20 Classic American Sandwiches, Ranked From Best to Still Pretty Delicious

A sandwich ranking? Are we out of our minds? Why would anybody undertake such a thing?

Because the people need to know, that’s why. To compile a generic “best” list for sandwiches is an impossible task, and to choose only 20 is just as impossible. Yes, there are many great sandwiches out there that didn’t make the list. That goes for burgers and even hot dogs, which are in fact sandwiches, but we simply do not have time for that conversation. We have a lot of business to get through. Here are 20 classic American sandwiches, ranked according to my incredibly specific personal preferences.

First things first: While this sandwich has obvious Italian influence, I still argue it’s wholly American, most likely created by immigrants in the Northeast. Second things second: chef, award-winning cookbook author, and TV host Samin Nosrat, somebody 100 times smarter than I am, says that the perfect dish has mastery of salt, fat, acid, and heat. There is perhaps no greater sandwich embodiment of this idea than the chicken parm.

Salt, fat, acid, and heat in every direction. Zesty tomato sauce, gooey mozzarella, hot, crispy chicken breast, and crusty bread are the dream team. In its most perfect form, this sandwich makes me happier than any other. To you, my sweet chicky parm.

There are few things as exciting or rewarding to unwrap than a big, East Coast-style Italian sub from an Italian deli. To me, the perfect Italian has the following: shredded lettuce, tomato, thinly sliced white onion, pickles (or hot, pickled peppers), at least two Italian meats, provolone, and an oil-and-vinegar-style dressing on a beautiful Amoroso roll. Every corner of this sandwich is a celebration of flavor, and it only scales up with better ingredients.

In 2002, there was a study that suggested the average American will eat 1,500 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before they leave high school. The people have spoken. We love PB&J.

I am a huge fan of the salty-sweet thing, and there’s probably no food that exemplifies that flavor combo better than this sandwich. Here’s how to make the perfect PB&J, according to yours truly.

• White bread or sourdough only.
• Lightly toast the bread before spreading anything.
• Spread the peanut butter and jelly across every inch of bread, all the way to the edges, and even a little bit over them. No bread should be exposed on either side.
• Give jelly a little extra love with a 60/40 ratio. Controversial take, but luckily, I’m correct, and anybody that would oppose me is wrong.

Two different Los Angeles restaurants, Philippe's and Cole’s, claim to have invented the French Dip over 100 years ago, but they both know one thing: Sandwiches beg to be dipped. Your cup of soup calls for it. Your dipping sauce sings its siren song.

But the dip of all dips? A nice, hot, cup of au jus. And when the roast beef is tender, the Swiss is melty, and the mustard is hot, there aren’t many sandwich experiences more fulfilling.

And for the record, I am now and always will be Team Philippe.

Sloppy Joe? In the Top 5? That’s right. This is one of the most old-school sandwiches you can eat, and it deserves its glory in the pantheon of great American sandwiches. An improvement on the loose meat sandwich (essentially a bunch of loose ground beef on a bun), there are several potential origins for the Sloppy Joe; some say it’s from Sioux City. Others say it’s from Key West. Havana and Ernest Hemingway have been involved in other origin stories, too. (And if you ask people in South Orange, New Jersey, they'll tell you a Sloppy Joe is an entirely different style of sandwich.)

Wherever this beautiful beast came from, this thing is like hamburger chili on a bun, and it’s the very essence of soulful comfort food. I will have no trouble sleeping at night by putting it in the Top 5.

One of Chicago’s most iconic dishes isn’t all that different from the French Dip, and I have no doubt I will wake up in a cold sweat at some point, worried that I placed this one in the wrong spot. The hot beef sandwich, classically loaded with pickled peppers and tons of gravy, is a nearly perfect dish.

My only knock is that it’s far messier to eat than a French dip, especially if the beef shop submerges your whole sandwich in jus before serving, which many are known to do. I love an Italian beef with all my heart, but the amount of napkins it takes to get through one is a bit of hindrance.

Yes. You read that correctly. Egg salad, baby. When done right, this sandwich is elite. Grab one from 7-Eleven; they’re modeled after the iconic Japanese convenience store sandwiches. Grab one from a trendy place in your neighborhood if that’s beneath you. Or, Trader Joe’s has some bangin’ egg salad if you want to make it at home.

And you’re using Kewpie mayo in that, obviously.

Primanti Bros., a Pittsburgh icon, is the restaurant behind this masterpiece of a sandwich. Created in the '30s to feed dock workers, a great Primanti-style sando has pastrami, provolone, tomato, coleslaw, french fries, and is served on beautiful, thick, Italian bread. There’s so much flavor in one of these bad boys. Don’t let your life slip by without trying one.

