Richmond, VA’s Sailor Sandwich

Knackwurst is a favorite of mine. More commonly spelled Knockwurst here in the US, it’s basically a stubby, fat, garlicky hot dog in a natural casing that pops and cracks while the sausage is grilled. The name Knackwurst, in fact, comes from the German verb knacken, which means to pop. 

For almost a decade, every year I worked the grill for my homebrew club’s Oktoberfest party. We offered a number of different sausages, among which the most popular were always the bratwurst. I like a good bratwurst, but I usually snuck a knackwurst or two instead. The “snap” is the secret of a good sausage, and a knackwurst, fatty, juicy, with natural casing, cooked on a grill, has the ultimate snap.

So I was prepared to be a fan of this Sailor Sandwich, a specialty local to the Richmond, Virginia area. But to be honest, it didn’t seem terribly special or even workable from the description. Pastrami and melted Swiss on rye bread, sure, that works. Grilled Knackwurst and spicy brown mustard? Of course, it’s a classic combination. But putting the two together, man, I just don’t know. It seems like it would be a pile of meat on bread, a stunt sandwich, like something from Man v. Food. Combining tasty things doesn’t necessarily result in something greater than the sum of its parts. 

For the sandwich, the prescription goes: Pastrami? Hot. Knackwurst? Grilled. Swiss cheese? Melted. Rye bread? Grilled and greasy. Mustard? Spicy and brown. 

First things first. Grill that wurst! I understand that the “proper” way to do this for a Sailor sandwich is to split the sausage in half and grill it that way. No. That defeats the whole point of a Knackwurst, the natural casing straining against the expansion of juices and fat contained within the fine matrix of meat, until it can contain it no longer and bursts. I’ll not deny myself the pleasure of grilling some Knackwurst properly. I’ll split them later and finish the cut sides on the griddle along with the pastrami, cheese, and bread.

After grilling, keep the Knackwurst warm, but the rest of this sandwich is going to come together in just a couple of minutes.

On a medium-hot griddle, I place 8 slices of folded-over pastrami, arranged in roughly the shape of the hearty seeded rye bread I’ll be using and place it on the griddle just long enough to warm the bottom side.

After a minute or so, I’m going to flip the pile of pastrami over and place a slice of Swiss cheese on the heated side to pre-melt it a bit. I’ll also cover it with a domed lid to create some steam to melt it the rest of the way.

At this time I’ve also split the Knackwurst and placed the buttered rye bread on the griddle as well. The bread is buttered on one side–I’m going to take a page from Tom Colicchio’s book ‘Wichcraft here–since the insides of this sandwich are going to be shaped somewhat irregularly, I’m only toasting/griddling one side of the bread, leaving a crisp, hot, buttered outer surface with a softer inner surface that will mold itself to the fillings and grip them inside the sandwich.

Once the bread is nicely toasted and the cheese is nicely melted, the pastrami is hot all the way through and the cut side of the Knackwurst is browned, it’s time to assemble the sandwich. According to reports I’ve read and photos I’ve seen from the New York Deli and other places serving the sandwich, it is served open face–but with both slices of bread under the meat to allow for assembling a proper sandwich–with a ramekin of spicy brown mustard on the side.

So we start with the bread

Then add the pastrami and cheese.

If you do not have one of these little domed lids designed to go over a burger on the griddle and help melt the cheese, do yourself a favor and get one. Just look at that cheese.

The Knackwurst goes atop the cheese, cut side up. Normally there would be grill marks visible here. I have no regrets. 

And let’s not forget the mustard.

There you have it, folks. The Sailor Sandwich, the way it’s served in Richmond. (Minus the usual accoutrements, French fries, potato salad, etc.)

Of course I’m not going to eat it that way. I immediately drizzled the spicy brown mustard over the top, assembled the sandwich, and cut it in half.

It looks unwieldy. And maybe sometimes it is. But the Knackwurst, when it’s very hot, is also very soft, with the fat inside it melted but not quite escaping, and with the untoasted insides on this bread, the sandwich holds together very well. And the taste?

This sandwich really has no right being this good. It seems like such a big dumb pile of random things that should taste mainly of Knackwurst. And that is true, to an extent. But the thing about that pastrami spending time on the griddle, the edges brown up but the fat softens, the flavor deepens, and the meat melts in your mouth. The smoky salty richness of the pastrami and the grilled salty snap of the sausage combine into a hot overload of cured meats, tempered but held together by the mild gooey Swiss cheese and the crisp hot bread, with the pungent acidity of the brown mustard cutting through all that richness just enough.

“This sandwich made me like mustard!” exclaimed my eldest son, home from college for the Thanksgiving holiday, and my my astonishment at his heretofore unknown-to-me Bad Condiment Opinions (not liking mustard?! Whose son is this?) were swept away by my overall agreement with his assessment. This sandwich made me like mustard too, and hot pastrami, and grilled seeded rye bread. This sandwich made me like the combination of Knackwurst and melted Swiss cheese. This sandwich made me like the deli in Richmond that created it, the naval students it was created for, life, the universe, and crazy obsessive sandwich quests.

That euphoric state of sandwich joy was fleeting, of course. Soon, the sandwich was done, the nitrite-fueled high ran its course, normality returned. Family life went on. The boys went back to school, I went back to work. The next time I made the sandwich, the magic was gone–perhaps the Knackwurst wasn’t as juicy and delicious reheated, or perhaps I didn’t take the same care with the preparation that I had the first time. Perhaps I simply used the wrong mustard or got the ratios wrong. 

But I know it’s possible for this sandwich to be great. Richmond, you’ve got a winner here, if you treat it right. I know there are some readers in Richmond. Where’s your favorite place to pick up a Sailor?