Our Signature Panera Tuna Salad Sandwich

I am convinced — absolutely convinced — that a good tuna sandwich is the emotional infrastructure of summer lunches. There, I said it. This is not about nostalgia (but also, yes, nostalgia). It’s about the exact ratio of mayo-to-tang, the celery crunch, the slightly guilty relish sweetness that makes you go, “Okay, life is fine.” Also: I refuse to accept limp lettuce. Ever. If you want a little company while you eat, I wrote a salad once that pairs shockingly well with this, because apparently I will never stop suggesting variations like I’m Oprah handing out kitchen advice: caprese pasta salad—you’re welcome.

The time I made tuna that smelled like regret

I once made tuna salad that smelled like a locker room and a lemon factory had a very awkward baby. It was one of those mornings where I was simultaneously microwaving water for tea and trying to fold laundry like an adult (don’t ask). The texture? Chalky. The sound when I stirred it? A sad, muffled thunk. I’d used drained tuna but not drained properly — and the oil pooled at the bottom of the bowl like some tiny, greasy pond of shame. Also — and this is important — I added too much relish because I was distracted by a podcast about true crime and an argument with my cat about what constitutes acceptable breakfast behavior. Embarrassing specifics: the onion still had a bite that hung around like a guest who won’t leave. There was a small, mortifying moment where I considered hiding the whole thing in a casserole. I did not, obviously. But for a week, I refused to make tuna again. Then I got bored and hungry and curious.

How I finally stopped making tuna like a villain and more like a person with taste

What changed? Mostly patience. Also the realization that tuna isn’t solving world peace — it’s solving lunch. I learned to drain the cans like I was in a ritual (dramatic? yes). I started using a little olive oil-packed albacore because the texture is more forgiving, and I added Greek yogurt for tang and emotional stability (and texture — hello creaminess without choking on mayonnaise). Small adjustments: finer mincing of celery so you don’t get a celery log, a splash of lemon to brighten, and dill because I’m extra. This version — Our Signature Panera Tuna Salad Sandwich — started working when I stopped overcomplicating and started tasting like I was alive. I still worry I could improve it. I will improve it, probably, tomorrow.

What you need (yes, right now)

• 2 cans solid white albacore tuna (5 oz each), packed in olive oil
• 1/3 cup mayonnaise
• 1 tablespoon plain Greek yogurt or sour cream
• 2 tablespoons sweet pickle relish, well-drained
• 1 1/2 tablespoons finely minced red onion
• 1 large celery stalk, finely minced (about 1/4 cup)
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill
• 1 1/2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
• 1/4 teaspoon sea salt (or to taste)
• 1/8 teaspoon black pepper (or to taste)
• 8 slices honey wheat bread or sourdough
• 4 large leaves butter lettuce or green leaf lettuce
• 1 ripe tomato, thinly sliced
• Thinly sliced red onion (optional)

budget, texture, availability — I’ll admit I sometimes swap jarred dill for fresh (shh), and if you’re broke, mayo + yogurt is still infinitely better than a sad dry tuna lump.

Cooking Unit Converter

If you want to convert cups to tablespoons or feel like doing math in a corner because you enjoy suffering, this will help.

Let’s actually put this together (short and not bossy)

• Open and drain the tuna thoroughly, then flake it into a mixing bowl with a fork.
• In a small bowl, whisk together mayonnaise, Greek yogurt, Dijon mustard, lemon juice, relish, salt, and pepper.
• Add minced celery, red onion, and dill to the tuna.
• Pour the dressing over the tuna mixture and gently fold until combined.
• Cover and chill the tuna salad for at least 30 minutes to let flavors meld.
• Assemble sandwiches with bread, lettuce, tuna salad, tomato, and optional red onion.

Non-linear note: sometimes I eat this with crackers. Sometimes I scoop it into avocado halves. Also: chilling matters (patience, remember?). If you must, taste and adjust—salt especially, because salt is a mood. Also try to not eat it straight from the bowl with a spoon, although been there.

Listen, this is the part where you tell me your life story

Do you also have a pan of food that holds your emotional history? Where you made one dish during a breakup and now it’s part of the ritual? Tell me if you add grapes (some people do—why) or if you are Team Tomato vs. Team No Tomato. Have you ever toasted the bread and regretted it because it steals focus? (I have.) Let’s argue about relish—sweet or dill? I will defend sweet relish until the cows come home and then I’ll second-guess myself and try a teaspoon of dill next time. Are we bonded now? Good.

Frequently Asked Questions — the real ones

I know I started this pretending to have a point (lunch is therapy, tuna is the therapist), but also: food is sentimental and mildly chaotic and sometimes you need a sandwich that understands you. If you make this and hate it, text me (not literally) and tell me what went wrong—did you skimp on the lemon? Did you add pickles like a lunatic? Also, while we’re here, if you ever want another side that is both ridiculous and delicious, try pairing it with my balsamic-glossed pasta obsession; I’ll judge you for loving carbs but I’ll also send the recipe like a proud enabler: caprese pasta salad with balsamic glaze.

Daily Calorie Needs Calculator

If you’re counting calories or just curious how many you need to power through a chaotic Tuesday, this calculator is your friend.

There is something stupidly satisfying about pressing a sandwich together and watching the tomato slice glisten and then realizing you forgot to wash one dish and thinking about the time I tried to make tuna on a date and accidentally served it slightly cold—oh wait, did I tell you that story? I will tell you, later, if you want, which you do, because why else are we here—