FOR plantain lovers, it may be the best thing since sliced bread. In fact, a patacón (paht-ah-CONE)  the full name, patacón Maracucho, identifies its birthplace as the Venezuelan city of Maracaibo  is a sandwich that dispenses with bread entirely. In its place is green (that is, unripe) plantain that’s been sliced lengthwise, fried, pressed flat and fried again. Still warm, the golden discs embrace shredded beef, roast pork, chorizo, chicken or cheese.

But why all the trouble, when two slices of white or rye might do just as well? Because Venezuelans love their plantains “morning, afternoon and night,” explained Liliana Velasquez, owner of El Dugout (431 West 202nd Street, between 9th and 10th Avenues, no telephone) a truck that is permanently ensconced at the edge of an Inwood parking lot.

That affection is shared by the Dominican clubgoers who know the truck as Patacon Pisao, or “flattened plantain” (a name it shares with a catchy merengue song). When the truck window opens for the evening around 7 (it closes around 6 a.m.), a small crowd is often on the sidewalk, maneuvering forward to place orders with the manager. One of the most popular requests is the “full” patacón ($5), a combo of chopped griddled beef, pork and chicken, typically dressed with lettuce, tomato and a piquant pink sauce. Preparing the sandwich might take 15 minutes; many folks tide themselves over with a tequeño ($1), white cheese deep fried in pastry dough.

When the patacón is finally handed down, it’s wrapped in foil, which serves more than one purpose: fried plantain is not very absorbent, and every bite threatens to send sauce squirting out. Peeling back the foil little by little helps keep the patacón hot (and those dancing shoes unsullied). The starchy plantain and savory meats are an especially satisfying pair on a cool evening.