This is a shami sandwich from Shalimar, in the U District. I searched the Weekly site and found out that one of my old coworkers loved up the sandwiches before I arrived in town, but I didn’t cotton on to them until two of my friends discovered them a few months back. They’re available at both lunch and dinner.Friends who regularly visit Kolkota (he grew up there, she married him) always get a little manic when talking about the Muslim street stalls there that specialize in grilled lamb kabobs wrapped in freshly baked naan. The last time they described their hunt for kabob stalls down warrens of alleys, drawn by the smell of smoke and cumin, they had me pricing flights to Kolkota before someone else distracted me with thoughts of New Mexican green-chile hamburgers. (Or maybe a cookie. Doesn’t take much.)Any bread junkie, and I count most of Western civilization in this population, knows that the best thing in the universe is bread straight out of the oven, preferably smeared thickly in soft butter. That is what makes the naan sandwiches worth eating: soft and blistery, with that warm, yeasty smell bursting out of every air pocket as you bite into it. Since my first chicken tikka sandwich (marinated chicken, yogurt drizzle, lettuce and tomato), I’ve eaten the aloo tikki (potato patties, a little bland for me), the fish tikka (moist and tandoor-roasted, then brushed with a mango glaze), and now this one: two soft patties of ground lentils and beef, laced with cumin, coriander, and a gum-searing amount of chiles. The patties look small, but they spread out to fit the entire length of the naan. Personally, I’d double up on the yogurt, and perhaps add a little pickle, but that might take the sandwich into overwhelm. I’d order the shami again, but first there’s the seekh kabob — the sandwich that most resembles the Kolkota variety my friends dream of — to return for.