Category Archives: General Sandwich Discussion

Cheese Steak — Outer Banks Cheese Steaks, Austin St., Corolla, NC

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The esteemed founder of this enterprise had an all-too-common experience with a cheese steak in the Bay Area of Northern California. As I have said in the past, I am forever intrigued by geographically-famous sandwiches, and perhaps equally as intrigued by sandwich shops that appear to be a bit out-of-place.

Since I have never visited Philadelphia, I have never had the opportunity to have a “true” cheesesteak, or indeed even a tasty approximation thereof. Finding myself in North Carolina, and finding my initial destination of a deli closed for renovation, I spied Outer Banks Cheese Steaks tucked away in the back of a shopping center. I figured, since this was as close to Philadelphia as I was liable to get for the foreseeable future, why not give it a whirl?

My first order of business was to find out how authentic an operation this was. I inquired as to the use of Cheez-Whiz. The woman manning the counter and the grill (for they were nearly one and the same) replied, in moderately offended tones, that the cheese in use was provolone. I opted for the classic cheesesteak, and further opted for onions and peppers, as I feared a large roll filled with steak and mild cheese would be too monotonous.

As it turned out, the roll was the tastiest part of the sandwich. A true grinder, it held the sloppy components admirably and provided pleasing flavor and texture. The rest of the sandwich was bland, bland, bland. The grilled vegetables had nearly no flavor at all, and the cheese was somehow lost, even though the steak appeared to have been minced and cooked with no seasoning whatsoever.

It was sustenance, to be sure. But one wonders as to the value of a large amount of nearly-flavorless food.

 

Surf and Turf — Dave’s Chillin’ and Grillin’, Colorado Blvd., Los Angeles

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Dave’s Chillin’ and Grillin’ is a site that will be featured again on this site in the not-too-distant future. The eponymous proprietor of this particular establishment is a Boston transplant who, dismayed that he was unable to find a quality sandwich in Los Angeles, set up shop in the Eagle Rock neighborhood. Dave’s is the closest sandwich establishment to my residence, and luckily one of the best.

As I headed into Dave’s yesterday, I noted that the chalkboard on the sidewalk listed specials for Tuesday through Friday, leading me to believe Monday had no such featured sandwich. Still, I verified this was the case at the counter, and was told that today’s special was the “Surf and Turf.” I was then informed that this was a tuna and pastrami sandwich. I imagine my eyebrows must have leaped nearly off my forehead. Not only did this sound like a sandwich so interesting that I simply had to try it, but it allowed me to test my newly-minted theory that pastrami was the perfect complementary sandwich meat. I felt that if anything would stretch the theory to its limits, it must be this.

The Surf and Turf was basically a tuna melt with pastrami, as touted. Tuna salad, pastrami, tomato, and cheese sauce grilled on white, with Dave’s signature red pepper spread. On my first bite, I was disappointed. But then I paused, and thought about a normal tuna melt. This was markedly better. I suppose I expected the sandwich to be transcendent, but armed with my new point of reference, my theory held up, and I was treated to a very fine sandwich indeed. The pastrami was indeed a fine counterbalance to the tuna, which itself was a step or two above most sandwich shops. Nice, large chunks of tuna, light on mayonnaise, and with a healthy dose of pepper.

If I were to construct this sandwich myself, I would do things just a bit differently. I feel that the cheese sauce would work better if it were replaced by actual slices of cheese. I feel that the inclusion of tomato, if it must be added, would only benefit with adding either onion or lettuce, or both, after the two halves of the sandwich came off the grill, for a true snap and added texture. My final quibble is, I feel, merely a byproduct of having partaken of Dave’s so often. His patented red pepper spread, which really makes his meatball and his sausage subs something unique, was good on this sandwich, but perhaps just a soupcon  of overkill. A solid brown or whole-grain mustard would have been just as good, and wouldn’t have overwhelmed the meats quite so much. But overall, a lovely surprise of an unorthodox sandwich. I imagine I’ll find a reason to return on a Monday soon enough.

 

The Sailor — Granby Bistro and Deli, Granby Street, Norfolk, VA

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Every now and again, a menu item may jump out to you and seem just a bit out of the norm, just slightly left of center, and just original enough that you feel as though you couldn’t possibly pass it up. The Sailor at Granby Bistro and Deli stood out to me in particular because of my recent at-home experimentation with sausages and what sandwiches they can become.

