Category Archives: Sandwich Reviews

Chicken Parmigiana Hero – Shackleton’s, Hempstead Tpk, Franklin Square, NY

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Shackleton’s is a fairly standard pub, in an unspectacular part of Long Island. The menu features nothing that demands to be sampled, and while there’s a tasty beer or two, the selection is less than superb. And, as you might expect from that kind of establishment, the sandwich was, well, tasty enough. It was fried fresh, which is a pass/fail sort of quality, the sauce was fine. The only real downside is that the bread, billed as a garlic hero, doesn’t really carry much garlic flavor. It’s there, somewhere, but as someone who likes a heavy dose of garlic, I was disappointed. There wasn’t too much cheese. Like I said, it was tasty enough.

But let us consider this for a moment, the idea of good enough. This, I think, is one of the more wonderful things about sandwiches: most of them are pretty good. They aren’t hard to make, there are a substantial number of established classic forms you can work with, and in the end you’re more likely to get a good result than a bad one. It’s the best of all things. A hot dog is easy to make, but there isn’t much going on. A full meal can be delicious, but there’s a good amount of work involved. A sandwich, though, is a simple route to fine things. Thanks to the sandwich, I could enter a fairly ordinary bar on an ugly stretch of road and know that I was probably going to come away satisfied. “Most sandwiches are good” might seem like a tepid, pedestrian sort of insight, but think about it. I ate a sandwich today. I went in knowing that my life was probably going to be a bit better off for having eaten it, and I was right. I put it to you that that is no small thing, and that sandwiches can bring us these things is something for which we should be very grateful.

Odies Hoagie – Sunset Deli, Sunset Blvd, West Hollywood, CA

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A picture-perfect deli-sliced ham sandwich. Three types of ham piled high, bacon, provolone and accoutrement on a white roll. A pickle spear supports the composition.

In recent weeks I have encountered some less-than-ideal sandwich offerings. This week, I’m happy to bring you a different sort of tale.

On an inordinately rainy Los Angeles evening, I set out for a music venue, with hopes I may find a sandwich establishment before the beginning of the concert. The streets of West Hollywood were flooded, and roads closed due not only to the downpour, but also as a result of some sort of police manhunt. By the time I reached the block for the venue’s parking structure, I was only too happy to surrender my car to the valet and stop driving. I set out on foot in search of a place to eat. I headed two blocks west, but the heavy Boulevard left its businesses behind and became housing. I turned back around and headed east, hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to the upscale Japanese restaurant across the street. After another two blocks I spied, just up ahead, the familiar Boar’s Head logo in a storefront window. To my great delight, I had discovered Sunset Deli.

This was an oasis of a sandwich shop. Priding themselves on their Boar’s Head-only meats and cheeses, they offer a wide range of sandwiches for hungry roamers like myself. I selected the Odies Hoagie, a curiously-named sandwich that features bacon, Black Forest ham, honey maple ham, “deluxe” ham, mayo, spicy mustard, lettuce, tomato, and onion on a white French roll. The ham, as in the photo above, is truly “piled high” unlike many establishments that make the same boast. After the first bite, I was in heaven. The true appeal of deli meat sliced thin is that it feels like light fare. The different type of ham blended together to provide definite substance, yet didn’t feel like I was eating an enormous meal. I settled in with a great sandwich and a great book and took shelter from the storm.

Post-script: another item on the Sunset Deli menu caught my eye, and has captured the imagination of both myself and the esteemed founder of On Sandwiches. Stay tuned in the coming months for what may be the first On Sandwiches Special Event.

BBQ Chicken – Bellissimo Cafe, Colorado Blvd., Los Angeles

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Just a sad, sad, sandwich.Occasionally, ordering a sandwich from an unorthodox establishment provides a lovely surprise. Unfortunately, the “lovely surprise” is the exception rather than the rule. Cafe Bellissimo is a brand-new establishment in the Eagle Rock neighborhood of Los Angeles; a curious amalgamation of “light Italian fare” and an array of salads, with a prominent pastry counter on display. I ducked into this “cafe” to see whether they had sandwiches on offer, and indeed they did. Of the few selections, I opted for the BBQ Chicken on the counter attendant’s advice.

