here, but that’s nitpicking. It was tasty.

The mozzarella was good: melty, stringy, a touch chewy, and delicious. I think on that exemplary version of the sandwich I wouldn’t put much effort into melting the cheese, but that’s a personal preference. The way it worked out at Hero Boy, the cheese was evenly distributed over the chicken.

The bread fit the sandwich perfectly. It was soft and fresh, and strong enough to hold up despite the tomato sauce and without rendering the whole thing too dry or bready. Did its job but stayed out of the way. A great role player in this sandwich.

The sauce — at Hero Boy and at basically everyplace I’ve eaten a chicken-parm hero in the last year — calls to mind a problem that has tortured me since my life-changing experience at Ricobene’s. In isolation, the sauce is fine; it adds moisture and a bit of tangyness and sweetness to the sandwich.

But I fear that though the chicken parm hero has a very high floor, it might also have a limited ceiling due to the narrow range of flavors involved. Marinara sauce is great; I grew up on it. But there’s nothing on a standard chicken-parm hero to give it that extra bit of oomph I enjoyed at Ricobene’s thanks to the spicy giardiniera. So I wonder if someone should experiment with a spicier sauce, bolder flavors.

Except when I think about it, there are plenty of delicious sandwiches out there that aren’t spicy. Is it possible that the breaded steak sandwich at Ricobene’s has set my standards for parmigiana heroes inordinately high? Because the chicken-parm hero at Hero Boy, like most chicken parm heroes I’ve had since September, left me wanting. I might have to move to Chicago.

What it’s worth: $8, and it comes with chips.

How it rates: 80 out of 100.

The dude who recommended this sandwich, my man Dave from baseball, promised “a fried-chicken sandwich you will think about for the rest of your life.” And he did so without even knowing about this blog or its commitment to life-altering sandwiches.

The sandwich: Fried chicken sandwich from Bakesale Betty’s in Oakland, California.

The construction: Breaded fried chicken breast and slaw on a “torpedo” roll.

Important background information: My trip to California a couple weeks ago was, I might have mentioned, my first. And for whatever reason I just assumed that as soon as I stepped into Oakland I’d be accosted by Hell’s Angels, completely terrifying Raiders fans and chair-throwing SABR-nerds coveting my manboobs. Not the case. I didn’t see much of the city, but the long, quick-moving line outside of Bakesale Betty’s wouldn’t have looked out of place in Brooklyn. Turns out hipsters queue up for sandwiches on both coasts. Very comforting, really.

Bakesale Betty’s menu is extremely limited. They serve fried-chicken sandwiches, a fried-tofu vegetarian option, and a bunch of (delicious) baked goods.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Oh, lord. Like Dave said. Like a fried chicken sandwich I will think about for the rest of my life.

The most prominent flavor is the slaw. It’s vinegar-based — no mayo — and it’s made with cabbage, red onions and jalapeno, so it’s got spice to go with the tang from the vinegar. There’s tons of it, spilling out all sides of the sandwich, and there must be some sort of oil in there, serving both to keep the entire sandwich duly moist and to make it glisten in the California sun, a nice cosmetic bonus.

Don’t sleep on the fried chicken, either. The breading is delicious, and strong enough to maintain its crispiness throughout the sandwich-eating experience, even slathered with slaw. And there’s no shortage of meat.

My lone quibble with the sandwich is that at the thickest parts of the breast, the chicken might have been a touch dry. But I think that’s more a function of white-meat chicken breast in general and not necessarily the way it was prepared here. Plus, you’re talking maybe half a bite’s worth in the whole sandwich.

Oh and the bread is great. Soft, doughy, a touch sweet, and hearty enough to shoulder the weight of the sandwich’s contents without overpowering their flavors.

Just a really awesome sandwich.

What it’s worth: This ran me $7.25, plus, you know, the airfare to California, the rental car, hotel room and the toll on the Bay Bridge. Worth it.

How it rates: 94 out of 100. A Hall of Famer.

The glorious return.

The sandwich: Double-double “Animal style” from In-N-Out Burger, many locations, none anywhere near New York.

