The thing about making pulled pork, it turns out, is that then you have an absolute ton of pulled pork you get to eat. That’s a good thing, no doubt, but it requires a pretty serious commitment to pork-eating. You don’t want any of that pork going bad — especially not after you labored over it for 13 hours or whatever — so you’re going to have to come up with a bunch of ways to prepare it: pork tacos, pork and eggs, creamed pulled pork on toast, pork chili.

None are better than the O.G. pulled pork sandwich, though. I had this for five consecutive non-breakfast meals.

The sandwich: Pulled pork sandwich from the TedQuarters kitchen.

The construction: Smoked pulled pork on potato bun with sliced pickle, barbecue sauce and cole slaw.

For the buns I used Martin’s hamburger buns, a good, consistently soft potato bun. The sliced pickle and cole slaw were store bought. The sauce is something I sort-of made. It’s what barbecue guru Steve Raichlen calls a “doctor sauce,” made by combining other barbecue sauces then adding honey, vinegar, apple juice and spices. The recipe is here. I recognize it’s not a traditional Carolina-style barbecue sauce that would typically top this sandwich, but I had some left over from an earlier barbecue project and thought it was pretty delicious.

Important background information: I fear that sandwiches are never quite as good when you make them yourself as when someone else makes them for you, even if you are — like me — unbelievable at making sandwiches. Still delicious, mind you, but I think there’s something deep inside our minds that knows the sandwich is a significantly less convenient meal if we’ve had to construct it from its elements, which in turn makes us appreciate the sandwich ever-so-slightly less.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Good. The pork is outstanding; really caught a lot of the smoke flavor without being overwhelming, and the cut of pork itself turned out to be moist (read: fatty) throughout. The crusty outside parts add nice spice from the rub and some variance to the texture. Real delicious stuff we’re talking here. I mean, it’s pulled pork.

But despite that, and despite tasty and fresh ingredients throughout, I never managed to make a Hall of Fame sandwich in the five pulled-pork sandwiches I endeavored. Maybe if I were preparing them for guests I would have gone a little further to make sure the pork was warm, the barbecue sauce was room temperature and the pickle was crunchy, but at home, negotiating all the ingredients from my refrigerator, I don’t know. I guess I knew the sandwich was going to be awesome if I just piled on the right proportions of each ingredient — and don’t get me wrong, it was awesome — but I never took the type of care I should have to maximize its sandwich potential.

I think the pickle was at least part of the problem. I used sandwich-stacker pickles that had been sitting in my fridge for months, so they were never really crunchy. Plus I think I would have been better off with a couple slices of bread and butter pickles or something, which offer more skin, more surface area, and so, more crunch. The cole slaw — which was good, but unexceptional, just cole slaw — adds some crunch, but the pork is so soft that it’d be nice to have it bookended by crunchy things, and the pickle didn’t pull its weight. Plus it sogged up the bun with pickle juice. Delicious, delicious pickle juice.

The bun was really good though. So was the barbecue sauce. Honestly, if you’re bored, try that recipe. It’s easy to make and spicier than most barbecue sauces (depending on what rub you use, I suppose), plus adding all that vinegar really gives it some tang.

What it’s worth: The pork wasn’t all that cheap and there was a lot of labor involved here, but the pork butt yielded so much meat that the total cost of this sandwich, to me, was probably less than $3. Pretty amazing when you think about it. All you need to do is spend 13 hours smoking a pork butt and commit yourself to only eating pork for a week.

How it rates: 80 out of 100. A tantalizing sandwich with the potential to be an all-time great, but sidetracked by poor work ethic and unable to maximize its talents. There are a ton of baseball players like that, but not many I can find from North Carolina. So I’ll call this the Otis Nixon of Sandwiches, even though Otis Nixon is probably not an 80, but mostly because I’ve always wanted to create “the Otis Nixon of Sandwiches.”

This week’s sandwich came heavily recommended from various readers, Twitterers, and my friend Brad, who works near the shop in question. I appreciate sandwich recommendations so please keep them coming. I know there is no shortage of delicious sandwiches in this fine city, so if you’ve got one you love, I’m down to, you know, eat it. Especially if it’s within a reasonable subway haul from Rockefeller Plaza or a reasonable drive from Central Westchester, and especially if it’s something of an offbeat sandwich, since there are only so many things I can say about burgers.

(I don’t mean that. I can’t say enough about burgers. I’m sorry I even suggested otherwise, ground beef. I love you.)

