Mental Floss recently posted this article promising the best sandwich in each of the 50 states. An ardent believer in the power of food stuffed between two slices of bread, yours truly took the click-bait. As I glanced at the selections from states listed alphabetically before the M’s, I wondered if one of my favorite local sandwiches would make the cut.
Favorites such as the pastrami at Carl’s Delicatessen and the off-the-menu Joe B sandwich at Banh Mi So #1 (a vegetarian sandwich carnivores swear contains meat) danced through my mind. If the winner hailed from St. Louis, however, I expected it to be from one of the more famous spots on The Hill. Perhaps a barbecue sandwich requiring a one-hour wait could sneak in and snag top honors.
Maybe the winner wouldn’t be from St. Louis. Missourians four hours west would put a burnt-end sandwich from their favorite barbecue joint up against any St. Louis sandwich. Might there be a spot in Columbia, Springfield, or small-town Missouri that I failed to consider?
I continued reading the article...
Michigan: A Reuben from the renowned Zingerman’s Delicatessen sounds legit.
Minnesota: Instead of the expected Juicy Lucy (wouldn’t they consider a burger a sandwich for this list?), they went with a Fried Walleye from St. Paul.
Mississippi: Pig Ear sandwiches from a fourth-generation place in Jackson. Interesting.
Missouri. Finally! And the best sandwich in the Show-Me State is…The Gerber from Ruma’s Deli in St. Louis?
I've never been to Ruma’s, but Google would soon inform me that there are locations in South County and a spot in Imperial, Missouri.
The Gerber, if you are unfamiliar, is a toasted, open-face sandwich topped with garlic butter, ham, and Provel. Variations can be found around town (subbing Provolone in some cases), but it’s known as a St. Louis thing because it was “invented” at—you guessed it—Ruma’s Deli.
“Invented” is too strong, because I’m confident that the ham-and-cheese sandwich existed before Ruma’s. While tasty, I’m not sure that the toasting of an open-faced sandwich was the deli’s revolutionary idea.
That leaves us with the Provel, that St. Louis staple that's both beloved and despised. Maybe the only thing necessary to “invent” the “best” of something in Missouri is to top it with Provel?
While my skeptic-o-meter might have been running a bit high, I owed it to Ruma’s to sample the signature sandwich. At lunchtime on a Tuesday, there was light traffic at the Lemay Ferry location. Customers seemed as likely to order baked mostaccioli, a pizza, or a chicken salad sandwich as The Gerber.
The iconic sandwich comes in two sizes: 6 inches (for $6.50) and 10 inches (for $8.75). Knowing this would be the best sandwich that this Missouri-born-and-raised boy had ever eaten, I had no choice but to go for the 10-inch version.
The verdict: The Gerber Special tastes like a toasted ham and Provel sandwich.
To be fair to Ruma’s, I don’t think the deli promotes its sandwich as the best in the state. The sandwich was exactly as billed, made for a fine lunch, and Ruma’s has built a loyal following over its 40-plus years in business. Expectations are simply raised to unattainable heights by a ham-and-cheese sandwich making such a list.
If we asked a dozen St. Louis residents for their favorite sandwiches, we would get a dozen different answers. If we asked a dozen St. Louis residents for their favorite sandwiches from a single deli, such as Gioia’s, LeGrand’s, or Blue’s City, we would probably get a dozen different answers. We haven’t even mentioned sandwiches at such local favorites as Crown Candy, Union Loafers, Salume Beddu, EAT Sandwiches, Fozzie’s, Grassi’s… We could go on.
So what did I learn? I have a deeper appreciation for the many wonderful sandwich options in St. Louis. And I was reminded of the importance of local press. Nonetheless, I'll still likely click on these sorts of articles in the future.
Some lessons are harder learned than others.