When a sandwich calls itself a “BBQ Chicken” sandwich, there are two possibilities as to what you will receive: either a flame-grilled, honestly-barbecued piece of chicken on a hearty roll, or a chicken breast slathered in BBQ sauce obtained, one can only imagine, from a squeeze bottle. There is no middle ground. Since this cafe was a tiny storefront with no discernible kitchen, that should have been my first hint as to which option I would receive. I was instructed to choose my own bread and cheese, which in a non-deli, non-Subway environment, is the first clue that you’re about to have a less-than-spectacular sandwich. My fears were realized when I unwrapped the sandwich. The bread seemed slightly stale. The chicken was indeed bathed in a substandard BBQ sauce. The tomato was unyielding, but not as tough as the chicken, which had the texture of meat that has been pre-cooked and microwaved back to a reasonable temperature.

The Bellissimo Cafe has an extremely friendly staff and wonderful pastries, and I assume their bread and butter (as it were) is with their Italian fare and salads. Unfortunately, their sandwich selection is lacking on many levels. If they insist on offering sandwiches (as it appears they feel compelled to do so), they should play to their strengths and acknowledge their weaknesses. Just because your establishment can serve sandwiches does not mean that it necessarily should.

Chorizo & Refried Black Beans – Made at Home

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A chorizo and refried black beans sandwich, made at home.

I’ve had a can of refried black beans in my cupboard for some time now, and as I do with a great many food stuffs I periodically considered how they might best fit into a sandwich. The fine people at Scanwiches posted a particularly choice sandwich some time back, with black beans prominently featured. I wanted to take a crack at the idea, but wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. Finding a substantial piece of chorizo in the market one day proved to be enough to see my idea through. Refried beans may not be pretty, but black beans are the finest of all beans. Combine them with some sausage, I reasoned, would be a real hit. I brought along red onion and red bell pepper for a bit of snap, and a few thin slices of Oaxaca cheese finished things off.

I’m pleased to say I wasn’t wrong, though as you can see by the above my execution could have used a little work. The sandwiches were a little messy, with refried beans coming out of the side at points, and a red onion or two escaping here and there. The sandwich did pass the final test for messy vs. too messy, though. I was able to put the sandwich down for a minute, then easily pick it back up and resume eating. If something can’t survive a minute’s rest or a shift of the hands, it’s time to reevaluate the sandwich. But this did just fine, and despite the sloppiness was pretty tasty. The chorizo, pan seared then poached in a bit of wine, was spicy, full of delicious fatty juices. The black beans brought an earthy note to things, the bell peppers sweetness and the red onion a bit of bite. The cheese wasn’t lost, but it was definitely playing in the background. That’s why I like Oaxaca cheese. It’s light, unwilling and unable to take over the rest of a sandwich. There are some things I might do differently next time. A thicker roll could be hollowed out a bit, giving the beans a distinct position to hold. The red onion could stand to be sautéed, taking the bite down just a touch. But even without those changed, I was pretty pleased with how this came out. It was a fine sandwich I can recommended to you without reservations.

Steak Sandwich – Jerry’s Mexican Grill, Eagle Rock Blvd, Los Angeles

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A run-of-the-mill steak sandwich on a flat, oval, slightly-charred roll.

Occasionally, one gets what they bargained for. I ducked into Jerry’s Mexican Grill one afternoon in search of a quick torta. “Quick” being the operative word here, as the sandwich took an inordinate amount of time to prepare. I stood awkwardly in the deserted restaurant, certain that whatever lay in store for me, it would not reach the sublime heights of the finest of tortas, but hoped it would at least hit the spot.

The sandwich I was given was an allotment of beef strips, no more than a half-dozen scatted pieces of diced tomato, a leaf or two of lettuce, and a thin, white, tasteless spread that I can only assume to be mayonnaise. Since neither the Jerry’s menu posted in the shop nor the one on their website offers any clues beyond “STEAK SANDWICH” I shall have to leave the matter there for the time being. At least the attempt at a complete sandwich was made, which is more than can be said in certain cases.

The steak was shoe-leather tough, stringy and elastic. The accoutrement barely present. The one saving grace of the sandwich was the charred bread. I have long been a fan of a roll plopped onto a grill for any significant amount of time, as it adds a fine note to any appropriate sandwich. Unfortunately, it was wasted here. The steak sandwich is a dicey proposition: in certain cases, like the transcendent Los Reyes de la Torta, or with a local sandwich which I shall feature in the coming months, steak works well in sandwich form. More often than not, however, you are left tugging at a rubbery bit of meat like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon. Sadly, the gamble is rarely worth the reward.

