Category Archives: Sandwich Reviews

Revisited: Poor House Bistro, San Jose, CA

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San Jose’s Poor House Bistro was previously featured here, and today’s post doesn’t have a lot to add beyond the description of two more sandwiches. Not all sandwiches need be philosophical questions, I suppose. The sandwich featured above is the BBQ Shrimp Po’ Boy, which is billed as New Orleans sauteed shrimp in a “spicy” and tangy sauce. I’m not sure why “spicy” is in quotes, but sometimes descriptions of sandwiches can be a bit screwy. In this case, what the description really needed was “peppery,” as that’s the best way to describe the sauce. I prefer my BBQ smokey and a little bit sweet, with the heat playing in the background. That’s not what I found in this sandwich, as vinegar and hot pepper took the foreground. Some folks may find this to be exactly what they’re looking for, but it just wasn’t for me.

The Cochon de Lait Po’ Boy, on the other hand, is much more my speed. A pile of slow roasted pork with the standard cabbage, tomatoes, and pickles, this was delicious. It was also deceptively filling — that pork may not travel to the outer edges of the sandwich but there’s plenty of it. It’s rich and it’s juicy and by the last few bites of this sandwich I found myself more than sated. The cabbage provided a pleasing bit of crunch to counter things, and nothing in the sandwich provided a strong enough flavor to outweigh the pork, which had a decent portion of garlic to the flavor. All in all, this was a well balanced, delightfully savory sandwich, and anyone craving a po’ boy in the bay area could do a whole lot worse than this one.

Jerk Chicken – Four Cafe – Colorado Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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A jerk chicken sandwich was one of the first sandwiches featured here at On Sandwiches, and in that post I stressed authenticity. This sandwich was good but clearly inauthentic, and what I mean by that is that the chicken wasn’t rubbed and smoked. It was spiced and grilled, and served with a smoky “jerk sauce” that attempted to bridge the resulting gap in flavor. It was a good sandwich, and the jerk sauce was really good (for jerk sauce.) But it left me with some larger questions.

How big is the world of sandwiches? Is there room enough for a sandwich that could be better and a sandwich that is better, both of them aiming for the same thing? Is it possible for one person, your humble enthusiast for example, to genuinely appreciate both sandwiches without being at least a little disingenuous on either end? Is there any value in “good, not great”? There is an argument for judging each sandwich on its own merits, but that has always seemed to me to be impossible. Where does a sandwich stand except among its contemporaries? How can I rank it but among what I have already known?

Here is my dilemma: I want to tell you this was a good sandwich. But in the past I have railed against those sandwich makers that I perceive as lacking in effort, and it seems inconsistent (to say the least) to say, of this particular sandwich but not of several others, “could have been better, but pretty good.” The challenge left to me is to carve out some ground to stand on, and I think I’m up for it. It comes down to reasonable expectations and degree of difficulty. Four Cafe is located along a major throughway, in a string of connected buildings, and they serve a variety of food. It isn’t reasonable to expect them to have a smoker for a single sandwich. It wouldn’t be impossible, and it would be spectacular if they did, but it’s hard to get too worked up when they don’t. Contrast something like that with an establishment using a processed avocado paste. Using fresh avocados is no Hurculean task, and so forgiveness for not doing so should be hard to come by.

I can’t help but feel as if I am not approaching a particularly satisfying conclusion. I’ve avoided this topic for a while now, preferring just not to write about some sandwiches, rather than clog things up with endless “good, but not great.” But this was a good sandwich, and in the end, maybe good is good enough. I suppose I just have to ask you to trust me. Should you be in the neighborhood, Four Cafe is worth your time. The food is fresh, and it really is a good jerk sauce. There’s room in the world of sandwiches for the three-stars-out-of-five review. When unspectacular is still satisfactory, I’ll let you know. And when a middling effort produces damnable results, you’ll hear about that too.