The construction: Two mustard-grilled beef patties on a toasted hamburger bun with lettuce, tomato, American cheese, pickles, tomato, lettuce, grilled diced onions and “spread” — basically Thousand Island dressing.

Important background information: You’ve probably heard of In-N-Out. Hell, you’ve probably even heard of ordering burgers “Animal style” there, even if it’s not on the menu and you’ve never been anywhere near one of the restaurants. By reputation, it is practically the Holy Grail of fast-food burgers, celebrated in classics as monumental as The Big Lebowski, compared — often favorably — to delicacies like those available at Five Guys and Shake Shack.

So the first thing that shocked me about In-N-Out Burger upon my entry to California was the chain’s availability. I thought it was something to be sought out when in the neighborhood to shake down Larry Sellers, not something I’d pass multiple times on drive from the Oakland airport to our hotel in San Francisco. It’s everywhere. I’m not sure if that’s always been the case, but it has been the case every time I’ve been to California — this one time, last week — so in my world that’s how In-N-Out Burger exists: A dominant California fast-food chain.

And definitely that: Fast food. And look, this website has an entire navigational tab devoted to Taco Bell and does not in any way judge more humble cuisines. But In-N-Out isn’t peddling the sort of hip, meta-fast-food pretense you find at Shake Shack, it’s plain-old fast food all the way: Red and yellow neon lights so bright you can’t stare right at them.

Because of its ubiquity and that beckoning fast-food glow, I went twice. The first, I ordered a regular double-double, minus the raw sliced onion — that’s not my bag. The second time, I opted for Animal style, figuring the diced grilled onions would be less intrusive. But I was hungry and I didn’t take a photo. There are plenty of pictures available on the Internet.

So, I guess: What it looks like.

And here’s the regular Double Double just so this post isn’t too texty:

How it tastes: Relative to what?

To my sky-high expectations: A bit disappointing. To Shake Shack and Five Guys: Not as good (more on that in a bit). To the standard fast-food burger chains, McDonald’s, Wendy’s and Burger King: Excellent.

Ordering it Animal-style is key; the second burger I had was so much better than the first that it’s a wonder they keep the mustard-grilling and extra pickles exclusive. They add a ton of vinegary tang to the affair, and even the onions — my old enemy — add a familiar greasy, sweet flavor to the thin, tasty beef patties.

The bun is good — toasting it was a great touch. And the lettuce and tomato are clearly way fresher than you get at most fast-food places, bringing juiciness to the sandwich and maybe helping you forget that you’re actively destroying yourself with red meat (and a side of underwhelming french fries).

But someone’s going to try to tell me that this meat, in terms of pure meaty deliciousness, stands a chance against the meat in the Shake Shack burger in a one-on-one taste test? C’mon. C’mon. Not even close.

Push comes to shove I’d take the Five Guys meat over this too. Plus there’s more of it, and at Five Guys I can find any topping I want — including bacon — right there on the menu with no need to spend time on the Internet uncovering secret codes before I go in. It’s awful cute that In-N-Out doesn’t let you know it’s full array of options, I guess, but really: Why?

But then, I’m not sure why anyone sees the need to pick a winner among the three. They present very distinct burgers and very distinct burger-eating experiences, and all — my various quibbles with In-N-Out noted here not withstanding — are plenty delicious. I will instead celebrate the work all three chains have done in elevating the standards set for this sandwich, as they undoubtedly have. Hooray for cheeseburgers.

What it’s worth: Only $3.15, plus the flight to California.

How it rates: 71 out of 100.

Look: You don’t need to remind me that I’ve been remiss in my Sandwich of the Week duties the past couple of weeks.

I know.

I have been enduring something that could only be described as “sandwich writer’s block.” It is not for want of sandwiches recently eaten. There are plenty of those, I promise. Page through my iPhone photo gallery and you’ll find tons of grainy, haphazardly framed images of sandwiches that failed to inspire me. A cavalcade of uninspiring sandwiches.

It’s not that they weren’t good. Plenty of them were delicious.

