Oh hot (brown) damn…
I’m not one to shy away from having controversial opinions about important things. Like, vanilla-based ice creams are far superior to chocolate-based ice creams. Taylor Swift isn’t a a great singer. LOL is misued, overused and should really never, ever be used. Grease 2 is superior to Grease. Girl Scout cookies aren’t actually good cookies. And finally — and most importantly to this blog — an open faced sandwich isn’t really a sandwich.
I know there are a lot of people who would come at me for having such a hot take. I welcome the conversation, even though these people are wrong.
This topic isn’t new territory for me (here’s looking at you Navajo Taco), but it’s a topic so important, it should probably be covered in the presidential debates. I mean, what else is going on that could possibly be more pertinent to the world today?
I just did a quick sub-one-second think on it: nothing. I think once we can all agree on this, we’ll have collectively achieved nirvana.
But this week, as we forged ahead on our sandwich-gorging journey across the U.S., the list served up our second — and last (I peaked ahead) open-faced “sandwich:” the Kentucky Hot Brown.
I’ve never encountered a Hot Brown in the wild before, so I had no idea that this “sandwich” was a thing. If I’m being honest, everything I knew about Kentucky cuisine involves bourbon and fried chicken. So I was very surprised when this “sandwich” had neither of those ingredients. WHAT KIND OF NONSENSE “SANDWICH” WAS THIS?? I wondered quietly to myself.
For those not in the know, the Hot Browns sandwich is an open-faced “sandwich” with roast turkey, tomato, and creamy cheese sauce that’s broiled until the cheese is golden and bubbly, then topped with slices of bacon. It’s called the Hot Brown because was created by chef Fred K. Schmidt at the Brown Hotel in Lousiville in 1926.
I like to think they used the term “hot” back in the twenties like we do today, but I’m assuming it’s because it’s a warm s̶a̶n̶d̶w̶i̶c̶h̶ dish.
Putting aside the fact that this “sandwich” is not a sandwich, I was on board with most of the ingredients. I was a little wary of the sauce because sauces and gravys can make or break a dish. I’m often a “sauce on the side” type of girl, not because of calories, per se, but because the ratio of sauce to solid food can be all wrong.
Call me Goldilocks, but I like things just right. (But also, don’t call me Goldilocks. Outwardly I’m a redhead. Naturally I’m brunette. My aura projects a cool-hued bluish-purple. There’s no gold anywhere on these locks.)
It turns out that the Brown Hotel did the world a solid and posted their recipe online for those of us not in Kentucky to make on our own. And since there’s no better source than the original source itself, that’s the recipe we used.
This is another “sandwich” that involved roasting up meat ahead of time, so we roasted up a turkey breast in the afternoon. About an hour before dinner, I got to work on the sauce. Even though I bought all of the ingredients, I didn’t really think about all of the ingredients. The cheese sauce is a combination of butter, flour, whole milk, cream, cheese, salt, pepper, and nutmeg. In other words, it’s to the American Heart Association what Joker is to Batman: their nemesis.
But I’m not the AHA, so I was getting excited. I may have taste tested the sauce a few dozen more times than required, but I was just being a responsible chef and tasting as I go. Luckily, I had enough sauce to assemble the “sandwiches:” Texas Toast, Turkey, Tomatoes, Sauce [broil break], Bacon…Boooom! “Sandwiches” made.
Oh. Damn.
I honestly don’t remember what my expectations were for the Hot Brown. I think I landed squarely at “it should be fine.” I didn’t anticipate to be blown away or super impressed. We’ve already had some unexpected delights, so I thought that — after four months of expertly assembling and eating sandwiches on Sundays — I could pick out a sleeper hit just by ingredient list alone.
I. Was. Wrong.
This is one of those “sandwiches” that, if you were on death row, you should choose it for your final meal. It’s one of those “sandwiches” that if you were an athlete and needed to carbo load, you should order up one (or seven) of these guys. It’s one of those “sandwiches” that makes you sit at the table afterwards and question all of your life choices: are there other things that are this delicious? Why haven’t I eaten those? What’s a “vegetable” and why do I bother putting that in my body? Do all calories count? Or only the ones that make you unhappy? Can we award Fred K. Schmidt a post-humous Nobel Peace Prize? Because I think if people ate this they’d be happier. Also, if people ate this, they’d be too satisfied to wage war or hate on anyone. They’d just want to unbuckle their pants, lie on the couch and happily bask in their newly clogged-artery-post-meal glow.
This non-sandwich was such a delight, I’d like to make it an honorary sandwich. And since no one really has that authority, no one doesn’t have that authority, so I deem it so. Congratulations, Hot Brown. Much like a celebrity who never went to college, flexed questionable-acting chops, and then somehow received a doctorate from an Ivy League college, you’ve done your parents proud.
