Sandwiches That Were Invented In Each State

The sandwich was supposedly invented in 1762 when John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, couldn't be bothered to pause his gambling for a proper meal and asked for his meat to be served between bread. And if there's anything Americans love, it's convenient and handheld food — so naturally, sandwiches became a national favorite. Over the years, each state came with its own preferred way of putting something between slices of bread and calling it its own.  

Here’s a tasty tour of sandwiches invented by each state. 

While y’all slathered ribs and brisket in red tomato-based sauces, Alabama invented white BBQ sauce. Because down in Dixie, things are done a certain way — barbecue included.  

In 1925, Big Bob Gibson — a 6-foot-4, 300-pound railway worker — started smoking pork and chicken in his backyard in Decatur, Alabama, using hickory-fired brick pits. He created a rich, tangy blend of mayonnaise, vinegar, salt, pepper, and a touch of lemon juice to keep his slow-roasted chickens from drying out.  

Drenched in this signature white sauce, the pulled chicken sandwich remains a fan favorite at Big Bob Gibson Bar-B-Q, which has been going strong since the day it opened. 

The reindeer sausage sandwich is as Alaskan as it gets. While reindeer meat has been around for centuries, this street food favorite took off in Anchorage, where vendors grilled smoky, juicy reindeer sausages and stuffed them into buns. 

Unlike your standard ballpark frank, this one is made from reindeer (or caribou) and pork or beef, and Cola-glazed onions. 

At its peak, this sandwich had lines stretching down the block. The city’s most famous reindeer dog vendor passed in 2016, but you can still find carts downtown slinging these Alaskan classics. 

Tacos don’t always come in a tortilla. The Navajo taco starts with fry bread piled high with ground beef or beans, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and sometimes a little green chile. It’s messy, hearty, and full of history. 

Fry bread itself was born from hardship. When the U.S. government forced the Navajo people on the Long Walk in the 1860s — a 300-mile march to Bosque Redondo — they were given flour, salt, sugar, and lard. They created fry bread with those rations, and eventually, someone got the idea to top it like a taco. 

By 1995, Arizona had officially named the Navajo taco the state dish. 

You have Arkansas to thank for this blue-collar classic that’s been around for generations. The state is home to the country’s biggest bologna maker, Petit Jean Meats, which opened sometime in the 1920s. 

A proper fried bologna sandwich consists of a slice of bologna, grilled until the edges curl, then slapped on soft white bread with mustard or mayo.  

There is nothing particularly French about the French dip (apart from it sometimes coming on French bread and possibly being invented by a French immigrant), but California has much to do with it. In Los Angeles, two iconic spots, Philippe’s and Cole's, both lay claim to being the birthplace of the French dip sandwich. 

Philippe’s, which opened in 1908, says the sandwich was born in 1918 when a customer asked to have his sandwich dipped in meat drippings to soften the bread. Cole’s, also established in 1908, counters that the French dip was invented shortly after they opened when a customer with sore gums asked for his sandwich to be dipped in gravy.

The Denver Sandwich, or Western Sandwich, is essentially a Denver omelet between two slices of bread. It typically includes diced ham, onions, and green bell peppers. The origins are a bit scrambled, but one theory suggests 19th-century pioneers created it as a portable breakfast.  

I know I’ll be stepping on a few Mainers’ toes here, but the claim to America’s favorite seafood sandwich actually goes to Connecticut. While Maine is obviously more often associated with lobster rolls, the first one was most likely invented in Connecticut, and it was hot and buttery — not cold and mayo-laden. 

Sometime in the 1920s, Harry Perry, the owner of a restaurant called Perry’s in Milford, Connecticut, created the sandwich with lobster claw and knuckle meat served in a toasted flat-top bun and drenched in melted butter for a regular customer. And it caught on. While this is often contested by Mainers, Perry’s sign from 1927 to 1977 proudly claimed it was the "Home of the Famous Lobster Roll." 

While the rest of the country has a “Leftover Thanksgiving Sandwich,” Delaware has Bobbie — which is ultimately the same thing but with more personality, a better name, and the bonus of being available year-round. If you’ve never heard of it, the Bobbie is a sub packed with turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and mayo, invented in 1976 when siblings Lois and Alan Margolet opened the first Capriotti’s sandwich shop in Wilmington, Delaware, naming it after their Aunt Bobbie’s post-Thanksgiving turkey sandwich.

It’s been called “the greatest sandwich in America” by people who take sandwiches very seriously, and if you ever try one, you’ll get why.