It’s just — I don’t know how to say this… I think writing about sandwiches may have gotten into my head. I bite into my lunch and instead of thinking, “mmm delicious sandwich,” I think, “OK, how does this compare on my arbitrary numerical rating system to other sandwiches I’ve eaten?” And, “what can I write about this sandwich that I haven’t yet written about a dozen other sandwiches?”

How did this happen? It was supposed to be about the sandwiches.

Wait, let me rephrase that: It was supposed to be about me enjoying the sandwiches. That’s the main thing. Writing about that enjoyment is secondary. No offense.

That’s all a long-winded way of saying I don’t think I can promise Sandwich of the Week weekly anymore. I wouldn’t feel the need to bother explaining except whenever I do any sort of survey, it turns out that it’s a popular feature.

I will still review sandwiches — and indeed, still call them “Sandwich of the Week.”  But since it has gotten to the point that I’m looking for sandwiches that might be interesting to write about instead of sandwiches I think will be delicious, it’s probably time to dial back.

Cracking under the pressure. Totally unclutch.

Anyway, just because they won’t come every week anymore doesn’t mean there won’t be plenty of sandwich talk here. Maybe some weeks there’ll be two. Who knows? And I’d still very much appreciate your sandwich recommendations.

The sandwich: The Serrano from Bierkraft, 5th Avenue and Berkeley Pl., Brooklyn.

The construction: Serrano ham, manchego cheese, arugula, fig jam, sherry vinegar and olive oil on a ciabatta hero.

Important background information: I probably went into Bierkraft about 20 times when I lived in the area, usually to get fancy beer for my father. I had no idea they even made sandwiches until multiple people started recommending them to me after I moved. C’mon people, get your timing right.

Also, I confess I ordered the Serrano because I thought it would be more interesting to write about than the more traditional-seeming Italian hero on the menu, the direction I normally would have gone. Pitiful.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Most notably, like fig jam.

There are a lot of strong flavors on here, right: Serrano ham is like the Spanish version of prosciutto, so I expected saltiness from that, and the earthiness of manchego cheese and tartness from the vinegar.

Eventually, all those flavors sort of showed up, but none matched the fig jam in strength or persistence. Man… did this sandwich-maker just have a heavy hand with the fig jam, or is this really strong fig jam?

Maybe now is a good time to mention that I don’t much care for figs, which might trivialize my opinions on this sandwich. My wife loves ’em, and she loved the half of this sandwich I saved for her. I find them a little too goopy sweet unless they’re in delicious Newton form.

Still, I don’t exactly hate them, and I figured a nice hint of sweetness from fig jam might nicely complement an otherwise salty and tart sandwich. And at points, it did — there were bites of this sandwich that were great, when the flavors of the ham and cheese and fig came together as something special. But too often all I tasted was fig jam. I never really tasted the vinegar, incidentally.

The bread, I should note, was awesome. Really hearty stuff, itself a meal.

What it’s worth: $10, but it comes with Zapp’s chips, which are awesome.

How it rates: 74 out of 100, but it’s probably better if you like figs and you’re not mired in a sandwich-writing slump. The quality of the ingredients at Bierkraft was good enough that I’ll have to give it another go now that I’ve sorted all this out and can just order the Italian one.

Another delayed Sandwich of the Week. Feeling like the back is now appropriately rested and we can be back on the weekend schedule next week. Only next week is Memorial Day Weekend, which really throws the whole system into flux. So we’ll see how that all plays out.

The sandwich: House-roasted turkey, fresh mozzarella, broccoli rabe, hot peppers, olive oil and balsamic vinegar on a roll from Milano Market, 89th and 3rd in Manhattan.

The construction: See “the sandwich.”

Important background information: Everything about Milano Market practically shouted that it would serve delicious sandwiches. In the window sat piles of fresh-looking loaves of bread and inside hung various cured meats.

I saw no list of specialty sandwiches so I began mentally concocting something pork-free (as per my promise) while a couple of experienced looking deli men took orders from the people on line in front of me. A kid with a wispy mustache, no older than 18, asked if he could help me. A prodigy perhaps?

Apparently not. When I listed the ingredients I wanted on my sandwich, he was incredulous. I needed to repeat every one. Some of them twice. “Broccoli rabe… on the sandwich?” he asked. “Hot peppers… on the sandwich?”

