The signature torta at Astoria's El Mariachi.

The other day I realized it had been a month since I'd partaken of a Mexican sandwich the size of my head. Immediately I sought to remedy this crime against nature and appetite. And thus the subject of this week's Sandwich Wednesday, a trip to Astoria for a torta. Astoria might seem an odd choice to sate a torta craving, but the neighborhood has several Mexican joints, including El Mariachi. Perusing the list of 19 sandwiches I briefly considered the cemita de pata ($8). Ultimately I chose something a tad less adventurous than a cow foot sandwich, the cantina's signature sandwich, the El Mariachi ($8).

Swaddled in deli paper it seemed dainty in comparison to other tortas I've had, but proved quite formidable. The El Mariachi consists of  a layer of refried beans and crumbled chorizo; pierna, spicy pork leg; queso blanco; milanesa de res, a breaded and fried beef cutlet; queso blanco; American cheese; avocado; and lettuce and tomato. It's the first time I've ever had pierna. It will surely not be the last time. By turns crunchy and tender, the pork leg was terrific. Think of it as a rich, meaty bass note, the guitarrón in this symphony of flavors and textures. The orange American cheese, which I've never seen on a torta, was kind of like a fiddle.

A Mexican-American gutbomb if there ever was one,the El Mariachi is meaty, crunchy, cheesy and all together satisfying. So much so that I suffered the age-old malady of gourmands and gluttons alike: indigestion. It was well worth it. I'm good for another month.

El Mariachi, 33-11 Broadway, Astoria, 718-545-4039

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Sal, Kris, and Charlie's Italian Combo is a force to be reckoned with. 

Lately I've been feeling a vague existential agita when it comes to sandwiches. Much as I love fancy grilled cheese sandwiches, epic tortas, and Uruguayan tea sandwiches something's been missing. Perhaps a return to my roots is in order. So for this week's Sandwich Wednesday, I made a pilgrimage of sorts to Sal, Kris, and Charlie's Deli. I first heard of the self-proclaimed "Sandwich King of Astoria" from Astorian and chef, Lee Anne Wong. Like many fans of this Italian deli, she's partial to The Bomb, a behemoth of sandwich that encompasses an entire deli case's worth of Italian meats and cheese along with an entire deli case's worth of American meats and cheeses.

Mortadella, complete with pistachios, is just one of the meats
that comprise the Italiam combo at sal, Kris, and Charlie's.

As appealing as the Bomb sounds yesterday was an Italian combo sort of day. It was the Feast of St. Anthony the Abbot, which I learned from my favorite Italian-American food blogger, Peter Francis Battaglia, is associated with all manner of porcine goodness. And really that's what all Italian combos are about. Packed with mortadella, salami, prosciutto, capiccola, pepperoni, and provolone the combo at Sal, Kris, and Charlies is no exception to this rule that the Italian combo is a celebration of pork and pork products.

Fork over $7.75 and you'll be presented with a sandwich as long as your arm. The gargantuan heroes here are a favorite of local firemen and Con Ed workers. Were there a sumo school nearby I have no doubt it would be a go-to meal for wrestlers as well. For this sandwich alone, the deli deserves the title "King." Ask for peppers and oil and vinegar, which do a nice job of brightening things up.

If you plan to eat the whole thing at once, do so in close proximity to a place to lie down. I ate three quarters of it and fell into a stupor. Don't plan on operating any heavy machinery afterwards either. Unless of course you're a Con Ed worker.

Sal, Kris, & Charlie's Deli, 33-12 23rd Ave., Astoria, 718-278-9240

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A half beef tongue sandwich with a sidecar of Jewish penicillin at Ben's.

I am fortunate Bens' Best, a legendary old-school Jewish deli complete with wise-cracking countermen, lies only a matzo ball's throw from World's Fare headquarters. It's a perfect place for a cup of golden-hued cup of chicken soup and a half sandwich. And that's exactly what I am in the mood for when I am warding off a cold.

As much as I love the pastrami here I find it too rich for medicinal purposes. Instead I opt for a half a beef tongue sandwich ($10.45, w/soup). I find the thinly sliced sheets of tongue creamy and comforting. Taken together with a shot of Jewish penicillin and some Jewish Champagne, aka Cel-Ray soda, it's a quite a restorative repast. If this bug takes hold I'll return in a few days and bring out the big guns in the form of a full quart of matzo ball soup.

Ben's Best Kosher Deli, 96-40 Queens Blvd., Rego Park, 718- 897-1700
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Jeff Orlick and friend eagerly wait for a sandwich outside Tortas Neza.

With 19 varieties of overstuffed tortas all named for Mexican soccer clubs, Tortas Neza was a sandwich shop of epic proportions. Each torta was an over-the-top affair, none more so than the $14 Tortas Puma. Named for league leader Pumas de la UNAM, it consisted of a breaded chicken cutlet, head cheese, chorizo, fried eggs, and sausage among many other fixings. And then one day Tortas Nezas vanished from its Woodside location.

When taco enthusiast Jeff Orlick told me Tortas Neza had resurfaced as a truck in Corona at Roosevelt Avenue and 111 Street I hit the gym ahead in preparation for a visit. A few weeks later the call came and Orlick asked myself and fellow fresser Jim Kim to join him for a midnight run to Neza on a bitter winter’s night. I seem to remember him also saying something about an Irish food truck in the Bronx.

The Maestro preparing a Torta Aguilas.

We ordered two sandwiches a Tortas Aguilas and a Tortas Monarcas, both $8. The first consisted of chicken breast, ham, and cheese, along with the standard Neza fixings: a shmear of refried beans, mayonnaise, pickled jalapeno, lettuce and avocado. It was good but the Monarcas, which the menu simply describes as “pork fried, cheesee,” won this pig lover over.

The porktastic torta Monarcas.

I’ve tried really hard to declare a moratorium on the word “porktastic,” but it’s just too apt for the Torta Monarcas. What’s simply described as fried pork, turns out be crunchy hunks of fried meat along with various sumptuous nasty bits, including supple bands of ear. Combined with the cheese and all the other toppings the sandwich is a gutbomb extraordinaire.

I was glad to have eaten only a third of each sandwich, particularly when Orlick told us that our next stop was The Chipper an Irish food truck in the Woodlawn section of the brunch. There we ordered deep fried sausages that were surely the greasiest thing I’ve eaten in a decade and a mess of French fries with a pleasant sweet brown curry sauce. I suppose such fare might serve as a decent alcohol sponge—the truck is located on a block lined with Irish watering holes—but I can’t quite fathom Orlick’s affinity for it.

On the way back from the Bronx I half-heartedly suggested that we keep the calorific party going with a trip to the Rutger’s Grease trucks. “You know I think they’re open right now,” he said only half kidding.

If you've ever found it challenging to balance a taco while standing up, you may wish to exercise great care eating Tortas Nezas sandwiches. That or take it to go. It's good to see Neza back on the street food playing field.

Tortas Neza, 111 Street and Roosevelt Avenue, Corona

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