You’d think a sandwich called the Cuban would come from Cuba — and technically, it does, but not the version you know. The one that features roast pork, ham, Swiss cheese, pickles, and mustard on Cuban bread, then pressed, was born in Florida. For decades, Tampa and Miami have been bickering over who gets to claim it. 

Tampa’s story dates back to the late 1800s and early 1900s, when Cuban immigrants working in cigar factories needed a quick, filling lunch. Tampa’s version throws in salami for good measure. Miami swears their version — without salami — is the real deal. 

Georgia’s pimento cheese sandwich is textbook Southern comfort. Cheddar meets diced pimentos in a mayo-laced spread that's somehow both humble and fancy at the same time. It's the unofficial snack of porches, picnics, and golf greens — famously at home on Augusta’s manicured lawns during The Masters.  

Kālua pork — slow-cooked in an imu (underground oven) — has been a Hawaiian staple for centuries. Shredded, smoky, and packed with flavor, it’s usually served with rice at luaus—but stack it on a soft bun, and you’ve got a sandwich worth talking about. 

You’ll find kālua pork sandwiches all over Hawaii, from plate lunch spots to roadside stands. Some come with cabbage or pineapple slaw, others with a drizzle of teriyaki or a side of mac salad.  

Idaho is not only potatoes. Its agricultural bounty also includes the sheep farming industry, which explains why the state invented the Spicy Lamb Grinder sandwich. The state’s sandwich consists of seasoned, grilled lamb, spicy peppers, and onions, all tucked into a roll.  

You’ll find spicy lamb grinders at Basque restaurants, food festivals, and sandwich shops across Idaho, especially in Boise, home to one of the largest Basque populations in the U.S. Some versions include grilled onions, peppers, or a drizzle of aioli, but the key is always the lamb — rich, spicy, and deeply flavorful. 

Chicago’s got deep-dish, the Chicago dog, and a food scene that doesn’t mess around. Among the contenders that make its food stand out is Italian beef — a working-class invention by Italian immigrants in the 1900s. It started as a way to stretch cheap cuts of beef — slow-roasted, thin-sliced, and piled onto a roll.  

While Al’s Beef wears the crown as the home of the original Italian beef, serving it since the 1930s, Mr. Beef on Orleans is a legend in its own right — and so are the lines it draws daily (and yes, it inspired The Bear). 

Indiana's claim to sandwich fame is the Breaded Pork Tenderloin Sandwich. A large pork tenderloin is pounded thin, breaded, and fried to golden perfection, then served on a bun that's often dwarfed by the meat. It also comes with lettuce, tomato, pickles, and mayo. It's a Hoosier classic. 

The Maid-Rite, also called a loose meat sandwich, was invented in 1926 by Fred Angell, a butcher in Muscatine, Iowa. Angell was trying to create the perfect sandwich and handed one to a deliveryman, who took a bite and declared it “made right.” That offhand comment became the name of the sandwich and the Maid-Rite restaurant chain, which still serves them today. 

The loose meat sandwich skips the patty and instead, it’s made with crumbled, seasoned ground beef scooped onto a bun, sometimes topped with mustard, pickles, and onions. It’s basically a sloppy joe without the sauce.  

What started as scraps — charred, fatty trimmings from smoked brisket — became a cult favorite. Once tossed aside or handed out free, burnt ends now star in their own sandwich, piled high on a bun and drenched in barbecue sauce. 

It was Arthur Bryant’s Barbecue — a legendary African American restaurant — that put this ingenious concoction on the map. In the 1970s, a food writer, Calvin Trillin, wrote a raving review about the sandwich with crispy, smoky trimmings that customers used to snack on while waiting for their orders, and the rest is history. 

The Hot Brown isn’t subtle. It’s messy, rich, and absolutely over the top. In 1926, Fred Schmidt, the chef at the Brown Hotel in Louisville, had a problem — guests at the hotel’s late-night ballroom parties were tired of the ham and eggs. Schmidt put together thick slices of turkey on toasted bread, smothered them in rich Mornay sauce, added crispy bacon, and broiled the whole thing until golden and bubbling. Just like that, the Hot Brown was born. It didn’t take long for it to become a Kentucky classic.  