Look, bro: We can work together and create a great sandwich here but I can only take you halfway. Yeah, I recognize this might not be some plain old ham and cheese but excuse me if I’m trying to conceive something new and special.

Oh, what? You thought I was content to just sit back and write about this sandwich game? No way. I’m in it.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Maddeningly inconsistent.

I’ll get back to that in a sec, but first off, this sandwich could have been aesthetically improved if the broccoli rabe were placed on the bread before the turkey. Its hunter green clashes with the olive green of the hot peppers. Plus I think that could’ve helped the young sandwich artist eyeball the hot-pepper placement a little better, since it was problematic on this sandwich.

On the bites when there was an appropriate proportion of turkey, mozzarella, bread, pepper, broccoli rabe and vinegar, this sandwich was amazing. Transcendent.

The turkey itself was a little dry and nothing really to write home about, but it gives meaty bulk to the sandwich and prevents the rest of the flavors from overwhelming the mouth. And the combination of creaminess from the cheese, spice and crunch from the peppers and tang from the vinegar with the moisture, texture and subtle flavor of the broccoli rabe — damn.

Only I got maybe three bites like that, tops. There was too much turkey on the sandwich, and way too few hot peppers. And nothing was evenly distributed.

Keep working, kid.

Oh also I’m pretty sure there was no olive oil.

What it’s worth: That’s the other thing. Somehow this sandwich cost $12. Could that be right?

How it rates: 81 out of 100. I urge you to try out this same combination of ingredients, though. There’s potential for a great, great sandwich here.

Another week, another delayed sandwich. My bad. Resting my back again. It’s on the mend I think.

This one came via recommendation from noted Twitterer @Bobby_BigWheel, who in fact joined me for the sandwich. That turned out to be important, since I would not have been able to figure out the system on my own. More on that in a bit.

For like the billionth straight week, the sandwich of the week includes pork. Actually, this sandwich includes almost exclusively pork. My bad. I hereby promise that next week’s sandwich will not include pork. Even if that means me eating something humble that I construct myself, like just a ham and cheese or something, I’ll do it. Wait, ham, no!

The sandwich: Porchetta on Italian bread from Di Palo Dairy, 200 Grand St. in Manhattan.

The construction: Porchetta on Italian bread.

Only it’s a little more complex than that…

Important background information: The system at Di Palo is not an intuitive one. This is why it’s good to go with someone experienced like Mr. BigWheel. Since it is a meat-and-cheese shop and not necessarily foremost a sandwich purveyor, you first take a number at the counter, then go pick out bread. When it’s your turn, you hand them the bread you’ve chosen — a loaf of Italian bread is an obvious choice for a hero — then tell them what you want on it, and how much.

A half-pound is a good guideline for a hefty hero-sized sandwich. I don’t know if anyone adds cheese or any other sort of meat to porchetta sandwiches. They were recommended to me with only porchetta, and I was so busy trying to figure out the system (and running a bit late, to boot) that I wasn’t about to stray from the standard.

Porchetta, I should say, is an Italian roast pork. From the Internet, it seems like it is the type of thing that varies pretty widely in terms of preparation and seasoning.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Amazing. That is to say this is a sandwich that prompts amazement.

Specifically, I am amazed: a) That a food which is technically only one thing — porchetta — can be responsible for such an outrageous array of flavors and textures and b) That I had somehow gone 30 years and nearly four months without eating that thing.

Holy crap, that’s a good thing.

I’m guessing Di Palo’s porchetta — maybe all porchetta? — comes from the belly of the pig (the part we use for bacon), because there’s crispy, salty skin in there, enough to give the whole sandwich some crunch. And then there’s the fat — I know that sounds gross, but consider that there’s no dressing on this sandwich and a lot of what we use to dress sandwiches isn’t much different than pure fat anyway — which seeps into the bread and makes the whole thing practically drip with moisture. And the hunks of pork-flavored pork. Oh lord WE HAVE TO GO BACK.

