Karen Heller: A work of art you can sink your teeth into

Looking for an unusual gift? Carol and Elliot Schwartz may have just the thing: a print of Erdenheim artist Nancy Beck's painting of a sandwich, not any sandwich but the cholesterol-elevating, gut-expanding Schmitter, grilled at the Linc, the ballpark, and McNally's Tavern, the lively Chestnut Hill dive.

The only problem with the print ($200 framed, $90 without) is it makes you seriously hungry. Fortunately, the Schwartzes include a coupon for the gastro-art's inspiration. Their gallery is a short walk from McNally's - longer if you've had a Schmitter and a pint.

"A steak and salami sandwich that comes with cheese, tomatoes, fried onions, a secret sauce, and a paramedic," my friend Steve Lopez once wrote. He observed that the Schmitter contains all four food groups - a good thing, since it's 800 calories.

The Schmitter is, Beck points out, "fun and gloppy." You can leave McNally's or an Eagles or Phillies game with half the sauce on your shirt.

Consequently, the Schmitter is a fragrance and an aphrodisiac, if you still have the energy. The concoction is a registered trademark. It has inspired two works of art, Beck's oil painting hanging on the bar's north wall and Becky Roller's illustration adorning McNally's T-shirts.

The Schmitter is named not for Phillies third baseman Mike Schmidt, as is frequently assumed, but after the beer and Dennis Krnich, a tavern regular in the late 1960s who imbibed only Schmidt's, hence his sudsy sobriquet.

Hugh McNally, an Iron Chef of the griddle long before there were Iron Chefs, or before cooks became chefs, invented the sandwich one night after Krnich's late shift at Chestnut Hill Hospital (fittingly, a medic helped create this sandwich). McNally burned the salami, mixed together a version of Russian dressing, and - voilà! - the culinary marvel was born.

No one involved can remember the exact year, though it's likely to have been 1968 or '69.

"I didn't write any chronicle. If it flies, it flies," says Krnich, who now lives in Pittsburgh. "I don't have an ego. Well, I have an ego, but not an inflated one."

Krnich's not particularly surprised or impressed that the sandwich named for him enjoys such a long, illustrious, and now artful history. He takes some pride that, as a construction worker, he helped build Citizens Bank Park, where 900 Schmitters are sold at every home game.