Crab Cake Sandwich – Dogfish Head Ale House, West Diamond Ave, Gaithersburg, MD

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As the name leads you to believe, Dogfish Head Ale House is a brewpub centered around the Dogfish Head brand of beers. I enjoy libations and spirits as much as the next person, but as always my primary concern is the sandwiches. One might expect that any establishment that attempted both fine beer and fine food would fall short in at least one of those categories, likely the food. My experience, happily, has been quite the opposite. Cambridge Brewing Company in Massachusetts and Stout in New York City have always treated me well. So how did this Ale House stack up against some of my old favorites? Well, this wasn’t a bad sandwich, but you can see for yourself there just wasn’t much there. The crab cake was first rate, fresh tender crab and plenty of it. Beyond that, there wasn’t much going on. There was a leaf of lettuce and a slice of tomato on the plate, something which I find to be a bit of an annoyance.

An associate recently asked me why it was that I preferred to order a sandwich as-is, asking for no modifications and often not asking in advance whether a sandwich will come one way or the other. My answer was that I wanted to see the sandwich someone else is capable of, not the sandwich they’re capable of being coached to make. Standing behind a sneeze guard and hollering instructions to some poor sap in crinkling plastic gloves and a greasy visor is not my idea of a good time. You make the decisions, I say, I’m here for the results. So getting a plate that features an unadorned patty, lonesome on a bun, lettuce and tomato adjacent, well that just browns my avocado, so to speak. If you think the sandwich needs them, add them. If not, don’t. You handed me a menu when I walked in, not a ballot. I digress.

The sandwich did come with a house made tarter sauce that was quite good, and together with the quality crab this was a more than servicable sandwich. I’ve had some pretty fine crab cake sandwiches, so in eating this one I was a bit lost, thinking of onions, or roasted red peppers, or lightly dressed slaw, or pickled jimica, or thin spices of cucumber dressed in a spicy mustard, or anything else you might add to a crab cake sandwich to make it special. With those in mind, it was hard to get excited about this sandwich. It wasn’t bad, but it’s hard to love something that announces itself as an echo.

Salami & Provolone – Whole Foods

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On a recent Friday afternoon, I found my energy lacking as I attempted to transition between responsibilities and more personally rewarding pursuits. A pick-me-up was needed, and so naturally I went looking for a sandwich. Whole Foods happened to be conveniently located, and knowing that my esteemed colleague has found some good sandwiches there, I went to see what they had on offer. I found a sandwich of peppered salami, provolone cheese and pesto on “New York Rye,” which was then pressed in a standard sandwich press. It turned out to be just what I needed. The pesto was liberally applied to both the top and bottom slices of bread, giving that flavor the verve to stand up to the spice of the peppered salami. The meat to cheese ratio skewed heavily in the favor of meat, but better that than the alternative. (That’s my preference, of course, and if you prefer the other way that’s your business.) The press left things crisp and warm, and just like that I had started my weekend on the right note.

Chicken & Black Bean Hummus – Made at Home

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This number started from the avocado and grew outwards. I’d had a sandwich with black bean hummus last time I was at Press 195, and it was tasty as all get out. So I whipped up a batch of my own, toasting some garlic in a skillet then combining it with black beans and running it through the food processor. It ended up a little loose, but cooking it down took care of that. A layer of that was spread on the bottom, some shredded chicken thighs tossed in lemon juice went on top of that, followed by red pepper, cilantro, avocado and Oaxaca cheese. The whole thing came together fairly well, although my construction wasn’t spot-on. Next time I think I’ll layer the red pepper under the chicken. Direct contact with the roll will give it less of a chance to roll around, and everything else will be held together by the pressure. A few stray bites aside, this was a delicious sandwich. It occurs to me that it’s not particularly adventerous; each ingredient seems like an almost obvious extension of the one preceding it. Is that such a grand crime, though? Sometimes we are sharing a sandwich with an associate and we want to take no risks, leave no chance that we will need a fumbling explanation about how sardines and sweet potatoes seem like a natural pair, if you just look at it from this particular angle. No, some days that’s simply inappropriate, and it’s better to go with something you know will work.

