Unlikely as it may seem, the origins of the world's greatest lobster sandwich can be traced to a remote Nepalese village high in the Himalayas. It was there, while doing fieldwork for a graduate degree in Anthropology and subsisting on such local delicacies as uncooked barley flour and tea churned with salt and slightly rancid butter, that future three-star chef Anne Rosenzweig began to experience the acute cravings for shellfish that would ultimately inspire the creation of her signature dish: The Lobster Club.

To concoct this triple-decker exercise in seafood sandwich sophistication, Rosenzweig uses the chilled meat of an entire pound-and-a-half lobster. She breaks the meat up into succulent bite-sized morsels and bathes them in a vibrant lemon mayonnaise, then piles them on successive slices of buttery homemade brioche toast, layering each tier with tender mesclun greens, ripe tomato slices, and strips of crisp bacon. Once assembly is complete, she sticks in a couple of toothpicks for structural support, slices on the diagonal, and slaps it on a plate with a dollop of Napa cole slaw and a handful of plantain chips on the side (not that you really notice what's on the side...).

Rosenzweig began serving the lobster club sandwich over fourteen years ago at her tony Upper West Side restaurant, Arcadia. Back then, "upscale" dining was synonymous with "uptight"; Rosenzweig's subversive goal was to coax her clientele from their stifling refinement with a sandwich so irresistible that even the daintiest of the Ladies Who Lunch couldn't help but grab the thing and start wolfing. Not only did Rosenzweig succeed in getting her diners in touch with their food; she sparked a sort of sandwich renaissance as more and more chefs became interested in the culinary potential of the humble hoagie. Meanwhile, the popularity of the original continued to grow; and when Rosenzweig decided to offer her loyal following a second venue with a more casual vibe, she named it -- what else? -- The Lobster Club.

You can still find the lobster club on the menu at both of Rosenzweig's restaurants, at lunch and dinner; affording it is another matter. At $25 a nosh, it's the sort of happiness only money can buy. And unfortunately for the impecunious, Chef Rosenzweig isn't giving up any secrets.