And the seasonings! I don’t even know what was in there. Rosemary?  Is that rosemary? I think that’s rosemary. It’s delicious. There’s a peppery kick, too — a spicyness that gets you toward the end of the sandwich, that you don’t even notice at the beginning because you’re too busy thinking about how awesome pork is.

How awesome is pork?

Sorry. Look, lest you think this is some sort of weird cultural or religious schaudenfreude and I’m trying to brag that my particular backgrounds allow me to enjoy the meat of this particular beast, trust that I just happen to really, really enjoy the meat of this particular beast. It’s so amazing. I mean, chicken is great and all, but I defy you to find me a chicken that — no matter how it’s prepared — can produce half as many flavors and textures as you’ll find on a sandwich like this one. You can’t. There’s no chicken.

I didn’t even get to the bread on this sandwich. That was great too. Enshrine it!

What it’s worth: You pay for the meat by the pound and the bread is separate, even though they construct it for you. All told, the sandwich was something like $7.16.

How it rates: 93 out of 100.

As I mentioned, my back has been a bit cranky lately. Nothing crazy, but bad enough that I didn’t want to spend any more time in front of a computer than I had to this weekend, delaying this Sandwich of the Week until today, when I have to spend time in front of a computer anyway.

This deli was recommended to me by Adam Zagoria, who writes a fine blog about multiple levels of basketball for this here blog network. You should check that out if you don’t read it already.

Also, I really wanted to avoid pork for my friends that keep Kosher, since I already know next week’s sandwich will not and there has been pork on like the last 50 sandwiches. But this deli didn’t have any specialty sandwich board or anything, and when I panic I order bacon on my sandwiches. My bad, again.

The sandwich: Spicy chicken cutlet with bacon, cheddar and mayonnaise on a kaiser roll from Rocky’s Deli on Saw Mill River Road in Millwood.

Important background information: Doesn’t sound like that interesting of a sandwich, right? WRONG!

I know I’ve reviewed a bunch of sandwiches that are essentially fried chicken, bacon and cheese, and truth be told that’s pretty much my go-to when I’m ordering a hot sandwich at a deli I’ve never before tried. Like with burgers at restaurants, I figure a chicken cutlet is a good standard by which to judge delis. If the deli does it well, you can trust it’s a good deli, go back there and start experimenting with other sandwiches. If it sucks, don’t bother.

But more and more lately I’ve noticed spicy chicken cutlets on deli menus. I think this might be en route to deli standardization.

I remember when I was in third or fourth grade, a couple bar-and-grill-type restaurants on Long Island started carrying Buffalo wings, and they were like this amazing new thing but they were all over the map: some places served them breaded, some had them dry with the sauce on the side. Now most bars serve standard Buffalo wings because everyone has wised up to how ridiculously awesome they are.

So I think — trendspotting baby! — that might be happening with the spicy chicken cutlet at delis. No deli in Rockville Centre served spicy chicken cutlets when I was growing up, but I saw that they were new on the menu at the Cherry Valley Deli in Queens and I’m pretty sure I’ve recently spotted them a few other places as well. Also Wendy’s now has those Spicy Crispy Chicken Nuggets.

They don’t have spicy chicken cutlets at the delis closest to me in Westchester, but my pocket of Westchester is pretty reliably behind the times food-wise. There’s no Chipotle or Five Guys yet and I swear they still sell salsa in the International foods section of the grocery store.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Tremendous. I’ll say it right now: Just barely shy of the Hall of Fame.

When I ordered the chicken cutlet, the dude pulled it from the pile and dropped it in the deep fryer, which is always an outstanding sign. No microwaved nonsense at Rocky’s Deli; you’re spicy chicken cutlet is coming at you hot and greasy, the way Colonel Sanders intended.

The breading on the cutlet, due to the frying, was nice and crispy. As for the spicy part: Good. It wasn’t overwhelmingly spicy or spicy in the Buffalo hot saucy style, it had more of a black peppery kick, a nice but not overpowering amount of seasoning. The flavor, actually, was not terribly unlike that of those Wendy’s spicy nuggets, only it obviously tasted way less like it came from some sort of fast-food power, not that this site judges anything produced by delicious fast-food powder.

