The sandwich chain Earl of Sandwich is owned by the actual Earl of Sandwich

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The Eleventh Earl of Sandwich and his forty-year-old heir, Orlando William Montagu, entered the catering trade in 2001, establishing a chain of sandwich restaurants called Earl of Sandwich. Their partner is the guy who founded Planet Hollywood. They have outlets at the Downtown Disney Marketplace and in the Fort Drum Service Plaza, in Okeechobee, Florida. Later this year, they will open branches in New York, one in midtown and another on John Street. Let this be a sort of two-lantern alarm to the Katzes and the Eisenbergs and the Defontes of the city: the Montagus are coming, and, according to their literature, “we don’t serve mere sandwiches. We serve The Sandwich.”…

The family estate is in Dorset, and the Montagus also keep apartments in London. Both father and son employ cooks, but they have strong opinions about sandwich construction, even if the construction of their sandwiches is often subcontracted. Eating lunch with them was like perusing knitwear with the descendants of the Earl of Cardigan, or sitting around with the Wellington family–of which Orlando’s wife is a member — talking rubber boots. “I don’t like everything poured onto a sandwich,” the Earl said. “I like one or two things, but most people like a huge choice nowadays, so we have to accept that,” he said, with the regretful air of a viceroy lamenting the fall of the Raj.

According to the British Sandwich Association — it sponsors such awards as British Sandwich Designer of the Year (there are chicken, chutney, and salmon categories) and New Sandwich of the Year (the shortlist for 2011 includes Pret’s sweet-chili-crayfish-and-mango bloomer and Tesco’s Finest Moroccan-chicken flatbread) –the top three sandwiches in Britain are chicken salad, prawn mayonnaise, and egg and cress. The Earl favors salt beef and Colman’s mustard. (So much for Grey Poupon!) His son is partial to celery salt.

– Lauren Collins, The New Yorker.

Wow. Wow. Obviously that’s a lot more than I normally excerpt, and forgive me for not including a link: I actually have not seen the full text of the article, merely a pdf excerpt courtesy of real-life friend Rich (Lt. Ret.). The story is online for New Yorker subscribers.

There’s just so much here. First off, the news that the sandwich chain Earl of Sandwich, coming soon to a 52nd St. location just a couple doors down from my office building, is actually affiliated with the legit Earl of Sandwich. Who saw that coming?

Plus, it’s great to hear that the contemporary Earl of Sandwich and his heir are keeping the family tradition alive and have “strong opinions about sandwich construction.” I have strong opinions about sandwich construction! Hey, I have something in common with British nobility! The world just got a little bit smaller.

This site is and has always been about sandwiches for the people and by the people (among other things, of course), and so I cast a leery eye upon weighty sandwich distinctions that seem to reward the designer sandwich set. But it’s hard not to at least appreciate the work being done by the British Sandwich Association — heretofore unknown to me — if not for the actual sandwiches it’s honoring, then for its general enthusiasm for the meal and any effect it might have toward destigmatizing the sandwich as a mere afterthought in the realm of high culinary arts. Not that any of that really matters once you find a good one, of course.

Unfortunately, the Wikipedia tells me that a Sugar Land, Texas Earl of Sandwich franchise is part-owned by noted jackass Roger Clemens, a festering boil on the ass of an otherwise promising sandwich endeavor.

 

Because the one thing the Internet lacks is stuff about Jose Reyes’ contract situation

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I missed most of the goings-on in the Mets world last week, but it seems like the team is still playing around .500 baseball, the media is still producing a ton of speculative trade and contract nonsense with which bloggers and fans are running wild, and Jose Reyes is still awesome. So status quo.

And it sounds like there’s a growing, backlashy sentiment in some corners that says something along the lines of, “Well if the Mets are in fourth place with Jose Reyes, they could easily be in fourth place without him.”