I’ll admit, this sandwich has a very low floor. The ceiling however, is so far up I can’t even see it. There have been times when I’ve ordered a grilled cheese and felt like every cent was a waste. There have been times when I’ve ordered a grilled cheese and thought to myself that there could be no greater nirvana. It really depends on who’s making it.

With good bread, good cheese, and proper technique, the grilled cheese sandwich is extraordinary. Without question, the best I’ve ever eaten in my life is the one from this wine bar. Go there and eat that sandwich, ASAP.

There are two sandwiches above anything else that define Philly, and only one belongs in the Top 10. The famous roast pork loin sandwich, often served with broccoli rabe and sharp provolone and a big hoagie roll, is a wonderful thing. It blows the cheesesteak out of the water. I’d eat one every week, if I could.

I fear the humble tuna melt is criminally underrated. With good tuna salad (adding chili crisp works miracles), some crispy bacon, and a juicy tomato, this is one of the best sandwiches you can eat. Ignore the haters that say you can’t mix seafood and cheese, and add a little extra. Toast it up on rye. Eat with fries. Welcome to the good life.

The founder of Chick-fil-A claims to have invented the fried chicken sandwich, but I think we all know that’s hundreds of miles from the truth. Though fried chicken itself has roots in many different countries, the way we know it today in sandwich form is distinctly American.

Though I think the “Nashville hot” trend has been beaten into the ground a hundred times over, a classic sandwich with a little bit of mayo and pickle is a day-changing thing. When the chicken is juicy and the seasoning is right, there’s absolutely nothing like it.

The iconic “poor boy” sandwich is synonymous with Louisiana, and that’s exactly where you should be when you’re eating one. Whether you’re stuffing it with catfish, fried oysters, or deli meats, make sure you’ve got some extra dirty sauce, and for the love of Mike: Don’t put it in your mouth unless it’s made on Leidenheimer bread.

Corned beef doesn’t get enough love. Everybody’s always talking about pastrami, pastrami, pastrami. Corned beef is the heart and soul of the Reuben, a classic American sandwich that’s as full of Irish influence as it is full of Jewish influence. This is a meeting of the deli minds, stuffed with sauerkraut, Swiss, and Russian dressing. Marbled rye is a popular bread option which I think you should reject; you need that regular rye. Maybe sourdough.

I tried to avoid listing any sandwiches that were just a certain type of meat. That’s why this list contains nothing like “Turkey Sandwich” or “Roast Beef Sandwich.” However, I think deli-style Pastrami warrants its own, because it transcends the lunch meat category. Making good ’stram out of a brisket can be as labor intensive as barbecuing or smoking one.

Good deli mustard and thick layers of pastrami are all you need. And please, eat it on untoasted rye bread, or my grandma will kill you.

Y’all are gonna have my head for this one. I know 16 feels low, especially for arguably the most authentically American sandwich in a ranking of American sandwiches. That big, glaring 16 is not so much a reflection of the weakness of a pulled pork sandwich, but rather a reflection of the strength of the Top 15.

For me personally? Toss the King’s Hawaiian roll, which remains all too trendy of a vessel for this sandwich. It’s so sweet, and a classic burger bun works far better. Add a little bit of slaw and smoked gouda. Extra BBQ sauce, too. Last but not least, close your eyes when you take each bite.

If you asked me to write this ranking on a hot summer day, in the peak of tomato season, there’s a world where a BLT is Top 10. With good tomatoes and good bacon, this is a magical sandwich.

The issue is that the BLT’s ceiling is a lot lower than most. More often than not, I’m not having the type of transformative experience with a BLT that I do with a great Italian sub, for example. A great sandwich, undoubtedly. But not the greatest.

The cheesesteak, I must admit, is a young man’s game. I am no spring chicken anymore, and these things are just too greasy and heavy. I eat out of the garbage for a living, and I still feel nauseated after a cheesesteak. And you’re telling me that the most authentic style is made with spray cheese? The first half of this sandwich is tasty, but as soon as your body decides it's done, the rest of your day is shot.

Not sure I ever understood the love for the Club. Bread in the middle ain’t my thing, and sandwiches served with toothpicks in the center annoy the hell out of me. They’re dangerous, honestly. I am not a member of this club, but that’s OK. I don’t think I want to be.

I can already see the Richie Riches of Cape Cod sailing towards me on their expensive yachts, full speed with harpoons at the ready. I’ve angered them with this one.

The lobster roll is a fine sandwich. A good sandwich, even. But, just like lobster itself, it’s an expensive ordeal that’s hard to justify the cost. Unless you’re fishing the lobsters out of the water yourself, that thing is gonna cost you an arm and a leg. Any lobster roll under $20 should be looked at questionably, and that’s not a price for the people. It’s a price for those suits on Wall Street, which you and I are not.

Plus, Maine-style (cold with mayo) is a nightmare. Connecticut-style (hot with butter) all the way.

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