In his column last week, our restaurant reviewer, Michael Stern, included the parenthetical “(The Food Section does not recommend having breakfast while driving.)” I decided to let the line stand, because it’s true that this publication will always side with eating amid other people rather than behind a wheel. But I felt a little hypocritical about the whole business because the recently completed ABC store ranking project wouldn’t have been possible without in-car lunches.
Almost without exception, when you’re at a top-selling Alcoholic Beverage Control store in North Carolina, the next nearest top-selling store is roughly 40 minutes away. It takes about 20 minutes to document a store properly, and most stores are open from 9 a.m.-9 p.m. In other words, the best-case scenario for an evaluation day is crossing a dozen stores off the list.
Add in a lunch break, though, and you’re sunk.
When it comes to eating while driving, I am famously not fastidious. I seem to always choose the pan dulce that sheds the most sugar, and the bagel with the most sesame seeds. Recently, I saw khao soi on the menu at a Thai takeout and somehow thought it was perfectly reasonable to maneuver chopsticks, a spoon, and a steering wheel at once.
As a secret shopper, though, it’s unwise to show up at an ABC store with curry broth on your shirt, and egg noodles in your hair. So, as much as it pained me to pass by the sit-down restaurants where Michael no doubt would have stopped, my ABC project diet was to-go sandwiches.
North Carolina isn’t necessarily known as a sandwich state. Unlike muffulettas and po’boys in New Orleans, or camel riders in Jacksonville, its barbecue sandwiches aren’t legendary because of their bread.
While North Carolina is responsible for a couple of beloved novelties—namely, collards on cornbread, prepared by The Lumbee, and McDowell County’s livermush or Surry County’s ground steak—its best-known sandwiches (chain restaurant creations excepted) are standout renditions of pan-Southern favorites, such as pimento cheese, or cheffy assemblies, like the savvy stacks produced by The Half in Wilmington.
Still, I decided to wager that I’d be able to find a sandwich worth eating without straying from the path between two ABC stores. And, usually, I did. To the highlight reel!
Deviled egg sandwich, Red Bridges Barbecue Lodge, Shelby
Look, I get that it’s not Red Bridges Egg Salad Lodge. But since I was trying to save money as well as time, and since deviled egg on white sounds as old-timey as the vibe at this 76-year-old institution (where I’ve had the barbecue many times, promise), I couldn’t resist. The mustardy sandwich is rich with egg yolks and mayonnaise, making it the ideal companion to Red Bridges’ fabulous red slaw, which is what one might call varietally correct—meaning the kitchen doesn’t stint on vinegar.
Bologna sandwich, Yoder’s Country Market, Blanch
It was at Yoder’s that I adopted my sandwich-only stance. I’d chosen the Caswell County store thinking I could provision there but shifted course when I saw how many locals were thronging the deli. Opened by Sam Yoder in the 1990s, when the area was home to a robust Amish community, Yoder’s is now Amish in name only (and has also been relocated since its current owners bought it.) But its bologna, sourced from Ohio, remains excellent.
Torta de Milanesa, Garnachas Rivera, Carrboro
Many thanks to Bill Smith, one of the South’s menschiest chefs, for texting back right away when I asked if he had a torta pick in the vicinity of Chapel Hill. He steered me toward a truck favored by Mexican workers, admitting “I’m a quesadilla guy myself.” Could this sandwich convert him? Maybe! The strips of pounded veal, outfitted with lettuce, tomatoes, and pickled jalapenos, were perky with cumin and chili.
Grilled cheese sandwich, Ashe County Cheese, West Jefferson
It’s long been possible to buy local cheese in West Jefferson, where Kraft almost a century ago set up a hoop cheddar operation, and even see it made. But getting it grilled on bread is relatively new: Ashe County Cheese just three years ago opened its mobile luncheonette, serving fried cheese curds, mac-and-cheese, and pork belly quesadillas. For the true mild flavor of the mountains, though, it’s hard to beat an oozy, dairy-greasy sandwich.
Tell us about your favorite North Carolina sandwich in the comments section!
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