Hey, I’m not joking.
I really think, even two months after having eaten it, that this was and is the best sandwich in the world.
We stopped…why did we stop here? I don’t remember. But our hotel was splat in the middle of the old town, and we walked by Ray Charly in the Petit Socco about three times before we decided to sit down and see exactly what it was that he was cooking that smelt so so so good.
Basically, it’s a pit-stop restaurant. A food truck in a building. There’s a large opening, a counter, maybe five chairs. The counter completely separates the clients from the “kitchen”, and a flight of stairs that lead somewhere upstairs. I don’t remember if there was anything on the counter, because the smell of deliciousness was too overwhelming.
A spit with chickens roasting turned quietly on the back wall, and two large hot plates simmered on the right. One had a large mass of unidentified food cooking. Just cooking. When asked, the chef/owner/manager said that it cooked all day. It was most probably onion, maybe garlic, possibly some other veggie (but maybe not) and a lot of spices.
On the other one, he cooked. For every sandwich, he cooked a handful of onion (yes, more), a handful of chicken livers and hearts, a handful of chopped chicken meat. Spices. Something green, which was not bell pepper. An egg.
When everything was cooked, the largest loaf of bread was taken from somewhere under the counter – as large as a baguette. A whole baguette.
Mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup. I would have done without the mayo and ketchup. And chips. So many chips.
He wrapped it tight in a greasy baking paper and then cut it in half.
We ate it, in silence, on the stools, while men that had been eating there for years, probably, laughed at our joy.
Yes, most definitely the best sandwich in the world.
(want to see what it looks like? Here‘s the only photo I found on the net)