The sandwich: Hot roast beef from Defonte’s of Brooklyn, 21st and 3rd Ave., Manhattan (also apparently in Red Hook, but good luck tearing yourself away from the taco trucks).

The construction: House-made Italian bread with roast beef, fresh  mozzarella, fried eggplant and au jus.

Important background info: I probably should’ve ordered the hot roast beef to stay — especially considering the wonderful smell at Defonte’s — but it was a nice day and I passed Gramercy Park on my way, so I figured I’d take it out and go sit on a park bench with my sandwich. Somewhere deep in my head I’m sure I knew that Gramercy Park is closed to the public and accessible only via key to residents of specific area buildings, but it slipped my mind on Friday, focused as I was on this much-hyped sandwich.

I walked a full lap of the park looking for an open entrance, panicking, knowing that my sandwich — with that au jus on it — was growing soggy. When I figured out I wasn’t allowed in, my head filled up with anti-capitalist angst as I hauled ass toward Union Square. Dammit, this city has so little green space, what exists should be for everyone! Those sons of bitches have a lot of nerve, locking people out. Damn-near shameful.

I eventually found a suitable bench on the northeast side of Union Square park. But soon after I opened my sandwich, a lady sat right across from me and started feeding squirrels, and I could see the little bastards eying my roast beef. That’s mine! Away from my sandwich, rodents! Move on, Willard-woman, please let me eat in peace. Next some panhandlers came by with cardboard signs and guilt trips. Man, isn’t there some way to make this park more exclusive?

What it looks like:

How it tastes: A bit soggy, as I feared, but still really, really tasty.

My particular mound of roast beef came from near the end of the roast, but it was still rare, moist and tender. This was a huge thing for customers at the deli — there were a lot of people who just didn’t want roast beef until it was cut from the center and rarest part of the meat. I always thought the rareness factor was at least a tiny bit overrated, but obviously I recognize that the butt-end of a roast beef is usually dry and unappetizing. Not the case at Defonte’s (though this wasn’t quite the very end), at all. Helps that they’ve got it soaking in jus, of course.

Speaking of: Something in this sandwich was quite garlicky, and I’m guessing it was that jus. Which is good. Garlicky is good. Every time I lifted my hand near my mouth for the rest of the day I smelt buttery garlic and remembered the sandwich, a nice little reminder of a delicious sandwich past.

And when I got good bites of the fried eggplant — when it was crispy — it perfectly complemented the roast beef and added some crunchiness to the sandwich. It was soggy a bit too often, unfortunately, which was a shame because it’s clearly what makes this sandwich especially notable. That’s not Defonte’s fault, of course; blame me for taking the thing to go and the people of the Gramercy area for locking their park (and that woman inside for not coming over and opening the gate for me when she saw me standing there, pathetic, obviously eager to eat a sandwich).

My one quibble would be the amount of fresh mozzarella. I should probably mention that this is a complaint I have with every food item in the world that’s not a massive hunk of fresh mozzarella, but on the hot roast beef the delicious cheese got overwhelmed a bit by the huge amount of meat. No disrespect to meat, obviously, but if I were constructing this sandwich myself, I’d probably substitute another layer of mozzarella for the last few slices of roast beef to balance out the proportions a little bit.

What it’s worth: Sandwich cost about $10, plus two rides on the subway and about 10 minutes of walking for me. But look at that damn thing; there’s enough there for two meals. Good luck trying to stop eating it after the first half, though.

How it rates: Please excuse me for avoiding a proper rating for the second straight week. As I enjoyed it, this sandwich still merits a rating in the mid-to-high 80s: delicious. But due to the potential here and all the vehement recommendations, I suspect that under the proper conditions this might very well have been a Hall of Fame sandwich. I guess think of it like the Tony Conigliaro of sandwiches: An Italian stud on a Hall of Fame trajectory but sidetracked by misfortune. Only obviously the story of the hot roast beef is far less tragic, since it will end with me eating another.

Due to, among other things, prep work for a cooking project I’ll very likely document here, this week’s Sandwich of the Week will come tomorrow. So, you know, adjust your calendars or whatever. Good sandwich, too.

Last week, I mentioned how Russ from work keeps criticizing me for seemingly rating every sandwich in the 80s or above. I gave Russ a piece of my mind on Thursday, because, as a spreadsheet jockey, he should understand selection bias.