The Sailor is the most complex simple sandwich I’ve encountered in some time. It consists of pastrami, knockwurst, Swiss cheese, and “bistro sauce” (Russian dressing, as you’d expect) on rye bread. It’s a very interesting spin on a traditional deli sandwich, and I was more than rewarded for spying it on the menu. The ingredients meshed better than I could have hoped. I’m finding more and more that, although pastrami is a fine meat in and of itself, it is the perfect complementary or supporting meat in a two-meat (or more) sandwich. It is to sandwiches what vodka is to mixed drinks: versatile, unobtrusive, and reliable. If you are in Norfolk and in need of a tasty and satisfying sandwich, I cannot recommend The Sailor enough.

 

General Sandwich Discussion: The Catered Sandwich

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From time to time throughout the year many of us find ourselves at catered events. Often behind these events is some celebratory purpose, or perhaps one of memorial or charity. In any case, it is unlike a large meal out or anything of that sort in that the food is not the foremost concern. There is often something serious to be discussed, and those of us who would suggest that the food is serious simply seem gauche. The upside to this socially motivated silence, though, is that when it comes to most catered sandwiches the less said the better.

Consider the item above, a fairly typical representative of the catered sandwich. Having been quartered, the ratio of ingredients to bread is way off, and even the ratio of ingredients to other ingredients falls out of line. What’s stunning about this is not that it has happened to the corner of the sandwich you have. What’s stunning is that it’s frequently the case that all of them have suffered this sort of fate. One whole becomes a collection of unsatisfactory fractions, a result both unfortunate and unsurprising.

Sandwiches served in the “slider” style tend to avoid that problem, but they still fall short. With their trademark size it’s just when you’re really getting to appreciate the sandwich that you finish it.

So with all available options being substandard, the question that rises is whether any sandwich is better than no sandwich at all. That’s a matter I leave for each person to settle on their own. I begrudge no one their answer, whatever it may be.

Introducing: Slummin’ It

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In my post earlier this week, I reiterated that I consider myself an enthusiast and not a critic. I go looking for good sandwiches; it’s very rare that I’ll sit down for a sandwich without some sense that it’s going to be good. But I’ve been thinking about that, and I think there’s room for growth.

In my review of the fried chicken sandwich from Flanagan’s Ale House in Kentucky I got into a discussion of how most people experience sandwiches. It is not, I feel safe in saying, very close to how I experience sandwiches. (I’m going to come off like a snob here, but the shoe fits so I’ll wear it.) The numbers, were we to look at them, present a distinctly American portrait that I’m sure you’re all capable of putting together. What I’m driving at is there’s a gap between the kind of sandwich looked for by someone like you or I and the kind of sandwich you average person on their lunch break settles for. They take their five dollars, wander in to their local franchised sandwich joint and walk out, convinced that the pile of iceberg lettuce and few scraps of lunchmeat they’ve been handed are a legitimate sandwich. Maybe all that salt goes to your brain after a while, I don’t know.

So there’s a gap there, between me and them, and I’ve been thinking about how I might cross it. What I’ve come up with is the newest semi-regular feature here at On Sandwiches: Slummin’ It. I’m going to go out and eat a sandwich that I wouldn’t ordinarily even stop to consider, and I’m going to share my thoughts about it with you. I hope I find something to enjoy in these sandwiches, and I hope you find something to enjoy in reading about them.

Slummin’ It: Jack in the Box Bourbon BBQ

Jack in the Box Bourbon BBQ Steak Grilled SandwichPhoto courtesy of flickr user theimpulsivebuy 

I start here because the grilling is a good sign. There are plenty of sandwiches out there that wouldn’t be successful but for the magic of a flat-top, and I suspected that if Jack in the Box understood that they might understand some of the larger, more important issues in sandwich making.

The grilling is the high point, unquestionably. I’m trying not to judge these sandwiches too harshly; while the buttery grilled bread contained neither the nuance nor depth of flavor that you might get in a competent diner, it was buttery and it was grilled. Call it the soft bigotry of low expectations, but I’ll give out points here for reasonable approximations. Beyond the bread, though, the sandwich comes up short, very short. I’m not sure what kind of steak went into this, but it’s tough and whatever flavor is there has disappeared. Where did it go? Well, it went the same place the namesake bourbon bbq sauce went: into the cheese. The downside of the grilling is that the cheese melts to a slimy ocean, and anything that might have been good about the sandwich is lost at sea.

