Simple Yet Sublime

Seven great places to grab a sandwich

Some bread and a spread. What could be more simple? (Or more ubiquitous?) The sad reality is, a great sandwich is hard to find. Despite the proliferation of shops around Washington devoted to hand-held meals, too many purveyors fall short of the ideal.

The best sandwiches rely on two things: quality wrappers, and fillings in which every ingredient pulls its weight. This sounds easier than it is. The wrong cut of bread can sink a good center, and one off note in the fillings -- a dull mustard, say, or a flabby pickle -- can reduce a potential winner to also-ran status.

When I recently set out to track down memorable sandwiches, I narrowed the field by excluding hamburgers and crab cakes, categories so big and contentious that they deserve columns of their own. Instead, I focused on sandwiches that told a story, shed light on another culture or simply made me very happy to have met up with them.

What I returned with is a world of choices -- fast food that tastes as if someone added just the right measure of thought to it.

WARMER WEATHER means lighter appetites -- and sandwiches designed with the season in mind. Just ask Mark Furstenberg of Breadline ( 1751 Pennsylvania Ave. NW; 202-822-8900 ). "Whenever I can replace beef and roast pork with vegetables" in sandwiches, says the health-conscious chef -- who devotedly serves no tomatoes before they're local and ripe -- "I'm going to be very happy." Among the newcomers to his sandwich roster is a lovely panini that packs in a little garden of roasted asparagus, grilled summer squash and portobello mushroom ($7.50), its pillowy ciabatta spread with rich mayonnaise and a thin slice of fontina cheese. Stay tuned: More meatless sandwiches are being auditioned this summer, for a possible turn on the rotating menu.

THE PATH to a genuine Cubano sandwich starts with sliced ham, roast pork, Swiss cheese, often some pickles for crunch and a swipe of mustard for punch (but by all means hold the mayo). Equally important is the way in which those common ingredients -- preferably slipped between slices of fresh but hard-to-find Cuban bread, which is sometimes made with lard -- are transformed into a delicacy. The secret to a Cubano's success is a heavy hand with a grill press, which warms the inside, fusing the sandwich's flavors and juices. The technique also explains the slightly flat, quite compact yet totally satisfying sandwich ($6) I seek out at the year-old Cuba de Ayer ( 15466 Old Columbia Pike, Burtonsville; 301-476-9622 ).

Deli City ( 2200 Bladensburg Road NE; 202-526-1800 ) opened as a kosher-style delicatessen in 1979, and while its menu has evolved since then to embrace pork chops, crab cakes and turkey bacon, the mission remains the same: "Everything's prepared in the restaurant," owner Jay Eckstein will tell you. The scrappy dining room isn't much to look at, but the gentle spirit of the place makes up for a lack of eye candy. Eckstein's mother, Serena (she's the kindly woman at the cash register), seems to play that role for regulars and strangers alike, and the genial servers follow her lead. The son turns all Deep Throat when anyone tries to get the scoop on Deli City's terrific corned beef; Eckstein shares only that he cooks the stuff for four hours and cuts the meat against the grain before serving it between a couple of slices of very good rye ($5.95). But if you like your corned beef moist, juicy and fatty, you're going to find yourself making a habit of the model served here.

LOOK FOR a little red grill parked outside Galileo ( 1110 21st St. NW; 202-293-7191 ). That's the signal that Roberto Donna is in his restaurant, helping to assemble half a dozen different sandwiches in a rear open kitchen. Typically, that space finds the chef producing haute Italian fare for a select few diners in his exclusive, evenings-only Laboratorio del Galileo. "Grill days," when Donna makes informal carryout lunches, mean a counter set instead with split bread, chopped pork shoulder, grilled chicken, sausages and garnishes for the sandwiches -- plus a pay-as-you-go-by cash box that relies on the honor system. Grill days result in long lines that snake through the back of the restaurant. (For an e-mail alert, write grill@galileodc.com.) Go early if you don't want to hear Donna cry, "No more meatballs!" (Or worse, "Guys, we're running out of bread.") And do try the shredded pork shoulder sandwich ($5), slowly roasted meat seasoned with garlic and rosemary, and cradled with soft, sweet peppers and onions between slices of the restaurant's own Italian bread. The fresh zip? That's Donna's basil-brightened green sauce you're tasting.

ONE SIDE of the Lebanese Butcher ( 109 E. Annandale Road, Falls Church; 703-241-2012 ) is a small Middle Eastern market, the other is a tiny carryout cafe, which is where I head to assuage a hankering for lamb, sweetly spiced with ginger, pepper, nutmeg and cinnamon, shaved from a slowly rotating spit and slipped between folds of warm pita. The meat and the bread could stand on their own, but they get delicious backup from cool lettuce, pink pickled radishes, sliced onions and a drizzle of tahini sauce. Accompanied by the tinkle-tinkle of a little fountain and Lebanese music, the strapping meal is also a deal at $5.

DECORATED WITH leafy half-roofs over its bar and booths, and watched over by waitresses in brightly colored long dresses, the underground dining room at Malaysia Kopitiam ( 1827 M St. NW; 202-833-6232 ) always puts me on the other side of the globe, if only for an hour at lunch. Fostering the illusion is the "rotiwich" ($6.95): slices of marinated beef or pork, a little sweet and a little sour with tamarind, served on the thin, crisp, flaky -- and addictive -- Indian flatbread known as roti. "Do they really eat this in Malaysia?" a skeptical diner asks his waitress. "Yes, but they don't use mayonnaise," she tips him off.

TUCKED AWAY in an interior mall of the sprawling Eden Center, the family-run Nhu Lan ( 6763 Wilson Blvd., Falls Church; 703-532-9009 ) rewards its finders with some of the finest subs around, what the Vietnamese refer to as banh mi. The base of the treat is a toasted baguette, slathered with mayonnaise and heaped with lightly pickled carrots and radishes, fresh cilantro and a choice of meat. I'm particularly fond of the banh mi stuffed with pork meatballs -- soft and crumbly meat seasoned with minced garlic, onions, celery and just a suggestion of sugar. The meatballs' shocking red color comes by way of food dye; some heat sneaks into the picture with slivers of jalapeno. The tab: $2.50 per sandwich, but cheaper if you purchase in bulk. "Buy five, get one free," tempts a sign behind the counter, which is watched over by owner Ha Lu. Not much bigger than a stall, store No. 14 hops on weekends, when Lu brings in family members to help make the upwards of 1,500 banh mi she sells on Saturday and Sunday.

To chat with Tom Sietsema online, go to washingtonpost.com on Wednesdays at 11 a.m.