Now that I’m only discussing one sandwich a week, I’m not reviewing every sandwich I eat in a week. So it’s a pretty safe bet I’m writing about the most notable sandwich I ate in the week, which usually means the best sandwich. Are you coming here to read about the crappy knockoff sandwiches I get from the soulless Midtown food bar places around my office? I certainly hope not, because I’m not writing about them.

So here’s another excellent sandwich, the best I ate this week. Bite me, Russ.

The sandwich: Bacon and Cheddar Burger, Bill’s Bar and Burger, two locations in Manhattan, one that happens to be  directly across the street from my office.

The construction: What it sounds like: A burger with bacon and cheddar cheese on a sesame-seed bun.

I added ketchup from the table, as seen in the photo below, but once I dipped my fry in the little accompanying cup of ketchup, I realized my mistake. The fries at Bill’s Bar and Burger apparently come with the very hot sauce/ketchup hybrid I speculated about last week, which presumably would have been great on the burger. They were excellent and so was the condiment, but this isn’t French Fry of the Week so let’s move on.

Important background information: I have been eagerly awaiting the opening of Bill’s Bar and Burger for months. As I’ve discussed, Midtown is something of a wasteland for good, economical eating, though if you use the Internet and your legs you can get by pretty well. Still, Bill’s is right across the street and promised to be a welcome alternative to Heartland Brewery for the occasional midday pow-wow.

Also, while under construction, Bill’s had wrappers on the windows with a bunch of reviews printed on them. One of them read something along the lines of, “Bill’s renewed my faith in burgers.”

Sorry, bad review. I’m sorry, but if you ever lose faith in burgers I just do not trust you to review food. I mean, have you even been to a Five Guys, bro? How could you lose faith in burgers?

What it looks like:

(Note that the burger does not come cut in half; that’s something I did on my own. I find that having corners from which to begin eating makes the whole process both neater and more enjoyable.)

How it tastes: Great. Like I said, I had high hopes for this burger, and it at least met my expectations.

I think one thing people miss a lot when making burgers at home is that you want meat with a high fat content. Big-time rookie mistake. Back in college, I used to buy ground beef that was like 93-percent lean, thinking that was the way to get high-quality, meaty tasting burgers. Silly college-aged me didn’t realize that higher fat content makes the burgers juicy and delicious, which is probably why silly college-aged me wound up spending way more time driving 15 miles into Virginia to one of the original Five Guys than barbecuing on our back porch.

Judging by all the meatjuice pouring out of every bite of Bill’s burger, I’d guess this thing had to be at least in the 20-percent fat range, right in the optimal zone there. Delicious, flavorful meat. Quality stuff.

Also, it had cheese and bacon on it. The bacon, in particular, was notable because Bill’s did it the right way: crispy as all get-out. I don’t need to tell you what good bacon adds to a good burger. I mean I assume I don’t. If you don’t know about that by now, I don’t know what you’re doing reading this blog and not eating a bacon cheeseburger.

Alex Belth and I discussed on Friday the way the standards for burgers have risen in the last five-to-ten years. I’ll maintain that it’s less about a fleeting trend and more about competition stemming from the Internet exposing hungry people to a better array of options, but it’s a good point either way. The standard (and still tasty, don’t get me wrong) diner cheeseburger now seems only replacement-level. In college we used to drive a 20 minutes to get to Five Guys, back when there were only a couple of them, and now they’re practically ubiquitous (except in Westchester, frustratingly enough). This is a good thing.

What it’s worth: Bill’s is a sit-down place, which means you’re going to have to tip your waiter and maybe buy a drink, plus the burgers don’t come with fries so if you’re looking to get starchy with it it’ll be an extra four bucks. But the bacon and cheddar burger only costs $7.50, which is a pretty good deal for Midtown. It’s not a particularly huge burger, but that’s probably a good thing if you’re eating in the middle of your workday because then you’re not asleep at your desk by 3 p.m.

How it rates: I want to reserve the right to hold off on rating Bill’s bacon and cheddar burger for a couple of reasons. For one, burgers are something I take very seriously, perhaps moreso than any other sandwich. And after one sampling, I sense Bill’s might be an upper-echelon burger, but I don’t want to overrate it based on only one experience. Second, I defy Russ from work — who will sometimes go weeks eating the same sandwich every day — to eat this or any other burger from Bill’s and tell me it doesn’t deserve at least an 85. It’s right across the street, Russ.

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.

