The meaty, magnificent prosciutto sandwich at Seventh Hill

A lot has happened in the two years since I conducted a dragnet to find a decent sandwich beyond the jaw-taxing hoagies found at some of our finer Italian cold-out outlets. For starters, those two boys from Philly have launched a campaign to spread brotherly love (and roast pork) in D.C.

Others have made less splashy entrances, however, and a number of these places are putting together wickedly delicious sandwiches, hand-made with local breads or even pizza-dough baked in a wood-burning oven. The one constant to all of these under-the-radar spots is this: Sandwiches are not their primary reason for being.

One is a cheese shop. Another a wine shop. The third a pizzeria. Take a look at some of these beauties:

D's Cubano, prepared with pork shoulder slow cooked in duck fat, is available at the AM Wine Shoppe in Adams Morgan. The only thing missing from this nasal-clearing, mustard-laced sandwich (served on a sesame-studded roll from Lyon Bakery) is a good dill pickle stacker. That, and maybe a little more fatty pork to help balance the pungency. For a truly spectacular sandwich here, indulge in the sweet heat of the Admorghese with its hit of fennel salami.

I need to monitor my breathing when discussing the Sweet & Spicy at the Cowgirl Creamery, a sandwich prepared with Fra'Mani sopressata, Meadow Creek's Grayson cheese, Virginia plum chutney, and field greens. I tend to hyperventilate when talking about this beauty. Let's start at the base: The sandwich is served on striatta, a yogurt bread similar to ciabatta, which Cowgirl buys from Baguette Republic. The flavors inside the bread — sweet, spicy, creamy, bitter — could wrestle a steer to the ground, but they are in perfect balance. I mean perfect. The only downside is that Cowgirl may be bumping this sandwich as it rolls out a new spring menu.

The chicken sandwich at Seventh Hill is served on an elongated oval of pizza dough, which is dimpled, drizzled with olive oil, and sprinkled with Parmesan and herbs before hitting the wood-burning oven. The pizza bread is thinner than a more traditional loaf, which means it doesn't swallow up the interior ingredients. It's exactly the right kind of host for chef Anthony Pilla's slightly under-seasoned chicken sandwich, whose flavors are quiet and actually benefit from the umami-megaphone of his Parm-pizza bread. Those looking for bigger flavors should check out Pilla's prosciutto sandwich (pictured at top), whose salty ham is paired with a healthy serving of roasted red peppers, which provide this sweet vegetal note. I mean that in the best way possible.

You will not miss the meat in Cowgirl Creamery's Rock Creek, the cheese shop's take on a vegetarian sandwich. This hand-held bite is loaded down with roasted red peppers, herb fromage blanc, olive tapenade, and field greens. To my great surprise, the tapenade (mercifully applied with a cautious hand) does not dominate like some controlling spouse but rather complements the other ingredients in a sandwich that's practically freshness incarnate.

Note: In preparation for Young & Hungry's baguette column next week (not this week, as previously reported here), we stopped at Marvelous Market, originally founded in 1990 by Mark Furstenberg, to see how the local institution is faring so many years after Furstenberg was essentially forced to sell his much-beloved bakeries.

The heavy wooden beams and exposed red brick at the Marvelous Market on Dupont Circle give the place the kind of warm, rustic vibe that you want from your neighborhood bakery. The spell, however, is broken the moment you open your mouth and ask one basic question: Do you bake your own breads?

Marvelous doesn't. It gets daily deliveries from Baguette Republic, which is co-owned by Dahmane Benabane, who worked as executive chef for Marvelous Market for 15 years. The Republic plies this shop — and every other in the Marvelous chain — with all manner of product, from pastries to muffins to loaves of various shape and size. Many of them, despite their transit from Northern Virginia, are fresh and delicious.

Tops among them is the chocolate croissant, a bronzed buttery purse of puff pastry filled with a thin strip of rich chocolate and lots of air, which helps to create a false impression of lightness. The baguette is decent example of the breadmaker's art — crusty and airy and far superior to that bread wad over at Firehook. The sourdough boule gives you a blast of sour all right — somewhere just south of old wine — but its crust has an off-putting texture that I'd place somewhere between plastic and old cardboard.

The truth is, Marvelous Market has strayed far beyond the European breadmaking traditions of its founder, Mark Furstenberg. It has, by its own admission, morphed into something that blends "Panera, Starbucks, Potbelly, Dean & Deluca, and Seven 11 (sic)" under one roof. As such, it can get pretty crowded in the narrow aisle inside the Dupont store, as customers elbow for fruit-juice blends, pre-made sandwiches, pates, cheeses, coffee, hell even pre-cut flowers. The sandwiches, particularly the fresh-as-a-Mediterranean-breeze caprese, are a fine option for those who want a quick lunch without sacrificing their soul (and their arteries) to the practitioners of fast-food sorcery.

But can you ever expect to wrap your mouth around something as deliriously tasty as the sandwiches that Breadline turned out during its Furstenberg heyday? Get real. Marvelous Market figured out long ago that artisan ambitions don't pay the bills.