This egg salad is wet and hot and makes you want to tongue it. Unlike that hideous grayed out shit you know you’ve had for lunch at the local deli. You won’t be sorry you spent the extra 20 to make the mayo from scratch. If you are, get off my blog NOW. If you dare, eat this sandwich with some mouth-puckeringly salty and rough to the tongue potato chips.

Homemade nut butter is unequaled. It is shocking, even to me, how different a freshly roasted nut tastes from a store-bought one. Even the organic, yada yada brands won’t do your butter justice. Homemade butters are easy, allow you to control the ingredients and texture, and give you the opportunity to spike them anyway you like.

Now for choice of nuts. IMO, cashews just rule, full stop. They have the most flavor, if you’re OK with the fat and calories (it is a nut butter, people, after all). Almonds are obviously the wonder nut, but as a butter they usually wind up bitter, and are best roasted and popped directly in your mouth. As for peanuts, they are actually a hypoallergenic seed, and although much of the world lives off this nut, it is best avoided (expect for your occasional splurge for some Jiffy). Walnuts and pecans are also good to try out.

Find a store that sells in bulk, so you don’t get charged up the ass. It goes without saying organic is better, if you can spend the extra $$$ (1lb organic is around $15, while I’ve seen conventional for under $4). Hopefully this is not your first time weighing a beer against an organic tomato. [Otherwise: hello newbie, join us. How much do you care about your body?] Try out this cashew recipe for a start.

I have a thing for olives and chicken. In this recipe, the sweetness of the caramelized onions pairs nicely with the savory chicken salad. Tarragon is not appreciated enough. It’s a little sweet, has a licorice flavor and a hint of cinnamon.

The chicken, bean salad, and watercress in this recipe compliment each other well. The chicken gives some spice and smokiness, the beans their starch, citrus, and a little bite, and the watercress gives some needed crunch and pepperiness. For anyone gawking at the length: the chicken is also great on a sandwich, and the bean salad is excellent eaten alone, with a little sprinkle of cheese, with tortilla chips, or put in a taco.

I recently raised the stakes for cooking, taking it from a purely pleasurable activity to one that will feed Matt and me daily and save about 200% in weekly food bills. Those in New York who cook are miles ahead of me, and those who don’t, I pity your restaurant and pizza tabs. I held out on cooking as a means because I hate the thought of even having the desire to buy things “pre-,” as in packaged, marinaded, etc. You have the right to slap me if I ever make a positive claim about how easy Whole Foods has made cooking. Feeling lazy when you eat out means going to your local. Feeling lazy when you cook for yourself means heading to the front of Whole Foods before the scary hour of 9 when the last buckets are dwindling at the trough.

This sandwich has saltiness from the olives, sweetness from the Spanish onion, acidity from the tomatoes, and the creaminess from the white bean puree. As is general for sandwich recipes, these individual ingredients can be saved to mix again in new presentations (both below are great just as crostini). It will also keep really well if refrigeration is not an option.

I was at my parents in rural Connecticut for the wedding of a family friend. To relax at at the end of the weekend, Matt and I decided to cook Sunday dinner for my parents. We drove the five minutes to the closest of the local farms to look for salad greens. My mother’s garden has everything you could want minus the greens. When my father was growing up in India, uncooked produce was too risky to eat, and he has never really kicked the habit. Of course my mother would say she is losing the garden bounty competition amongst her friends, but it sure feels like I have more fresh options in my mother’s garden than at home in the horribly toxic cemented excuse for an island that- oooops, I digress.

I have a weakness for baby greens. A salad of tiny leaves is criminal but oh so tasty. Not having a garden myself, I am afforded some mental distance from the crime, selecting my leaves with a pair of tongs at the local grocer. Such is the brilliance of industrial food. Leave the plucking to the grower, and I will happily sit back and enjoy my tender little leaflets. What, baby greens aren’t the plant genus?

Sweet pepper soothes
Hummus, Indian-spiced cukes
Hot hot hot pickle

It has probably been said before that a sandwich is like a haiku. Both are structurally supported by their respective art forms, giving the artist leeway to freely associate with the past and also reinvent the form every time. Executed well, you have a tiny tidbit that nourishes the brain and pleases the mouth, and done horribly wrong you have a bit of inedible garbage that is spat out under the table.

Putting together a successful sandwich or haiku requires skill and understanding. With a sandwich, you need to consider the guidelines, the layers that will comprise the meal, flavors, textures, and references to past sandwiches. The sandwich must fit comfortably between the mandibles, be able to be elevated by the hands alone, and travel distance (or withstand time) before it’s eaten. A sandwich’s layers are balanced one atop the other, and must be distinct but also compliment one another. And most importantly the creator must consider flavor (spicy, sweet, sour, bitter, and salty) and texture (crunchy, soft, slippery, chewy, dry, and chunky).