I will say I’m disappointed that this project started with a bad sandwich, but I cannot claim to be surprised. But I intend to continue on, still an enthusiast, but an adventurous one. Here’s hoping I find some sandwiches worth the effort.

“The Big Nasty” — McAlister’s Deli, Cleveland International Airport, Cleveland, OH

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There are many cities in the United States that have a signature sandwich, or claim to. My goal is to one day try them all. For some reason, when I recently had a layover in Cleveland, I was convinced that Cleveland’s claim to sandwich fame was the “Hot Brown.” It wasn’t until I returned home and looked up the history of the Hot Brown for a refresher that I was reminded it is actually Kentucky’s signature sandwich, not Cleveland’s. Nevertheless, I was able to find a type of Hot Brown represented at Cleveland International, and adopted a “when in Rome” attitude toward the endeavor.

A bit of background info on the “Hot Brown”: traditionally, this is an open-faced sandwich with turkey and bacon, covered in a bechamel cheese sauce and broiled until the sauce is browned. Leaving aside the obvious fact that an open-faced sandwich is not a sandwich, the “Big Nasty” on offer at McAlister’s Deli is a Hot Brown in spirit only, similar to how a Twinkie could be viewed as a type of eclair.

“The Big Nasty” is roast beef and cheese piled atop a quartered foot-long baguette, and the diner is presented with a tub of gravy to pour on top, and a knife and fork with which to consume the beast. I could have attempted to assemble the bread quarters into a couple of makeshift “gravy-dip” sandwiches, but that is not what we do here. It is our business to consume menu items as presented, and as intended, be they sandwich or merely masquerading as one. I am pleased to report that, although far from being a sandwich (and looking like a horror show), “The Big Nasty” — as is the case with many truly indulgent foods — tasted miles better than it looked. The baguette was fresh and withstood the dampness of the endeavor, the roast beef was tasty and plentiful, and the gravy was wonderful and tied everything together. Not a sandwich, not a Hot Brown, and not in the correct city, but I feel I made the right choice.

General Sandwich Discussion – Simply Sandwiches

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Though I would like nothing more than to pretend that this is the only sandwich blog in existence, that is not the case. There are other sandwich enthusiasts at work out there, although truth be told there are not many. The amount of discourse devoted exclusively to sandwiches, and forums for same, is actually fairly small. As such, I do not hesitate in bringing other blogs to your attention.

Simply Sandwiches is just such a blog, a celebration of sandwiches by a gentleman in the New York area. His discussion is frequently more descriptive than philosophical, but that’s a matter of style and not sin. He also covers hamburgers, something we at On Sandwiches have to date avoided, though quite obviously hamburgers are sandwiches. I’d like to call special attention to two things. The first is a post on what he calls “filling creep,” the process familiar to all of us where the middle of our sandwich migrates outwards, sometimes to disastrous effect. He proposes an interesting solution and illustrates it well.

The second thing I would like to note is the “‘Wich Plot.” When asked about a sandwich, I will sometimes offer a passing judgement along the lines of “10 out of 10 concept, 4 out of 10 execution.” What I mean is that a sandwich has aimed high but fallen unfortunately short. Simply Sandwiches has a much more detailed way of examining this issue. From a review of Five Guys:

As you can see, the plot shows where a sandwich stands in Strategy and Execution, presented in a visually pleasing and quickly informative manner. It’s a nice feature from a collection of sandwich celebration and I encourage you to check it out.

Sandwich Discussion – Scanwiches

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Scanwiches is a website run by one or more sandwich enthusiasts. There’s no discussion to speak of, only a presentation of each sandwich in a full frontal sort of view, presumably achieved by taking half of a sandwich and pressing it up against the glass of a scanner. I could do with more information about each sandwich, but as eye candy and occasional inspiration it does the trick. There is to be a book published later this year, a collection of scanned sandwiches, and to promote this book the website had a “fanwiches” contest, inviting readers to submit their own scanned sandwiches. The wining sandwich looked powerfully intriguing, and I would relish the opportunity to try it. Some of the sandwiches deemed runners up, though, left me a bit puzzled.