Kimchi Grilled Cheese, Take Two – Made at Home

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Some time ago I made a kimchi grilled cheese that involved two types of cheese and an additional layer of macaroni & cheese. I found it to be a delectable sandwich, and it quickly received a place in my regular lineup of sandwiches that I may make as the mood strikes. The only issue is that macaroni & cheese is not something I regularly consume, and if I’m just trying to put together a quick sandwich I’m unlikely to cook up a whole pot of it. Even when simply using what is on hand, though, the kimchi grilled cheese has treated me well. Even when not great, it rests comfortably at good. If it sounds like something you might like, I give it a strong recommendation.

As with any sandwich one makes regularly, there’s always a bit of tinkering going on. Most recently, I had some bacon on hand and decided to see how it would fit. I fried up a few slices and added them to some minced kimchi, provalone, and smoked gouda. (The macaroni & cheese was absent for the reasons mentioned earlier.) The resulting sandwich was a bit surprising, in that it wasn’t particularly great. Good, but not great. I’m not one of those persons who wants to take a slab of bacon to bed with them, but I’m not going to deny that it is a mighty tasty, fairly powerful item. And yet, in this sandwich it didn’t make much impact one way or the other. You could tell it was there, but it hardly shined. I imagine I’ll make this sandwich again before too long, and when I do I won’t be wasting any time or bacon when I know it won’t make a difference.

Torta Milanesa – Taqueria Tlaquepaque, Willow St, San Jose, CA

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I have to say, friends, that upon eating this sandwich I felt like quite the fool. Part of that is the fault of Taqueria Tlaquepaque, but I deserve a share of the blame as well. I’ve been on the hunt for the perfect torta milanesa for a while, something I first discussed here. In both of the sandwiches featured in that post, the main issue is that the cutlet, the meat of the sandwich, was not freshly fried. Fried food on a sandwich is pass/fail, it’s either crispy and delightful or soggy and off-putting. So when I saw that Taqueria Tlaquepaque’s sandwich featured a freshly fried, crisp-as-can-be center, I was delighted. Sadly, my delight faded within the first few bites of the sandwich.

This is where my feeling like a fool comes in. The torta isn’t a complicated sandwich. You need a particular type of bread, most often a bolillo or telera roll. You need some some meat, some avocado, lettuce, tomato and cheese and you’re all set. It can certainly be more complicated than that, but at its most basic level the sandwich is a simple matter. And so, having had two decent-but-not-great tortas, I had assumed that every establishment would be able to put together the basics and once I found some place that was curteous enough to make mine to order I would be all set. Taqueria Tlaquepaque quickly disabused me of that idea, as I set in to a sandwich that was positively dripping with crema Mexicana. Mexican table cream is a bit like sour cream, but a bit thinner in consistency and more mild in flavor. I know people who abhor it, but like most things I think when used responsibly it has its place on a sandwich. But nothing about this was responsible, as there was so much cream even the fresh fried goodness was hard to find. There was avocado in the sandwich, but I’m relying on the picture to tell me that because I certainly couldn’t taste it. This sandwich really could have been something, and I take no joy in relating to you this tale of absurd levels of condiment. I should have known to take each sandwich on its own merits, and to never expect anything without good reason. But my heart got ahead of me, and it was a lousy sandwich that pulled me back to earth.

Grilled Portobello – Sonoma Chicken Coop, Campbell, CA

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I’ve had a number of the sandwiches at Sonoma Chicken Coop, and until this number nothing was really worth talking about. They weren’t bad, just nothing special. When I put in my order, the girl behind the counter’s eyes lit up. “Ooh,” she said, “That one’s good.” I try not to put too much stock into things like this. Everyone has different standards, and I have a strong suspicion mine are higher than most. Further, people tend to have a bit of an inflated opinion about the place they work. Self-pride leaks into critical judgement, I suppose. Anyhow: The sandwich, a charbroiled roasted mushroom cap accompanied by roasted red peppers, feta cheese, and a little balsamic was very, very good. The tang of the feta cheese paired perfectly with the sweetness of the peppers, and the grilled mushroom has the strong, earthy flavor one only gets from a large hunk of mushroom. It’s a squat, simple sandwich, but it’s perfectly balanced and mighty tasty. The nice thing about a sandwich like this is that it seems remarkably easy to put together on your own. It’s nice when you can leave an establishment not just sated by a particular sandwich, but with your own go-to index one recipe richer.

