Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve reached peak tomato. And while there are all sorts of ways to get through those piles of vibrant, sweet tomatoes at the farmer's market—toasts, salads—let's not kid ourselves. This is BLT season.
When made correctly, the BLT is a perfect trifecta of deliciousness: Rich bacon, meaty acidic tomatoes, and a token vegetable to make it all seem okay. The best part? Nothing could be easier. It's a three-ingredient sandwich—what could go wrong?
Trick question! What could go wrong? Everything. Take a look.
Horrifying, right? A fancy brioche bun that’s too sweet and pillowy for its own good. Thin, brittle supermarket bacon that crumbles when you so much as look at it. Limp, mealy tomatoes that don’t belong in jarred marinara sauce, much less in an iconic sandwich. And then there's bib lettuce, sad and wilted beneath the load its been unfairly asked to burden. What about iceberg lettuce, you ask? Iceberg?! Is that even technically a green?
And don't get me started on that chipotle mayo.
Yes, it seems that everywhere you look, there's somebody making a BLT the wrong way. But not you. You're going to make it the right way. Because you've got Sandwich Theory.
Theory: the Bacon should not crumble
The B comes first for a reason. Always spring for high-quality, thick-cut bacon when making BLTs. What? You like extra-crispy bacon? Save it for your eggs, sweetheart. Extra-crispy bacon devolves into a crumbly mess when you put it in a sandwich. (The B is for "bacon," not "bacon bits.") You want bacon that's at the Goldilocks point—the moment where enough of the fat has rendered so that it’s not a chewy mess, but still has a little meatiness to it.
Theory: soft Lettuce is for suckers
Going to be upfront here: No one is in a BLT for the L. Lettuce is more of an obligation for a BLT than a selling point (it's built into the name, after all). Still, there are rules here. Spinach, spring mix, arugula, and all other soft lettuces are out; you want something that will provide a little crunch. That said, iceberg is also wrong—it may pack a satisfying crunch, but it's watery and flavorless. That leaves you with basically one option: Crisp, fresh romaine hearts.
Theory: Bigger tomatoes are not necessarily better
No cherry tomatoes. No state fair prize-winning jumbo heirlooms, either. And absolutely no sub-par, out-of-season tomatoes—if you're making a BLT in March, you're doing it wrong. Pick heavy tomatoes that are about 3 inches in width. Slice them thick, sprinkle with salt, and overlap them a little bit—you want the tomatoes to be the tallest, most glorious layer in the sandwich. Layer the tomatoes in-between the bacon and lettuce—this will keep the tomato juices from compromising the bread.
And that's it! Three ingredients, perfectly chosen and arranged and...actually, wait, you’re not quite done yet.
Theory: boring Bread is better
The bread used in a BLT is critical. It should not be overly puffy, nor should it be at all crunchy (I shudder to think of a BLT on a baguette). Look for a soft, white pullman loaf and toast it lightly—anything beyond a very light golden brown and you approach crouton territory.
Theory: more Mayo is more marvelous
The BLT should really be a BLMT, because without mayo, the sandwich is—yeah, I'll say it—garbage. Flavored mayo is unnecessary, and an insult to the tomatoes. If you're taking the store bought approach, go for Hellmann's—it's the creamiest, most flavor option around. Want to make your own? That works too. Either way, slather that mayo on both the top and bottom slices. Anything less, and you may as well be eating a sandwich on, ugh, brioche.
