The cemita, the specialty of the sandwich-centric town of Puebla, is as complicated as the torta Cubana, but where the Cubana is messy and varied, the cemita is orderly and neat, its many layers working together for the best taste. The cilantro-like herb papalo is the pop in a cemita, the flavor that makes you sit up and take notice, to realize this is no ordinary sandwich. Its minty flavor cuts through the layers of meat (often beef milanesa and ham), avocado, pickled chipotle peppers, onion, and quesillo. The quesillo, the stringy cheese that is so wonderfully melted on a torta, is not griddled in the cemita, but instead pulled, giving those waiting in line for a cemita the opportunity to watch the mesmerizing act of many people whose sole job it is to shred mounds and mounds of cheese for sandwiches.
The eggy bun, also called a cemita, distinguishes the sandwich: crunchy and golden brown on the outside (with a smattering of sesame seeds), soft, a little dry, and just barely sweet on the inside.
