The infra-red sandwich

[Life, January 9, 1956.]

Is this what the O & K Toasted Sandwich Shop meant by “toasted sandwich” — a piping hot sandwich in a sanitary plasticene bag? In other words, a a soggy, sorry mess? I don’t think so — W & K’s Infra-Red Sandwich Bar clearly postdates the O & K. But at some fleeting point in mid-century American life, the infra-red sandwich was a thing.

From David Rhodes’s novel The Easter House (1974):

Sam ordered an infrared sandwich and a glass of beer.

And from Ben Vaughn, Southern Routes: Secret Recipes from the Best Down-Home Joints in the South (2015), a story from a restaurant in Garner, North Carolina:

In the beginning Toot-n-Tell offered simple fare. As she [Mary Ann Sparkman] gives me the roster of menu items from 1968, the year she and her husband, Bill, became the owners, the “infrared sandwich” intrigues me. The early microwave was a popular and convenient appliance for restaurateurs who needed to deliver hot food to the hard-working community. The early microwave used infrared waves to warm the food. Ham and cheese on white bread was fine, but when it was served as the “infrared sandwich,” all melted, gooey, and warm, it was perfect.

Popular Mechanics ran W & K’s ads in 1956 and ’57 but never an item about this machine. The rest is silence, at least as far as I’m concerned.

[Would microwave be an accurate descriptor? The sandwich bar pictured in the Life ad looks more like a toaster oven.]