Classic Philly Cheese Steak – Cheese Steak Shop, E Santa Clara St, San Jose, CA

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The Classic Philly Cheese Steak from Cheese Steak Shop, a Bay Area chain

Some time ago, I dined on a po’ boy and considered the role of the outpost. If a sandwich is attempting to represent an entire region, I reasoned, being univentive is no great crime. And the folks at the Cheese Steak Shop make it very clear that their sandwich is intended to be just what you might get in Philadelphia. A Bay Area chain, they really stress the authenticity of their food. They go to some lengths in this pursuit, importing the rolls and peppers from Philadelphia. I do not wish to sully sandwich discussion with my own personal thoughts about America’s varied cities, but it seems to me that this kind of misguided but strong provincialism seems exactly Philadelphian. Think about the fact that the rolls are shipped across the country. The roll, while serviceable, was unspectacular. Surely there is a Bay Area bakery capable of producing an acceptable hoagie roll. Sourced locally, it would be bright and fresh when it gets to me. What makes this roll so special? Why is it good? I can imagine the reply: Because it’s from Philadelphia. If aiming to convince me of your quality, this is ultimately a losing strategy. If you’re only going to put one thing on your resume, make it something other than your address.

Enough. The sandwich hit the spot on a rainy Saturday. I enjoyed it. But something about it was bothered me, and it wasn’t until I was back out on the street that I figured it out. The Cheese Steak Shop understands what a Philly Cheese Steak is: Beef loin is minced beyond recognition, piled in with provolone, onions, and hot & sweet peppers. Grease dripped out as I lifted the sandwich, and the cheese was, at times, a bit much. That is not a complaint, those are hallmarks of the Philly Cheese Steak. In fact, what I came to realize is that it isn’t that the sandwich is needlessly authentic, it’s that it isn’t authentic enough.

For all of the boasting of imported rolls, the sandwich is missing something some essence of Philadelphia. It isn’t aggressive. The cheese is only overwhelming at the occasional bite. Grease may leak out, but the sandwich itself holds together nicely, the portions are sensible and easily managed. Upon finishing the sandwich I was satisfied, but I did not sit back and let loose one big sigh and two or three cusses. And that, as you might imagine, is a far cry from Philadelphia. This sandwich may be enough to impress someone who has never been to the city of brotherly love, but that isn’t me. I’ve been to Philadelphia, and “sensible” isn’t a word you would use to describe a cheese steak.

Pan con Lechon – Porto’s, North Brand Boulevard, Glendale, CA

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Porto’s is a Cuban bakery and café, and features several interesting-looking sandwiches. This certainly won’t be the last you’ll see of Porto’s on this site, dear reader.

For my first trip there, I selected what is normally a can’t-miss, namely a roasted pork sandwich. The Pan Con Lechon is touted to be slow roasted pulled pork, grilled onions, and mojo sauce on grilled Cuban bread. As the above photograph makes clear, Porto’s served me my sandwich without cutting it in half. It is a rare beast these days when any foot-long sandwich – shy of those on offer at a Subway or Quizno’s – is served in a single quantity, without even an offer of being cut.

It is perhaps this method of delivery that failed the sandwich. The pulled pork was plentiful and tender, but the few other components ranged from “scant” to “nonexistent” during my dining experience. From time to time, I would experience a transcendent bite, full of satisfying flavor from all components in abundant and equal measure. Unfortunately, this was the exception rather than the rule. The distribution of ingredients was woefully uneven throughout. I would occasionally have a bite of mostly soggy roll, or a quantity of pork that neither sauce nor onion had ever touched.

Those few spectacular bites left me mostly frustrated that the majority of the sandwich fell well short of its potential. Had all components been applied evenly, this is a no-brainer. We shall see whether the other items at Porto’s merit regular trips in the future.

 

Roasted Eggplant and Fresh Mozzarella – Los Gatos Gourmet, W Main St, Los Gatos, CA

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The Roasted Eggplant & Mozzarella Sandwich at Los Gatos Gourmet

Sitting down to write this post, I looked at the photo I had taken of the Roasted Eggplant sandwich at Los Gatos Gourmet, and I wanted to talk about how delicious it was. It looks really, really good. With eggplant, roasted red peppers, basil, mozzarella, and mixed greens tossed with balsamic vinaigrette on ciabatta, it’s a fine construction. Each element is plenty tasty, and they all go well together save one, and that’s where the whole thing comes apart. As much as I’d like to tell you how great this sandwich was, I cannot.