The muffuletta isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s a tower of cured meats, cheese, and olive salad stuffed into a sesame-crusted loaf. In 1906, Sicilian immigrant Salvatore Lupo opened Central Grocery in New Orleans’ French Market. He noticed local farmers buying muffuletto bread — a flat, round loaf traditionally baked for holidays like All Souls’ Day — along with ham, cheese, salami, and olive salad, but eating them separately. Lupo, being a smart man, stacked it all into one massive sandwich, pressed it down, 

While Connecticut likes it hot, Maine prefers its lobster roll cold and drowned in mayo. Seafood shacks across the state turned this simple sandwich into an icon by letting the lobster speak for itself. A classic Maine lobster roll features knuckle, claw, and tail meat lightly tossed with mayo, then piled into a buttered, toasted split-top bun. 

The crab cake has been a Maryland staple for centuries, thanks to the Chesapeake Bay’s rich blue crab population. And stuffing one into a sandwich is common sense. The Maryland Crab Cake Sandwich is made with lump crab meat, a little mayo, breadcrumbs, mustard, and Old Bay. 

Fluffernutter is Massachusetts' take on the peanut butter sandwich. A childhood classic in New England, Fluffernutter is peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff spread between two slices of white bread. While it sounds like the brainchild of an unsupervised toddler, its origin story is actually more serious. 

In 1917, Archibald Query of Somerville created Marshmallow Fluff, selling it door to door. Around the same time, Emma Curtis of Melrose was making Snowflake Marshmallow Crème and even published a peanut butter marshmallow sandwich recipe in 1918, calling it the "Liberty Sandwich." 

The name Fluffernutter didn’t come along until the 1960s, when Fluff’s makers decided it needed a marketing push. 

Ham on a bun. That’s Michigan’s no-BS sandwich for you — good ham, good bread, and maybe a little mustard if you’re feeling fancy. 

The Michigan ham sandwich was born in Detroit when Honey Baked Ham first opened shop in 1957. Founder Harry Hoenselaar’s spiral-cut, glazed ham became an instant hit among the blue-collar crowd. 

Some versions add Swiss cheese, mustard, or pickles, but most Michiganders keep it simple — because when the ham is this good, you don’t need much else. 

As Mississippi as it gets, the Pig Ear Sandwich is a Delta classic that’s been around for generations. And it’s exactly what it sounds like: braised or boiled pig ears, sliced and stacked on white bread or a bun, usually topped with hot sauce, mustard, and pickles.  

You won’t find the Gerber Sandwich outside of St. Louis, but locals swear by it. Invented in 1973 at Ruma’s Deli, this open-faced, broiled sandwich is all about simple ingredients and big flavor. 

It consists of a half loaf of Italian or French bread, garlic butter, then stacked with ham, Provel cheese, and a sprinkle of paprika. The whole thing is broiled until bubbly and golden. 

Montana doesn’t do fussy sandwiches, and a deep-fried pork chop on a bun is about as Americana as it gets. Today an essential road lunch for anyone passing through Butte, the pork chop sandwich was crafted in 1924 when Swedish immigrant John Burklund started selling his take on a German pork schnitzel sandwich out of the back of a van. 

It was an instant hit, and before long, he opened a brick-and-mortar shop: Pork Chop John’s. The sandwich is simple — a breaded, fried pork loin slapped on a soft bun, topped with mustard, pickles, lettuce, and onion.

The Reuben is one of the greatest deli sandwiches ever invented, and Nebraska insists it started in Omaha — not New York. 

According to legend, the sandwich was created in the 1920s at the Blackstone Hotel, where a local grocer named Reuben Kulakofsky was part of a weekly poker game. One night, he threw together corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, and Russian dressing on rye, and the hotel’s chef, Bernard Schimmel, put it on the menu. New Yorkers will argue otherwise, Omaha stands by its claim.

You'd think the state of debauchery would have a sandwich scene stacked with over-the-top creations. Surprisingly, tracking down a true Nevada-born sandwich turned out to be tricky.

 Nevada claims bragging rights for inventing the patty and tri-tip melts, but California begs to differ. The closest thing to a verified Nevada-born sandwich is the Awful Awful burger.

In 1954, Richard Graves — casino mogul and founder of Nevada's famous Carson City Nugget casino — introduced the Awful Awful burger to hungry patrons. What separates the Awful Awful from your ordinary burger is right there in the name: it's awfully big and awfully good.  

In 1959, Phil "Moe" Pagano, a cheese salesman, bought a sandwich shop on Daniel Street in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. He introduced a single sandwich based on his mother's recipe: mild salami, provolone, onions, peppers, tomatoes, olives, and olive oil on a roll. It became known as "Moe's Original” and New England’s favorite sub.  