Concerned that my experience at Ricobene’s would set the bar unfairly high for whatever sandwich I next reviewed, so I wanted to go someplace I had eaten a few times before — not just so I could be certain my writeup would be fair, but also so I could recalibrate my own personal sandwich barometer, cast wildly off-kilter by the Windy City wonder.

Problem is, though I’ve been to Island Burgers and Shakes a bunch of times before, I’ve never gotten a firm handle on it. People keep telling me its amazing. When my wife — then girlfriend — and I were on a feverish search for the best burger in the city, magazines and websites kept hailing Island Burgers’ among the top.

But we were never overwhelmed. More on this to follow.

The sandwich: Duke’s Churasco from Island Burgers and Shakes, 51st and 9th in Manhattan.

The construction: A huge breast of blackened chicken with jack cheese and jalapenos on sliced sourdough bread.

I ordered mine with bacon even though bacon is not on the sandwich as the chef intended it. I figured, you know, why not? But when the sandwich showed up there was no bacon, and when I got the receipt I saw why. My waitress entered the sandwich into the computer and then hit the “without bacon” button instead of the “plus bacon” button, which shouldn’t have even applied in this situation since the sandwich doesn’t come with bacon, and probably just made some guy in the kitchen shrug and be all, “huh, guess this guy really doesn’t want bacon.” Oh, how wrong you are, some guy in the kitchen!

If I open a restaurant there won’t even be a “without bacon” button on the computer, since all we’ll be serving is big plates of bacon anyway. Also, if we only have one dish we probably don’t need a computer.

Important background information: I feel like Island Burgers and Shakes benefits from the Jeff Francoeur effect a bit. A lot of Mets fans accused the media of consciously protecting Francoeur because he’s a nice guy and a good quote, but I don’t think it was nearly that nefarious. When those things happen — and they happen all the time, everywhere — I don’t think people necessarily recognize what they’re doing. I think members of the media grow to really, genuinely like Francoeur because he’s a nice guy and a good quote, and so they look for all the ways in which he’s helping the team win because in their heads they want him to be helping the team win because they are subconsciously biased toward him. And so, it’s easy — he’s got an amazing arm, he’s athletic, he’s well-liked in the clubhouse, and on the rare occasion he gets a hold of one, whoa nelly.

The people at Island Burgers and Shakes are all exceptionally friendly. Plus they play great music, it’s clean and brightly decorated with surfer-themed memorabilia without feeling like it’s trying too hard, and it’s a Hell’s Kitchen staple. Oh, and you can smell their burgers from about a block away. This is a place that any reasonable burger and sandwich enthusiast would want very badly to excel in its art.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Spicy.

Mostly just spicy. I like spicy, don’t get me wrong, and the Duke’s Churasco is a very pleasant variety of spicy — the blackened, Cajun brand that really clears out your nostrils.

And every element of this sandwich is good. The chicken breast was moist, well-seasoned and obviously fresh. The jalapenos, though spare, added more spice and some nice crunch. The sourdough was soft and tasty. The jack cheese added a creamy texture, though the flavor was a bit overpowered by the overwhelming spice from the chicken and jalapenos.

But I wanted something more. The Grub Street list I keep coming back to put this sandwich as 15th best in all of New York, and with that type of reputation I would hope for something a little less one-dimensional. There were pickles on the plate so I added those and some ketchup before plowing into the second half of the thing, and while they added some nice elements, by then I wasn’t tasting much anyway. A lot of spice on this thing, fellas.

What it’s worth: That’s the other thing. This sandwich cost $10.75. Throw in a soda and a tip and I wound up paying $18 for lunch. That’s three breaded steak sandwiches from Ricobene’s! Dammit, Ted, you promised you wouldn’t let it get to you. That’s why you came to this familiar place, remember? You’re back in Midtown now, and you’re going to pay more for sandwiches; that’s just how it is. You have to let Ricobene’s go or it will ruin you.

The rating: 74 out of 100. Calling this the Jeff Francoeur of sandwiches would be unfair; this sandwich is, despite its shortcomings, way above replacement-level and indeed still pretty good. That said, it is a bit overrated and overpriced, perhaps oversold due to some nebulous intangibles. I’m struggling to come up with a good baseball-player comp for this one. I want to say Ryan Howard but I think he’s better than a 74 in this weird, haphazard and totally arbitrary rating system. Like a poor man’s Ryan Howard of sandwiches, only spicier.