The bacon was delicious, since it was bacon, and well-prepared bacon at that. It could have stood to be better distributed, though — the only thing really holding this thing back from the Hall of Fame. About a quarter of this sandwich didn’t have bacon.

Cheddar cheese and mayo you know about. The roll was good, fresh. Appropriate for a deli sandwich.

What it’s worth: I’m not exactly sure since my wife got a sandwich too and we both got beverages and we didn’t get an itemized receipt or anything. But I think about $7.

How it rates: 89 out of 100. Check this place out if you need a pit-stop off the Taconic. And look out for spicy chicken cutlets. They’re coming.

Remember Russ, the sandwich antagonist? He tipped me off to Melt Shop, a new grilled cheese place in Midtown East. We took a trip there this week for a “lunch meeting,” which essentially means an hour of me yelling at him about why I should have a TV show, especially if it could be about sandwiches.

The sandwich: Aged Cheddar from Melt Shop, 53rd and Lexington in Manhattan.

The construction: Aged cheddar cheese and maple-glazed bacon on buttered, grilled sourdough bread.

Important background information: I wanted this week’s to be a vegetarian-friendly sandwich review. I promise. Obviously meat means a lot to me, but I recognize there are people who can’t or won’t eat it for a variety of legitimate reasons, and several of those people asked in the recent survey for a review of a sandwich they could enjoy. And let it never be said that TedQuarters isn’t about giving the people what they want.

It all seemed set up so perfectly: Russ wanted to try this place, I had been in the mood for a straight-up grilled cheese for weeks, and several of you wanted a vegetarian-friendly sandwich review. But as so often happens with well-laid plans, bacon interfered. My apologies.

I regret nothing.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Good. Buttery. Mapley.

I think the big surprise here is how sweet it was. I saw “maple-glazed bacon” but I read it as “maple-smoked bacon,” and while the latter generally has a touch of sweet maple flavor, the former is apparently coated in sugary maple syrup.

It’s hardly overpowering on the sandwich and I’m not here to tell you it’s a bad thing, it just wasn’t what I expected due to a reading comprehension failure. It actually made for a nice complement to the cheese, a particularly pungent brand of cheddar with that sort of earthy flavor you might recognize from a good hunk of sharp Cabot.

Whoa, did I just call cheese “earthy”? Are these getting too obnoxious? I’ll cop to ripping that term off the Wikipedia page for Cheddar cheese (a solid read, btw). I couldn’t come up with the right word to describe strong cheddar flavor. It doesn’t really taste like earth though; it tastes like a strong cheddar cheese. I mean I guess technically it tastes like the fraction of Earth that is occupied by cheddar cheese, but now we’re getting into semantics.

I guess I should disclose here that I hate most food writing. But as I do this more and more I find myself struggling for different ways to describe food, and it’s a great challenge to do that without straying into the realm of the pretentious. If at any point it becomes clear I need a swift ass-kicking, let me know and I’ll find someone to administer it.

Anyway, point is it’s a pretty good sandwich. The sourdough is nice and hearty, grilled to the right level of toastiness, the cheese is melted appropriately and somehow not too greasy.

The bacon could have been a little crispier. That’s pretty much the main thing that goes wrong with bacon, and it happened here. The outside of the sandwich was crispy, but when I want bacon on a sandwich I want it for it’s bacony crunch. Also for it’s delicious bacon flavor. There was plenty of that, but little of the bacony crunch.

What it’s worth: Cost $6.50, plus about 25 minutes of waiting in line because apparently Melt Shop is blowing up. $6.50 is a bit steep for a grilled cheese and bacon — it combined with a handful of Russ’ tater tots to make for a solid lunch but it was not an overwhelming amount of food. Also, might as well wait until the hype dies down and the line shortens a bit.

How it rates: Russ, you may recall, complains that too many of the sandwiches here are rated in the 80s. So on the elevator ride back up to the office, I asked him how he’d rate it (he had the same sandwich I did). He said it was a really good sandwich, but not worthy of the Hall of Fame. Welcome to my world, Russ. 80 out of 100.