Alex Belth tipped me off to the Oxtail Sliders at La Fonda del Sol, right near Grand Central. From clicking around online I knew the place would be a bit swankier than the haunts I usually seek out for sandwiches, but there was something enticing about the fact that the Oxtail Sliders were only available through yesterday, in honor of the running of the bulls in Pamplona). Exclusive, limited edition sandwiches. I like the sound of that.

(Incidentally, the running of the bulls strikes me as one of the dumbest things imaginable. I mean, I get that it’s probably some kind of rush to flee an angry animal, but if that’s how you get your jollies, why do you have to do it with all those other people around, potentially making your path out of the bull’s way more complicated? You can piss off and subsequently run from an aggressive animal in so many places. Why travel to Spain for it?

Also, while I find highlights of the running of the bulls endlessly entertaining, I don’t really see how it would be similarly entertaining to be on the ground, nor do I feel any sympathy for anyone who gets aced by a bull. One of the great things about contemporary living is that, in most places, we do not have to reasonably fear animal attacks. Our ancestors worked really hard to get us to this point. If you get messed up by a bull you’ve angered or a crocodile you’re screwing with or a tiger you’re whipping on stage [looking at you, Roy], don’t expect me to get all broken up. If you don’t want to get hurt, don’t mess with animals that can easily destroy you.)

Anyway, La Fonda del Sol was packed — go figure, at 6 p.m. at a place that’s attached to Grand Central Station — and they said it would be 20 minutes before I could sit anywhere. So I bailed and went to check out another midtown eatery recommended by SeriousEats.com, where, it turns out, every week is Sandwich Week.

The sandwich: Spicy sausage lafa from Olympic Pita, 58 W. 38th st. in Manhattan.

The construction: Lafa — a big, soft flatbread similar to naan — with, hmm, lots of stuff. There was some merguez sausage (or something similar), but also lettuce and carrots, french fries, hummus, tahini and hot sauce. Basically the guy put the sausage on the lafa and then kept pointing to things and asking me if I wanted them on the sandwich, and I kept saying yes until he got to the onions. No onions for me.

Important background information: I love sausage, don’t get me wrong, but I think sausage might be a tiny bit overrated. Great sausage is as good as anything in the world, but there’s simply too much variance in sausage ingredients to expect any sort of consistency. You can’t just order anything called sausage and assume it will be good, like you can with bacon.

Generally, I like spicy Italian sausage, Texas-style cheddar-jalapeno sausage and straight-up breakfast sausage the best. Also, I don’t know why breakfast sausage needs to be exclusively for breakfast. Someone made a bad decision when they named that sausage. They should have called it “timeless sausage” or “perpetual sausage.”

What it looks like:

(Sorry, the lighting was bad and this thing did not photograph well.)

How it tastes: Well, meh. The ratio of ingredients was all off, which actually wound up working in my favor because the lafa was the best part and there was an overwhelming amount of it. It was a bit chewy, but it really worked with the hummus, tahini and hot sauce.

I’m very particular about hummus. If it’s ground really fine, almost liquidy, I love it. If it’s grainier or you can still see the lumps of chickpeas, I’m no fan. Olympic Pita makes precisely the type of hummus I enjoy. Really good stuff. In fact, I might even go back there just to get the hummus, and maybe some lafa to dip in the hummus.

I wouldn’t get the spicy sausage sandwich again, though. What little sausage there was didn’t taste all that great — plus it was just really unappetizing to look at, for whatever reason. The french fries added nothing, and something in there left my stomach hurting hours after I finished.

What it’s worth: That’s the other thing — they charged me $11 something for a huge piece of flatbread with a nominal amount of unimpressive sausage, some french fries, lettuce, and various sauces. It came with a salad, but whatever. That’s a lot of money for mostly bread, hummus, tahini and hot sauce.

The rating: 50 out of 100. The excellent lafa and delicious hummus saved this from dropping below replacement-level. It was still worthwhile on the strength of certain attributes, but extremely limited and lacking punch. The Luis Castillo of sandwiches.

No frills, just Sandwich Week:

The sandwich: Chicken parm roll from Torrisi Italian Specialties, 250 Mulberry St. in Manhattan.

The construction: Pretty simple, really: A soft sesame-seed roll with breaded chicken, red sauce, fresh mozzarella and fresh basil.

Important background information: I mentioned my high standards before, but they’re especially high when Italian food comes into play. My mother is Italian and a terrific cook, and, like all good Italian (or half-Italian) men, I’m fiercely loyal to her food. Plus then I worked at an Italian deli that made its own mozzarella and everything, so I’m pretty distinguishing when it comes to that cheese.

And I think if I had read the New York Magazine review of Torrisi Italian Specialties I might have skipped the place entirely. It refers to Italian-American cooking as an “oft-derided cuisine” and suggests that Torrisi is a “high-concept gimmick.”

First of all, who’s deriding Italian food? I thought Italian, and especially the American interpretation of Italian food, was like the main food culture that everyone agreed on. Who doesn’t like pizza?

I mean, maybe I’m biased, but the idea of serving a variety of food ironically is about the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever heard. Especially when that style of food was delicious long before you got your condescending hands on it. Food is to be enjoyed unironically. And I guess it hits home to me if someone’s playfully mocking Italian-American food, since I grew up loving it and then spent years laboring over it at the deli.

Granted, I have no idea if Torrisi Italian Specialties really set out to serve the food I grew up loving in some sort of ironic fashion. The place was almost pretentious in its lack of pretense, but that could mean anything. Plus, you know, who cares? Like I said, I believe food should be enjoyed for the sake of enjoying food, so the motivations of the people serving the food don’t really make a difference to me. I’m here to eat.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Very good, but not exceptionally good. I can’t point to a single element of the sandwich that didn’t taste as good as anyone could ever expect. The sauce was sweet, the cheese was gooey, the chicken was hot and tender, the basil was, well, basily. And all those ingredients are delicious.

But nothing on the sandwich really jumped out at me to make me be like, “whoa! That’s the best (insert that thing here) I’ve ever had.” Plus something in there — either the breading of the chicken or the mozzarella — was pretty salty and certain bites of the sandwich might have bordered on too salty.

On the whole, though — like I said — it was very good. An amazing number of eateries manage to screw up chicken parm sandwiches, which is baffling because they’re pretty simple. Torrisi Italian Specialties is not one of those eateries. They make chicken parm sandwiches as well as anyone. Just not appreciably better.

What it’s worth: The $7 price tag was more than reasonable, but probably part of what’s holding me back from a more glowing review of the sandwich is that I waited about a half hour for them to make it. I’m pretty sure I just went in at precisely the wrong time; the line was never longer than it was when I got on it. Regardless, by the time I got the sandwich, I expected it to be epically awesome.

And though the sandwich was delicious and I’m glad I ate it, it was not so decidedly better than a chicken parm hero at a good pizzeria to make it worth the trip to SoHo and the long wait.

The rating: 83 out of 100. Better than the Cuban I made but not better than the Sloppy Bao. If the Chicken Parm Roll from Torrisi were a baseball player, it would be Paul Konerko. Indisputably good, but no one could ever reasonably argue it’s a Hall of Famer.