New Jerseyans endlessly bicker about whether it’s "Taylor Ham" or "Pork Roll," but everyone agrees the Garden State's iconic sandwich is a breakfast must. Invented in Trenton by John Taylor in 1856, it got another twist in 1870, when farmer and butcher George Washington Case created his pork roll variation, packaged in corn husks. 

 It's basically processed pork, sliced, fried, and served on a roll, usually topped with egg and cheese. 

New Mexico loves green chile. So much, in fact, that they put it on everything — including the classic American cheeseburger. The green chile cheeseburger is a state obsession. It’s your usual cheeseburger with a heaping scoop of roasted Hatch green chiles, famous for their smoky heat. The dish first popped up in roadside diners across New Mexico in the 1950s, and it’s still a regional favorite. 

New Yorkers take big pride in two things: being a New Yorker and eating like one. And there’s no sandwich more New York than the BEC — Bacon, Egg, and Cheese on a roll. 

The sandwich first appeared in New York City delis and corner bodegas around the mid-1900s as a quick, filling breakfast for busy commuters. It’s simple, reliable, and deeply ingrained in the city’s daily routine: crispy bacon, fried eggs, and melted American cheese tucked inside a crusty Kaiser roll.

North Carolinians are serious about their barbecue — so serious, in fact, that their beloved Carolina-style BBQ sandwich practically divides the state in half. The sandwich, which dates back to colonial-era pig roasts, is made of slow-cooked pork shoulder that's been smoked until tender and juicy, then chopped or pulled. 

But the real star is the sauce, which varies by region. Eastern North Carolina uses a tangy, vinegar-based sauce seasoned with red pepper flakes, while Lexington-style barbecue adds ketchup for a slightly sweeter taste. 

In North Dakota, comfort food means a hot roast beef sandwich. Thick slices of roasted beef sit on white bread, topped with plenty of warm gravy. It’s usually served open-faced, with mashed potatoes or fries on the side. 

The sandwich first became popular in American diners and cafés in the early 1900s as a simple way to stretch Sunday’s leftover roast into weekday meals. 

In Ohio, especially around Cleveland, locals love the Polish Boy sandwich. It’s a messy concoction made of a grilled or deep-fried kielbasa sausage on a sturdy bun with crispy french fries, tangy coleslaw, and a generous drizzle of barbecue sauce. 

The sandwich first appeared in Cleveland in the mid-20th century, influenced by the area’s Eastern European immigrants who brought kielbasa sausage to the region. While the exact origins are patchy, many credit Virgil Whitmore, who opened his barbecue restaurant in the 1940s, and started selling the Polish Boy by combining kielbasa with coleslaw, fries, and barbecue sauce. 

The Barbecue Bologna was born when budget-conscious Oklahomans looking to stretch their dollar turned the often overlooked bologna sausage into a smoked delicacy. The cheap and widely available bologna is smoked — usually over pecan wood — and transformed into a delight. 

It’s served sliced in a sandwich with barbecue sauce, sweet pickles, onions, and American cheese — a combo that packs a punch. Rumor has it Elvis Presley was a fan. 

Oregon’s hipster capital, Portland, has more to offer than kale smoothies: Reggie Deluxe. Oregon’s ultimate hangover hero was invented in 2006 at Pine State Biscuits —  when three dudes from North Carolina decided the Pacific Northwest desperately needed a taste of Southern biscuit magic. And man, were they right. 

The Reggie Deluxe consists of a buttery biscuit piled unapologetically high with fried chicken, bacon, cheddar, a runny fried egg, and a ridiculous amount of sausage gravy. 

Only one thing is more Philadelphia than Rocky Balboa — the Philly Cheesesteak. This legendary sandwich was born in 1930 thanks to a little brotherly love (literally) from Pat and Harry Olivieri. The brothers ran a hot dog cart in South Philly, but one afternoon, Pat asked Harry to grab some beef scraps from their butcher, then grilled it up with onions and stuffed the tasty concoction into a hoagie roll. A passing cab driver caught the mouthwatering aroma, took a bite, and lost it. 

Cheese didn’t actually hit the steak until about a decade later, when "Cocky Joe" Lorenza — manager at Pat's now-iconic King of Steaks — added slices of provolone, forever upgrading the sandwich. Today, whether you're team provolone, American, or proudly Cheez Whiz, there's no debate: the cheesesteak is the king of Philly sandwiches — worth fighting over, which Philadelphians regularly do. 