I am certain that whoever provides Los Gatos Gourmet with their bread is a fine baker. And I am sure that Los Gatos Gourmet has only the best intentions in purchasing that bread. It was a fine loaf of bread, artisan bread in the sense where artisan actually means something. A good sized crumb, not too large and not too small, tender flesh, and a crisp, chewy crust. As bread, it excelled. As bread, I have not one cross word to say about it. But as a part of my sandwich, it just wasn’t right. It’s a question of execution. You have roasted eggplant, roasted red peppers, greens tossed in a vinegrette—any sandwich maker worth his salt can look at that list of ingredients and conclude that that bread has to yield. It’s a great set of flavors, but there’s a lot of sliding in there, and too much pressure on the bread will send all those flavors right out of the sandwich. I enjoy sandwiches a great deal, and I’m willing to go to some lengths to enjoy them, but having to stop after every bite, pick pieces of eggplant up and place them back in the sandwich is asking too much. Yet that was exactly my task with each bite of this sandwich. The crust was thick and robust, taking the force of my teeth and sending ingredients straight out the back, over each side, in every direction other than the one I wanted them to go.

It isn’t hard to get this right. You just have to think about what you’re doing before you do it. Sadly, no one at Los Gatos Gourmet thought this sandwich through. I would speculate as to how, or why this came about, but frankly it’s a bit beyond me. I can’t comprehend it! I just wasn’t raised to make this kind of mistake. Be deliberate in your sandwiches, my father told me. Be deliberate.

Avocado Al Fresco Sandwich – Whole Foods, North Glendale Ave., Glendale, CA

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Tomato, arugula, avocado, parmesan, bacon and olive oil on a delicious brown sweet pretzel roll.

Many have railed against the at-times unnecessary, yet ubiquitous inclusion of tomato in the sandwich field. In fact, I noted in my first posting here that the unskilled sandwich maker will view tomato as much a requirement of a “true sandwich” as bread. Today, I am pleased to present an example from the opposite end of the spectrum.

The daily special at the Whole Foods sandwich counter was the Avocado Al Fresco sandwich. Olive oil, arugula, tomato, avocado, parmesan, salt and pepper, to which I added bacon and selected a sweet pretzel roll to hold it all together.

As the sandwich was being constructed, I noticed that the Whole Foods employee took pains to build the sandwich in a specific way: oil on both sides of the sliced roll, two thick tomato slices, halved into semicircles and laid down as the “ground floor” atop which was tipped the salt and pepper, and so on. It was a sandwich constructed in a deliberate way. Whether it was due to Quality Control, or because of the demands of the sandwich itself, I cannot say. But I will say this: sandwich construction is important, particularly when building at home, and a careless hand often leads to a sandwich with neither adequate soul nor taste.

The sweet pretzel roll was outstanding, the perfect mix of firmness and lightness that lent itself to the bacon and avocado. The bacon-avocado marriage is something that cannot be denied; salty and creamy, chewy and smooth. But what really held it together were those four pieces of tomato. The perfect ripeness, the perfect thickness. Not mushy, watery, or inundated with seeds, as so many sandwich tomatoes are. They offered a spectacularly satisfying texture and gave the sandwich heft. The parmesan did not add anything noticeable to the experience, but the rest of the sandwich was so pleasing that this can hardly be considered a complaint.

The tomato has not worn out its welcome.

 

Salami Sandwich – Eagle Rock Italian Deli, Colorado Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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Having recently enjoyed a vegan sandwich and said some bold things about lunch meats (they aren’t very good), it occurred to me the other day that I might not be being quite fair. To judge them only in comparison to other, more whole meats was to ignore a whole class of meats that easily transition to a sliceable loaf. Though an honest bit of pork may go down a dark road and become ham, it is also possible that it might take a more noble path and end up better for it. In my earlier condemnation of lunch meat I ignored this, and I do a disservice to my dear readers when I see things so myopically.

So today I offer as penance a shot of this delicious sandwich from the Eagle Rock Italian Deli. The bread was a real standout here, a spectacularly crunchy, brightly flavored traditional Italian hero loaf. Lettuce, tomato, provolone and mustard accompanied what I felt was just the right amount of salami, neither too much nor too little. Cheese, of course, is something with which I’ve also had issues. So between the lunch meat and the cheese it’s easy to see myself really disliking this sandwich. But it was really good. Nothing fancy, just very good. And besides, isn’t this how so many people know sandwiches? As a hoagie, or a hero, or a sub? Meat, honest or not, on bread, with cheese. There’s value in that, isn’t there? Certainly there are much greater heights, but…I don’t know. Maybe this was just such a strong example of the idea, or that I was eating it on a sunny, warm day, but I have no issue with it. I didn’t even mind the yellow mustard! It’s not so surprising, I suppose. The right Soprano or Tenor can sing an aria you’ve long grown bored with in such a way that it becomes fresh and new, and you see its beauty in a new light. And so it is with sandwiches, where good bread, good ingredients and a strong hand can take the mundane and work magic.