A search for the right sandwich

Wrecking Bar Brewpub. 292 Moreland Ave., Atlanta. 404-221-2600, wreckingbarbrewpub.com. $$

We are all always looking for a new sandwich, right? Something beyond that perfectly decent turkey and Swiss on rye we get at our local deli or office lunchroom.

This is a story about trying new sandwiches, finding ones that are decent but not great, and saying to yourself, “Probably won’t get that again.” It isn’t a terribly interesting story, but it is a pretty common quest. A sandwich that really satisfies is a rare and beautiful thing.

First up we have the “Korean” at 7 Hens, the Decatur sandwich shop that serves a variety of internationally themed chicken schnitzel sandwiches and appears to be the prototype of a hoped-for franchise operation. I like the place well enough, and my kid loves it, so we go now and again.

I thought the latest offering would be right in my wheelhouse. Fried chicken strips, kimchee and a slathering of galbi sauce? Yes, please. Unfortunately, it all turned mushy and goopy fast, and the chicken lost its all-important crunch. The over-marinated, falling-apart cucumbers I chose for a side didn’t help. I’ve liked other stuff here better.

Later in the week, I tried the “Rebel Reuben” at Wright’s Gourmet Sandwich Shoppe in Dunwoody. Sliced turkey breast joins sweet coleslaw, Swiss cheese and Thousand Island dressing on grilled pumpernickel bread. It was fine – something I might order again (without coleslaw: this non-rebel wants sauerkraut) if a deli across the street from my office served it. But “gourmet” in my book means better bread, sharper cheese and a crispier griddle job.

A slice of decent coconut cake made for a good ending to the meal.

Finally, I went back to the Korean theme at the Wrecking Bar Brewpub, which has one of the more interesting pub menus in town. The house-cured pastrami came bedecked with house-made collard green kimchee, Korean chili-garlic mayo and Swiss cheese on griddled marble rye.

This sandwich had a bit more oomph than the 7 Hens version. It crunched more and squished more, and all the tasty fat felt like a nice indulgence.

But it wasn’t the carefully meted oomph of, say, a Holeman & Finch cheeseburger or a Reuben at the General Muir. It was a sloppy, messy, “love me” kind of oomph. Various ingredients, including a fat slice of pastrami, fell out as I bit down. In the end, I was happy to have split this sandwich and a vegetable plate with my kid. Half went down with pleasure, but the whole thing might have been tiresome.

I’ll keep looking for that special sandwich.