The club sandwich has mysterious origins. Some credit the Saratoga Club in New York, others point to gambling clubs where players needed one-handed food. What's certain is that California took this Eastern creation and made it better. They added avocado.

This isn't a minor adjustment. The avocado transforms the architecture of the sandwich entirely. Where bacon provides salt and crunch, avocado delivers richness and silk. Where turkey can tend toward dryness, avocado coats every bite with the kind of fat that makes you close your eyes. The Californians understood something about balance that took the rest of the country decades to appreciate.

A proper club requires proper construction. Three slices of bread, toasted until golden and sturdy. Two layers of filling, each with its own character. The bottom layer gets turkey and bacon. The top layer gets the vegetables and avocado. Mayo on every slice that touches filling. This isn't fussiness—it's engineering. A poorly built club collapses into a soggy mess by the third bite. A well-built club holds together through the last crumb.