I like a nice sandwich. Bread, of course, is one of my favorite things on earth. My sisters remember how as a kid I would make bread sandwiches -- a slice of white between two slices of rye, or whatever. But cold cuts don't really do it for me. Ham is the main exception. Ham and its bad-boy Italian cousins: salami, sopressata, capicola, and mortadella. Them's my peeps.
Hot sandwiches, though, are my beloved. The hamburger being the all-time heavyweight champion hot sandwich, the one that transcends sandwichdom to earn its own section on the menu. But tonight we met the challenger: the broiled veal-ricotta meatball hoagie (I use that last term as a nod to Margy's Philly roots).
I dare say we couldn't have loved this sandwich more. The roll was vitally important. I scored some fresh specimens from my local bakery, and under the broiler with some meatballs, sauce, and grated Parmesan they got all crisp outside and soft inside. I might not have bought seeded rolls, but that's all that was left -- and like so many unplanned things, it was the perfect little accident.
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