Ode to the BLT (with apologies to Shakespeare)

Emma Robson

Shall I compare thee to a PBJ?

Thou art more filling and more delicious.

Thy warm bacon, savory as the day.

The lettuces snaps, pleasantly auspicious.

The tomato coolness mingles salty sweet

Amid the rich, savory mayonnaise.

With toast the sandwich may now be complete,

Of this full entity I sing my praise.

When it comes to the BLT I’m a bit of a late bloomer.  In fact, it wasn’t until halfway through middle school that I found out what the initials stood for.  Call me naïve or unobservant, but I simply never bothered to ask anyone its full name.  The day when I finally did discover the Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato sandwich is one I’ll never forget.  I was down in North Carolina at the time staying with the family of one of my best friends, spending my days tubing and boogey boarding.  It was in a restaurant called Nofo, in an outdoor shopping mall near the coast, that the BLT first caught my eye.

Now, I may have led you to believe that the BLT is something I consume often; however, this sadly is just not true.  The BLT isn’t a dish to be made at home.  It requires intense concentration to cook the bacon to perfection.  Not appropriately cooked it is too chewy and burnt, it loses its richness.  The tomato too takes attention – too thick and it dominates the sandwich with texture and juice, too thin and it is defeated entirely.  However, the real impossibility comes in the timing, that mad rush with the toast as the warmth of the bacon slowly oozes out onto the counter. Besides, what is supposed to happen with the ends of the tomato?  These remnants are simply wasted, tossed glibly away in the making of a sandwich which doesn’t even taste as good as had been hoped.  In short, the BLT is a challenge best left to the professionals.  I would eat one every week if I could, but it remains a treat, consumed only every two or three.

The best BLT I’ve had lately was in a restaurant in Morningside Heights called Le Monde.  I had just finished my first science class at Columbia, sitting through my hunger pangs and wondering if my fellow science nerds in their physics team t-shirts actually think about food.  It was here, in this bistro with my mother, that I ordered something truly spectacular: this wasn’t any old regular diner BLT, but rather a BLT with distinction.  This was a BLT and A; Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato – all cooked and arranged to perfection – with slices of creamy, ripe avocado.  All this was surrounded by toasted slices of sourdough bread spread liberally with chive mayonnaise.  As I savored this gastronomic delight, the world of BLT possibilities opened up before me, wide and limitless as the number of napkins required to consume one.

Despite my love for it, I do have concerns about the BLT, bombarded as I am with warnings of fat and cholesterol.  However, I do swim and read a lot, so I hope the swimming burns off the fat and the constant reading simply keeps my hands off another sandwich.  Whatever qualms I possess about the BLT, I don’t share them.  No one else mentions anything either because they’re all too busy joking with Meredith about her obsession with the Tuna Melt.  There will be time for concerns later, but for right now I’m just hungry for a BLT.