I long ago said my piece about cheesesteaks. This thing is clearly Chitown’s answer to that sandwich, only, as you’ll see, there’s more to it than that. But there’s a baseball game going on so let’s cut the nonsense and get at it.

The sandwich: “The Regular Al” from Al’s Beef, several locations in Chicago.

The construction: Thinly sliced, Italian-seasoned beef on a soft Italian hero roll with giardiniera — a spicy pepper relish — provolone and sweet peppers, all dipped in the gravy in which the beef was stewing. Marinara was listed on the menu board and I ordered one “with everything” because I didn’t know how else to play it, but if I got red sauce on mine it wasn’t enough to notice.

Important background information: I can’t figure out why Chicago has such tall buildings. Manhattan makes perfect sense — it couldn’t spread out anymore, so it went up. In Chicago, you walk past these huge skyscrapers, and then like right down the block there’s adequate parking and restaurants with drive-thru windows and gas stations. What’s that about? Based on the map and its proximity to our hotel, Al’s Beef should have been a hole in the wall in a row of stores. But it stood alone, with a parking lot and some outdoor tables and a drive-thru. Right in the middle of a city with all these massive, massive buildings.

I mean, don’t get me wrong: I’m for it. If I had my druthers, I’d replace my tiny house with a 110-story superstructure in the middle of suburban Westchester just for the sake of awesomeism. But often building codes and market forces prevent people from doing stuff like that, and it seems weird to just keep going skyward when there’s ample parking about and all. I don’t know. I still have a lot to learn about Chicago. One sandwich at a time.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Good. Spicy. Beefy. Like oregano.

It’s definitely an improvement on the regularly Philadelphia cheesesteak. I need to make that much clear. The seasoning of the beef might be a little heavy on the oregano, even, but it’s tasty nonetheless, and there’s way more going on here than just cheese and meat. Not that there’s anything wrong with cheese and meat but those are lilies appropriate for gilding. Actually to be perfectly honest, the cheese kind of got lost in the mix. But whatever, the rest of the mix was good enough to make up for the lack of cheese flavor. Unlike Philly’s offering, where the cheese flavor is the only flavor.

The giardiniera is great — a nice spicy peppery kick to go with the sweetness from the roasted peppers. And dipping the whole thing in the gravy worked well to keep the whole thing juicy. I was concerned that it would make the bread soggy and the sandwich mushy and hard to handle, but it withstood the pressure somehow. Just a wet-tish sandwich is all. And a good one.

But I’ll say it was lacking a certain depth of flavor I wanted to put the thing over the top into true sandwich magnificence. I think “spicy oregano bomb” is a fine treat, it’s just not something I’m nominating to the sandwich Hall of Fame anytime soon. I added a little ketchup, which sweetened the affair and helped a bit, but it was not enough to make anything explode with awesomeness in my mouth like previous sandwiches I have loved.

I will add, though, that for a sandwich that appears so unhealthy, I found the Regular Al surprisingly digestible. Cerrone and I walked the mile back to our hotel after eating, and I didn’t at all endure the greasy feeling I normally expect after eating a giant beefy sandwich. So good for you, Al. I think that signifies quality ingredients. Or maybe I’ve just developed an iron stomach.

What it’s worth: I can’t remember exactly what I paid for the Regular Al, which is as good a way as any to know it was real inexpensive. Like $6 maybe? Plus we walked about a mile there and back, like I said, but that seemed as good a way as any to explore the city and wasn’t much of an investment. So it was absolutely worth that, and I’d probably recommend checking it out if you’re in Chicago. Actually, if you asked me for advice — and I hope you might on these matters — I’d tell you to get an Italian beef sandwich from Al’s instead of bothering with the whole deep-dish pizza and the hours of investment that go into it.

Oh because that’s the other thing! We walked right up to the counter and ordered at Al’s, even though it’s supposedly over 70 years old, famous, and a bunch of magazines say it serves one of the best sandwiches in America. It is a terrifying indictment of humanity that the line wraps around the block at Pat’s King of Steaks in Philly, where they treat you like crap and serve you overpriced Steak-Um with Cheez Whiz, and there was no wait at all at Al’s.

The rating: 84 out of 100. A very good, but not exceptional sandwich. At times I thought it might be more, at times I thought it might be less, but it was definitely an above average sandwich that has been putting in solid work in the Second City for a long time now. The Ryan Dempster of sandwiches.