Classic club sandwich

I’m a sucker for a double decker sandwich and the club sandwich rarely disappoints.

But I’ve actually never made one at home. So it’s time to right that wrong.

I’m going the classic route: three slices of toasted sandwich bread, lettuce, tomato, crispy bacon (it has to be crispy!), chicken and mayo. How easy can this be? Well, we’ll see…

You can use thinly sliced chicken or turkey for a club sandwich. Some people use deli meat but I’m a fan of the real thing. In this case, I’ve ordered an amazing smoked chicken from our neighbourhood barbecue joint, the fabulous Beach Hill Smokehouse. The owners are from Texas and everything they make is authentic and perfectly smoked without hammering you with spicy heat.

This chicken, thinly sliced, is going to consist of one half of my club sandwich; the other half will be lettuce, bacon, tomato, and mayo. Here’s my mise en place.

First things first: Roast the bacon slices in a sheet pan at 400 F for 15 minutes or until crispy. I used four slices of crispy bacon per sandwich.

Set aside three slices of bread per sandwich (I’m using Ace white sliced bread today). They’re going in the toaster at the very last minute.

You want a good tomato to join this all-star lineup. That’s hard to find in Toronto these days, but I managed to score this beauty of an heirloom tomato.

Thinly slice it. Perfectly juicy.

Chop some iceberg lettuce, pull the bacon out of the oven (onto a paper towel to catch that grease) and get your sandwich building station ready. Toast gets buttered, wall to wall.

A thin veneer of mustard goes down on one toast (sometimes I think I eat sandwiches for the mustard) and the chicken gets piled on top. That middle toast is buttered on both sides, and it goes on the chicken.

On the remaining toast, spread a thin layer of mayo, top with lettuce and tomato.

Season the tomato with salt (I used Maldive because that’s my favourite), top with four slices of crispy bacon, and build the sandwich. Would you look at that:

OK, that was easy. Now for the hard part. Somehow I have to figure out how to cut this thing into four perfect triangles. Large toothpicks help stabilize the sandwich.

Now I simply have to quarter the sandwich. I take a sharp knife and active decisively, but it’s a bit of a struggle. And then this happens.

Yup, my club sandwich fell apart. No worries: it can be rebuilt. I piece the puzzle together and, voila! A club sandwich fit for a diner. But I have so much respect for the professionals who kick this out of their restaurant kitchens day in and day out.

— Trish Hennessy