Since plenty of it has come from reasonable Mets fans, let’s assume for the sake of this post that it is not the Blame-Beltran dreck obnoxiously attached to star players so frequently in the recent past. I don’t think it is — no one with even a mild feel for the rules of baseball could possibly argue that Reyes’ contributions have not massively improved the Mets’ chances of winning games in 2011.

I’m pretty sure the idea is more something like this: If the Mets can’t consistently play above .500 ball with Reyes in the midst of an MVP-caliber season, then they’ll need to do more than just bring back Reyes to compete in 2012 and beyond. And since Reyes appears likely to net a massive contract that would render the Mets incapable of bringing on many more players (assuming they can even afford him), they should consider trading him before the deadline because we see now that it will take more than Jose Reyes playing at his most awesome to make them a competitive team.

I think that’s generally it, at least. Is that generally it?

OK. Well first off, the Mets are also playing .500 ball without David Wright and Ike Davis. Players are always going to be hurt, but probably not always two of the team’s four best hitters. Who could say where the Mets would be in the standings today if they had enjoyed full health from their corner infielders? And so maybe an optimistic blogger could argue that with Reyes back next year, Davis and Wright playing every day, improvements from some of the young guys already contributing, some luck, some good roster management and a little bit of help from the farm system, the Mets might not be as far from contending as they currently seem.

But that’s besides the point. The point is, it has never been about Trade Reyes or Sign Reyes. The Mets’ front office is only one player in any scenario involving Reyes’ future, and Sandy Alderson’s best approach to the decision must be dictated by at least one other actor. If the Dodgers want to trade Clayton Kershaw — locked up under team control through 2014 — for the next three months of Jose Reyes, well then duh.

They don’t, obviously, but you see what I’m saying. Reyes has value to the Mets now and until the end of the season, both in terms of helping them win games and in helping them fill seats and put eyeballs on screens. He offers them some value in compensatory draft picks if he walks as a free agent, and — though I can’t say this for certain — he may be less likely to re-sign with the Mets in the offseason if they trade him beforehand. And he presents value to whatever team inks him to his next contract.

We don’t know how much. We don’t know what Reyes will return in a trade, we don’t know what he’ll get in free agency, and we don’t know what he’ll wind up being worth to the team that signs him. We can only guess. And there are tons of variables involved.

It’s something to talk about, I suppose, and maybe it’s fun to speculate about possible deals or a possible future with Reyes lighting up the Mets’ all-time record books. But with the money Reyes is going to cost, there’s no real obvious solution for the Mets, only a front office charged with an incredibly tough decision.

The way I see it, elite free-agent shortstops don’t often hit the open market at 28 years old. And since the Mets are still a big-market club that will always have a big payroll, if they’re going to open up the coffers for anyone, he’s the dude. Sure they’re only playing .500 ball with him at his best, but that’s hardly his fault, and he’s young enough and they’ve got enough decent pieces that they can reasonably hope to build a contending club while he’s well within his prime.

But there has got to be a limit, of course. If some GM wants to blow the Mets away with a deadline deal that could bring them a package of prospects Alderson believes will make up the core of a perennial pennant-winner, or if another team wants to offer Reyes a contract that makes Carl Crawford blush, then we might have to face the possibility of a future without Reyes. And truth is, we probably won’t know for years if whatever decision the Mets’ front office makes is the right one.

Until then, though, we can sit here and yell about it a lot.

Assault and flattery

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Here’s by far the most interesting thing that happened to me on vacation:

My wife and I were walking near Union Square in San Francisco, fresh off the trolley, trying to get our directional bearings and looking, I imagine, very much like the tourists we were.

From behind us, we heard stomping — someone very large running in our direction. It happened too quickly for us to orient ourselves to the noise, and before I could turn around, a hand grabbed my right buttcheek and gave it a strong squeeze.

I spun to face my assailant. A very large woman, maybe six-feet tall and 180 pounds, either homeless or at least dressed in all the regalia typically associated with homelessness, stood staring at us with a menacing scowl.

“Got that ass!” she yelled.