This is the “New Orleans Surf ‘n Turf Po’Boy,” a monstrosity of fried oysters, fried green tomatoes, potato chips, bacon, lettuce, caramelized onions, andouille sausage and a Cajun remoulade on a baguette. The longer I look at this the more ridiculous it gets. I suspect some manner of trickery was needed to get it to scan, and further that no amount of voodoo would render this tower of quasi-related ingredients edible. It’s too much, much too much. If you could get your hands around it you’d quickly find them full of oysters and sausage and chips as one ingredient after another shot out the sides. The baguette is a fine bit of bread but it’s entirely wrong for something like this, any pressure you apply to get through that crust is going to send the rest of the sandwich scattering. This is less a sandwich, an associate of mine remarked, and more some unholy salad. I couldn’t agree more. But the questionable judgement on display here pales in comparison to the howling errors made in a post a few days following the above.


That’s a lobster roll, and a lobster roll is not a sandwich. Shady entrepreneurs make this mistake in the name of profit, and ignorant children do so because they do not know any better, but I have no idea what excuse the people at Scanwiches have.

Beer Brat Sandwich — Made at Home

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Beer brats on sourdough. A few glimpses of bacon and avocado can be seen about the periphery.

Occasionally, one may find oneself in need of consuming leftover food before it had passed its date of expiry. It was such a day last week when I realized there were a few different items that would not last more than a day or two longer before needing to be either eaten or summarily tossed out. At once, my mind seized upon a plan of such base impulse that before I knew what madness had gripped me, I was simmering some leftover beer brats and toasting sourdough, while a pan of bacon cooked in the oven. As I sliced an avocado which was in its last few hours of ripeness, I took stock of what was happening and wondered if this was how the Earl of Sandwich himself must have felt: giddy, frantic, and chuckling a bit at the ridiculousness of it all.

As the Frankenstein’s monster of ingredients was being assembled into a sandwich — the brats sliced lengthwise to facilitate sandwichery, the avocado and bacon piled onto the toasted sourdough (one slice smeared with garlic mustard, the other with sweet relish) — I assumed that this was going to be a regrettable mistake. Surely there was no way — just no way — that the sandwich would be any better than its individual components. I was therefore overjoyed upon first bite. The combination of the brats and the bacon was lovely, and I was immediately glad the bacon had been baked rather than pan-fried. This smokiness — and dare I say meatiness — was both offset and complemented by the mustard and relish. The only component that was a bit overwhelmed was the avocado, but even that added a welcome creaminess to the enterprise.

What I had feared would be an inedible mess instead was a hearty and endlessly satisfying meal. There isn’t a thing I’d do differently, and if I owned a sandwich establishment this would be one of my featured items. Sometimes those little moments of madness can have a pleasing end result.

 

 

 

 

 

Ham & Turkey Sandwich — Colorado Donuts, Colorado Blvd., Los Angeles, CA

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We have touched upon the subject several times before, but one of the great crap-shoots of being a sandwich enthusiast is ordering a sandwich as an establishment that is not a sandwich shop, a restaurant that includes sandwiches as an afterthought, or perhaps a place that isn’t an eatery at all. How could I possibly pass up a donut shop with a neon sign in its window garishly proclaiming “SANDWICHES”?

I certainly understand the logic of serving sandwiches at your donut shop. Perhaps you’d like to stay open past 11:00 AM and perhaps drum up a little extra business for people who stop in for a mid-day lottery ticket, or tall can of Arizona Iced Tea. Why not hook them in with a bite to eat that isn’t a sugary pastry?

I opted for the Ham & Turkey on toast. An interesting and seldom-used mixture of two disparate meats, it was prepared for me with lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, mustard, and “cheese,” which I can only assume was either American or cheddar. I was overjoyed to find that, unlike the aforelinked Bellissimo Cafe, Colorado Donuts understands how to make a sandwich — honestly and simply. Don’t put on airs, don’t reach beyond your means; simply make a sandwich for your customers as you would make one for yourself. The ingredients were fresh and evenly distributed, the toast perfectly toasted, and a great value (a good many dollars less than I shelled out at Bellissimo).

A quality sandwich means much more than the quality of its ingredients, or the creativity involved. Sometimes, even a sandwich aficionado can enjoy a simple sandwich that includes both mayonnaise and yellow mustard. I ate it with a smile on my face, and was perfectly content.