Day-After-Sandwich Committee Declares Official Leftover Architecture Standards

CHICAGO — The Day-After-Sandwich Committee released its first official Leftover Architecture Standards on Thursday, a 22-page document governing the construction of the post-Thanksgiving sandwich in what the Committee called “a moment of long-overdue structural clarity.”

The Committee, formed last Black Friday during what its founder described as “a sandwich-related incident,” establishes the legally recognized layer order for the definitive day-after sandwich: bread, mayonnaise barrier, turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy drizzle, bread. Any deviation, the standards warn, “risks sandwich collapse and emotional disappointment.”

“The mayonnaise barrier is load-bearing,” explained Committee Chair Frank Delaney, 57, a former building inspector who now applies structural engineering principles to lunch. “Without it, the cranberry sauce migrates into the bread, and within 40 minutes you are holding a sweet, pink sponge. I have seen grown men weep over this.”

The standards specify bread thickness (between 0.5 and 0.75 inches per slice), turkey slice overlap (minimum 30%), and a maximum gravy drizzle of two tablespoons, “applied in a zigzag pattern, never a pool.” The document includes cross-section diagrams, a load-distribution chart, and a troubleshooting section for what it calls “the Soggy Bottom Event.”

Particularly controversial is Section 7, which bans the “fork-and-knife sandwich” — a deconstructed pile eaten with utensils — declaring it “a salad with commitment issues.” Purists applauded; the deconstructed community called the ruling “sandwich fascism” and announced a rival conference in January.

The Committee also standardized the sandwich’s official name after a heated debate. Finalists included “The Day-After Delight,” “The Gobbler Supreme,” and “Frank’s Tower.” The winner, chosen by a 5-4 vote: “The November 28th.” Delaney called it “a name with gravitas,” though he conceded it “requires annual rebranding.”

Home builders — the Committee’s term for sandwich makers — praised the clarity. “I’ve been winging it for 30 years,” said home builder Carol Whitfield, 62. “Last year my sandwich fell apart in my lap and I ate it with a spoon while sitting on the floor. Never again.”

The Committee will reconvene the day after Thanksgiving for its annual “field assessment,” in which members eat sandwiches and take notes. “It’s grueling work,” Delaney said. “But somebody has to hold the line between lunch and chaos.”

The rival deconstructed-sandwich conference, scheduled for January in what organizers called “a neutral location (a deli),” promises sessions on “structural liberation” and “the tyranny of the layer order.” Delaney dismissed the event: “They can have their conference. We’ll be here, eating sandwiches that hold together, living our lives.” The Committee has nevertheless assigned two members to attend “for intelligence purposes and lunch.”