Sandwiches That You Will Like
PBS
Various Times

Clearly, the people of PBS got the memo. Ken Tomlinson's wary watchers will be pleased to learn that Bill Moyers is nowhere in sight on "Sandwiches That You Will Like," a hard-hitting piece of investigative journalism lighthearted documentary currently making the rounds of public TV stations across the land. It's a sign of the times that a partisan shudder would be the first reaction to such an impossibly innocuous offering. It's a sign of the show's quality how quickly the feeling passes.

For all the glories of America's thriving culinary scene — so many fresh ingredients, so many yummy sauces — there are times when you'd trade it all for a really good sandwich. At some point in your life, there was a certain sandwich that rocked your world every single time. Maybe it's one you made yourself; maybe you haven't tasted it in years, forgot all about it in the rush of modern life until I brought it up just now. If you were going to be hanged tomorrow, it's what you'd want for dinner tonight.

This is the spirit of "Sandwiches That You Will Like," a traveling celebration of killer sandwiches found in cities and towns across America, from the iconic (cheesesteaks and hoagies in Philly) to the "who knew?" (egg foo yung on white bread with lettuce and tomato, found only in Chinese restaurants in St. Louis). It goes without saying that there are no chain restaurants represented. Some of the honorees are exemplars of a local tradition; others are idiosyncratic, like the meat-intensive Maid-Rite to be found at the eponymous restaurant in Marshalltown, Iowa. Viewers step behind the counter to learn how it comes together, then head out front to see it go down. Narrated offscreen, the show keeps the focus on the sandwiches, the people who prepare them and the happy fans who extol their unique virtues.

Make no mistake, these are some mighty fine sandwiches. Hot pastrami glistens on rye; a muffaletta beckons exotically from its round Italian bread. Even peanut butter and jelly makes a strong case. But as is so often the case, the food is just an excuse to get together and talk. Here, the conversation is about — you guessed it. Short-order cooks and proprietors recount the creation myth of their specialty. Connoisseurs hold forth on why cold cuts should always be served on untoasted bread, and the salutary effects of a couple of hours in the fridge.

In a perfect world, "Sandwiches That You Will Like" would bear the label reality TV and there would be another term for that other abomination. These are real people eating real sandwiches, far from the stomach-ache artificiality of "Unwrapped" and the bankrupt credibility of Rachel Ray's low-budget adventures. Transparent production values put you right there alongside office workers, countermen, pensioners and "good people" who wouldn't know what to do with 15 minutes of fame if they had all day to think it over. An attorney reminisces about the first time he'd come in, out with some cops "looking for witnesses." A selectively toothed bottle blonde reminisces about coming to Katz's since they first opened (in the 1880s, that is). It doesn't get much more down-to-earth than this, an American pastoral of traditions handed down over generations and entrepreneurial dreams of modest scope.

Being a one-off and not a series, "Sandwiches" is on when it's on in any given market, making it hard to plan for. The program is available on DVD, almost a laughable thought, except that it really does bear repeat viewing; you cheer as each hallowed member of the Fellowship of the Bun appears in turn. But perhaps the best way to enjoy "Sandwiches That You Will Like" is by chance, stumbling across it as you slog wearily from unfunny comedy to talking head to degrading spectacle to overpaid athlete. You almost pass it by at first, being so unassuming amid the clutter. Then you linger a moment, or double back from the next channel. "What about this?" you say to your companion.

"Sure, it's worth a try," she says. A waitress appears, sandwiches in hand. You're in for a treat.

— J. Daniel Janzen (jdaniel at flakmag dot com)