Initially, I felt a bit disappointed that my wife made no effort whatsoever to defend my honor, even if she stood no chance in a fight against this terrifying woman.

I learned later that my wife had no idea the woman grabbed my rear-end. She assumed the ass in question was hers, and that yelling “Got that ass!” was the woman’s way of complimenting me for, well, acquiring it — not that a man walking along the street with a woman maintains any dominion over any part of her body, but, well, maybe this lady doesn’t share our worldview and whatever.

Still shocked, I muttered something to my wife about getting the hell out of there to avoid further confrontation, and we scurried away without incident.

In the immediate wake of the goosing I felt a bit violated, but later mostly flattered. There were so many asses to choose from on that street, and this woman ran some distance to grab mine.

That means something, and I appreciate it. I don’t condone such behavior and I ask that if you happen to see me in public you avoid the temptation to give me the same treatment, but in the case of this one isolated incident, I am grateful for the ego boost. And maybe I shouldn’t put too much stock in the judgment of people who do crazy things in public, but then maybe this is just a crazy world and there’s one sane lady roaming the streets of San Francisco.

TedQuarters: Not the home of objective journalism

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i see when there are posts that are negative to your views you just delete them. where is objective journalism? who cares about your opinions about anything other than the mets? for example, i saw a pvt screening of “MoneyBall” last night. Since when are you a movie critic? i can go on and on-you are a no talent.

– Jason, via email.

Usually I don’t indulge folks like Jason here with responses via blog posts, but since he did not furnish me a working email address with which to reply privately, I figured I’d have a go at it here. This is all extremely petty:

First of all, I have no idea what he’s talking about. As you may know, I was on vacation last week. I spent part of Saturday cuing up a few posts to roll out while I was gone, then set off to California on Sunday. I did not touch this site while I was gone. A few others have administrative access, but since they (obviously) have less invested in the site than I do, I imagine it would take a particularly hateful or profane comment to capture their attention.

Also, best I can tell from the site’s CMS, no comments have been deleted, flagged or unapproved in the last 30 days. If you were around the comments section while I was gone you might know something I don’t, but best I can tell, whatever Jason’s referring to did not happen.

This is not a democracy — the site is called TedQuarters, and I maintain the right to delete any comment I want for any reason. But it so happens I rarely do. We’ve been through this: The people who regularly comment here are awesome enough that the comments section does a pretty good job of policing itself, and I can rely on a very vague commenting policy of “everybody just be cool” and count on it happening. The only comments that will reliably get deleted are bigoted ones and personal attacks on other commenters that cross the line — provided I catch them.

Also, Jason, I’m not sure why you came here looking for objective journalism. I don’t believe any such thing exists, for one thing. For another, this is a blog, not a news source. All the content here is driven by my opinions. Again: The site is called TedQuarters.

I don’t know why anyone would care about my opinions about anything besides the Mets. But I don’t know why anyone would care about my opinions about the Mets, either. Who the hell am I? I’m not a former player or scout. I’ve never been employed by any Major League front office. I stumbled my way into a job at a team-affiliated television network because I have a decent sense of the English language and a strong sense of how hard one has to work to find and maintain a job in sports. I got my first full-time job in journalism in part because — no joke — another guy got hit by a car and died soon after I started a part-time job in journalism. Random chance.

And that’s not me trying to sound humble; I’m anything but. I think I’m good at the blogging part of this job and the other parts too. But I recognize that there are hundreds of unemployed Mets fans that could do an equally fine job who just haven’t been as lucky as I have.

Jason, why you managed to get so upset over the post I made about Moneyball is beyond me. If someone deleted some inflammatory comment you made about that post that did not deserve to be deleted, I apologize. And we are all very impressed that you found your way into a private screening of that film. But if you are not interested in my opinions — which is undoubtedly your right — there is a very, very simple solution: Do not read TedQuarters.

And then you won’t have to even bother sending me nasty emails about my lack of talent and objectivity.