Tortellini Sandwich — Made At Home

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Yet another experimental sandwich this week, hastily thrown together using the leftover ingredients at hand. We’ve got this recession on, you see, and sometimes the desire for a sandwich will overlap with a lack of funds and motivation, resulting in a segment of the Venn diagram that come sometimes lead to regret and embarrassment. Such was the case a few evenings ago, when some leftover seven-cheese tortellini found its way onto a couple of slices of toasted wheat bread, along with Swiss and Parmesan cheeses and a healthy dose of garlic-rosemary pasta sauce.

I am pleased to say that in this case, there was a minimum of both regret and embarrassment. In fact, I consider the experiment a rousing success, at least in the sense that I took the road less traveled and saw my vision through to the end. For some reason, as I was building the sandwich, I was anticipated a warm sandwich in the vein of a meatball sub or a chicken parm. I neglected to realize that cheese tortellini is not a meat product. In fact, it’s already a tiny cheese-filled bread. So the overall experience was somewhat akin to eating a sandwich with bread as the filling, but was much more pleasing than that sounds.

It’s not something I think I would ever try again, but it wasn’t awful, and it was certainly interesting. It wasn’t a bad sandwich, but I don’t know whether I would go so far as to call it “good.” It simply was. Considering the strangeness of this sandwich, I would chalk that up as a worthwhile experiment.

Slummin’ It: The McRib — McDonald’s

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I had toyed with the idea of Slummin’ It with the McRib, but ultimately I try to keep things positive around here and I didn’t forsee good things. Then an associate made a special request, and at On Sandwiches we aim to oblige. (Whether you’re pleased with the result or not is up to you.) So I went, bought the sandwich, and took it home to eat and to consider. The issue that arose was exactly what angle from which to judge the McRib. It’s not really fair to compare it to the sandwich world at large, is it? It’s a processed pork patty only available when the scraps it is composed of drop below a certain price. No, I decided, to be fair I would have to judge the McRib on its own merits. And to a certain degree, on its own merits it is very much a success. The pork patty has the consistency that it always has, the sauce is almost sickeningly sweet, and the limited-time-only nature of it leaves it feeling like something special. My point here is this: the sandwich is exactly what it intends to be. I cry foul when I feel a sandwich is content to mire in the middle of things, but there’s an odd place in the world for aiming low.

But setting concept aside, how stands the execution? I have to say, friends, that I was disappointed. Not by taste or consistency, those were exactly what I expected them to be, but by effort. What you see above is exactly how the sandwich appeared to me, and that’s not a sight I find appealing, even if I go in with low expectations.

McDonald’s is in a bit of a unique position. Simply due to the scale of their operation, they can, within profitability, do whatever they want. The exact nature of every ingredient is exactly specified. Color, taste, size, quantity, it’s all carefully planned out. Workstations are designed around the food, nudging poorly motivated workers towards putting out food exactly as it is intended to be. Just stop for a second and think about the size of McDonald’s operation, every decision made between the origin of your meal and your consuming it, all of the people involved in those decisions. Think about that for a moment, and then stop and think about why all of those people, by their combined smarts and effort, couldn’t get more than 8 scraps of onion on my sandwich. I’ll forgive the scant pickles, the fast food industry has some fetish about two pickles being appropriate for an entire sandwich. That’s a story for another day. But there couldn’t be more than a tablespoon of onion there! That pitiful onion is something I simply can’t abide. McDonald’s has an army at their disposal, an industry, a kingdom. When I looked at my McRib all I could think about was the scale of the operation and how something so comprehensive, so obscenely large, had managed to produce something so haphazard and unimpressive. In effect, the sandwich had passed through a thousand hands before it ended up in mine, and I don’t think it’s unfair to suggest that I might be the only one involved who gave a damn.