Rhode Island’s Dynamite sandwich is a Sloppy Joe with a hot temper. It was invented in Woonsocket when Italian American cooks wanted to create something cheap and filling to feed hungry crowds at festivals and gatherings. It consists of ground beef, peppers, onions, and celery cooked up in a spicy tomato sauce on a grinder roll. They named it “Dynamite” for obvious reasons — it packs heat. 

There’s no official proof that South Carolina created America’s favorite comfort sandwich, but according to a local legend, it all started at the Woolworth’s lunch counter in Charleston during the 1960s. The story goes that a distracted cook accidentally tipped a bowl of tuna salad onto a grilled cheese sandwich, and off it went.

Pheasant hunting is a tradition and a passion in South Dakota. So turning that game bird into sandwich-friendly fare was inevitable. It is mixed with mayo, celery, maybe some cranberries for sweetness, and served on hearty bread and it tastes like a Midwestern picnic.  

You can't leave Tennessee without trying Nashville hot chicken— a fiery meal that literally came to life as revenge served hot. Legend has it that in the 1930s, Thornton Prince — a local ladies' man — had a habit of returning home late. Fed up with his shenanigans, his girlfriend spiked his fried chicken with a punishing dose of cayenne pepper, hoping to teach him a lesson. Instead of sweating in regret, Prince loved every spicy bite, opening Prince’s Hot Chicken Shack soon after.

It’s Texas, so you knew it had to be brisket. The Texas chopped-beef sandwich first appeared in a 1924 edition of the Houston Post, suggesting grinding leftover brisket into something tasty rather than tossing it. Soon, local joints began serving chopped beef on buttered toast. Today, you’ll find this Texas classic everywhere, from rodeos to ball games. It’s a simple sandwich made of smoky brisket, chopped fine and piled generously on a buttery toasted bun or white bread, usually topped with tangy barbecue sauce, pickles, and sliced onions. 

Utah's pastrami burger is a diner hybrid born from a question nobody knew they needed answered: What happens if you stack pastrami onto a burger? It was invented in local drive-ins (like Salt Lake City’s Crown Burgers), and it consists of beef patties and peppery pastrami on a sesame bun, often topped with Swiss cheese and fry sauce. 

The Vermonter is exactly the kind of sandwich you’d expect from Vermont. It’s basically a grilled cheese stacked with ham, turkey, and a crispy local twist — fresh apple slices. Chef Jason Maroney created it in the 1990s at his restaurant, Sweetwaters American Bistro in Burlington, to promote local ingredients. While Sweetwaters American Bistro closed its doors in 2022, the Vermonter is still a regional favorite. 

 Virginia’s Sailor Sandwich dates back to 1943 at Richmond’s New York Deli, a Jewish deli founded in 1929 that proudly claims to be its creator. Local legend says Navy sailors from the University of Richmond’s Navy V-12 program would regularly stop by and order a sandwich piled high with hot pastrami, grilled knockwurst sausage, and melted Swiss cheese, grilled crispy and gooey on rye bread. When this hearty sandwich became a favorite among the hungry trainees, the owner’s wife started shouting orders back to the kitchen: “Another sandwich for the sailors!” The name stuck.

The smoked salmon sandwich is Washington’s official state sandwich — and honestly, what else could it be? It was officially chosen by state legislators in 1987, and it's a no-brainer tribute to the state's salmon-fishing obsession. It includes smoked salmon served on whole-wheat bread, often paired with cream cheese, cucumbers, or capers.  

The pepperoni roll was first created in the 1920s by Giuseppe Argiro, an Italian immigrant baker, as an easy lunch for coal miners. The roll consists of soft white bread dough wrapped around sticks or slices of pepperoni. When baked, the pepperoni oils seep into the bread, and it’s divine.  

Wisconsin’s Cannibal Sandwich — also known as "Tiger Meat" — is exactly what it sounds like: raw ground beef seasoned with salt, pepper, and onions, served open-faced on rye bread. Popular especially around Christmas and New Year's, it’s a Wisconsin tradition with roots in German and Polish immigrant communities. 

Wyoming's egg salad sandwich is a simple, traditional favorite. It typically consists of chopped hard-boiled eggs mixed with mayonnaise, mustard, salt, pepper, and sometimes celery or pickles. Served on white or wheat bread, it's a common, straightforward sandwich enjoyed across the state. 

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