“I award you no points and may God have mercy on your soul.“

Cole Hamels covering up

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The always-vigilant Cole Hamels photo archivists at The Fightins tipped me off to this: Our man Hamels pitched Saturday with a band-aid on his chin to cover up a pimple.

The photo is itself not terribly embarrassing, but the context makes it embarrassing enough for the archive. So it has been added. I should note that I am myself quite vain and probably not above covering a zit with a band-aid if I were going to be on TV in front of millions of people, but for some reason no one seems eager to put me on TV in front of millions of people, so I can comfortably taunt Cole Hamels for his vanity in this situation.

Also, on an only vaguely related note: Due in small part to that vanity and in large part to a continuing effort to meet girls, I scored a part in the musical my senior year of high school. The first day of dress-rehearsals I had to wear makeup for the first time in my life and, as a longtime football bro, this made me feel more than a little bit self-conscious. Between rehearsals, I went out for food and got pulled over for rolling through a stop sign.

I’m normally pretty good at talking my way out of tickets: Suppress any punk-rock instincts, apologize profusely, ingratiate myself, the whole thing. In this case, though — being a self-conscious 18-year-old — all I could think about was how the cop would judge me for all the foundation and blush I assumed he would immediately notice, so as soon as he approached the window, I blurted, “I normally don’t wear this much makeup!”

$75 or something.

Vacation all I ever wanted

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Today is the last day of my vacation. I’m back in New York, but I’m fresh off a red-eye from Burbank and I have a lot of stuff to take care of before I head back to the office tomorrow. There will be more here about the week I just spent in California and some of the food I ate there, but for now allow some loosely collected thoughts while they’re on my mind, before I pass out:

– Dodger Stadium is gorgeous. I scored great seats to yesterday’s game a week ago on Stubhub with no idea I was in for a Jered Weaver-Clayton Kershaw matchup. The game was awesome; Kershaw threw a complete game and the Dodgers won on a walk-off double by Chris Gwynn. The park — the 28th big-league stadium I’ve been to — was equally impressive. My wife pointed out that it looks a little like something from the Jetsons, which makes sense: Both the Jetsons and Dodgers Stadium came out in 1962, trying to look futuristic. The stadium couples that retro charm with the natural beauty of the hills and mountains beyond center field.

I think I am biased toward the 60s and 70s era ballparks because I grew up watching games at Shea Stadium. But I hope Dodger Stadium and Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City last until they are recognized as classics. Their appeal may be more subtle than that of a Wrigley or Fenway, but they are great places to watch games.

– I believe people should be allowed to enjoy baseball however they want. But if you purport to be a Dodger fan and you were spending more time yesterday focused on a beachball than the game Kershaw was throwing, we probably don’t have much in common. Here’s your 23-year-old ace squaring off in a masterful pitcher’s duel with the best pitcher from across town, and for most of the game the loudest reactions from the crowd came when fans let beachballs drop to the levels below.

With two outs and the game tied 1-1 in the top of the ninth, Kershaw allowed a solo home run to Vernon Wells that put the Angels ahead. Still, after he closed out the inning, I shot up to applaud him, figuring any pitcher that completed nine innings of two-run ball with 11 strikeouts and no walks would inevitably earn a standing ovation from his home crowd. But alas. I was the only person standing in my section, and maybe the only one who even noticed Kershaw had thrown nine innings.

To the Dodger fans’ credit, the place rocked pretty hard in the bottom of the ninth when the home team staged its comeback victory.

– Driving around Northern California is a great way to end up with a bunch of Rancid and Primus songs in your head. Driving around Southern California is a great excuse to annoy your wife with a barrage of nonstop movie and television references.

– I made it to the World’s Nicest Taco Bell, in Pacifica. Words can’t really describe how nice that Taco Bell is. Here’s a photo of the view from its outdoor seating area, which doesn’t really do it justice at all:

Full speed ahead tomorrow, fully rested. Jose Reyes is still pretty great, huh?