I didn’t make it to the Burger Bar on my last trip to Las Vegas, so I was unable to commune with the divine number that is The Rossini. I did find myself in Paris Casino, though, and under the faux Parisian sky sits a faux cafe. There I found the burger et foie gras, a combination of angus beef, caramelized apples and, naturally, foie gras. If I couldn’t make it to The Rossini, this would have to do.

Asking it to compare to a sandwich I so treasure isn’t exactly fair, I know, and it was clear within a bite that this is no Rossini. But evaluated on its own merits, it was really quite good. I like foie gras a lot, ethical concerns noted and dismissed in the name of flavor, and it brings a fatty richness that, when added to a juicy burger, tiptoes at the edge of too much. It’s walked back by the tart sweetness of the apples and the sweet tartness of the gastrique, leaving the whole thing rather well rounded and quite tasty. And what a relief that was. If you can’t eat the burger you love, friends, love the one you eat.

I was all set to complain about how this was a downright pitiful shortrib grilled cheese, a sorry offering when compared to the numerous examples available elsewhere. (Notably, the shortrib mac and cheese at Lemonade.) Short rib isn’t roast beef, its very presence is a signal of higher ambition. To put it in a grilled cheese is inherently indulgent. The Melt is one of those upscale joints, the kind of place that thinks the only problem with fast food is that the menu design is lacking. I understand the impulse, but consider this, from The Melt’s promotional materials: “this fast casual eatery combines chef inspired, all natural, wholesome food with innovative online ordering technology in an eco friendly environment.” Chef inspired, all natural, wholesome food is all well and good, but is it really asking so much that there be enough of it?

There is very nearly nothing special about this sandwich. A bit of breakfast sausage that tastes like every other bit of breakfast sausage you’ve ever had, a bit of cheese that’s too close to cloying, a bit of egg that isn’t quite flavorful enough to stand up to the other two. But. It was on fresh baked bread, and fresh baked bread goes a long way.

It doesn’t necessarily go far enough to carry an entire sandwich, mind you, and had this been good-but-not-great bread this sandwich would have been a real disappointment, and your humble enthusiast would be hollering about trying to coast on one good ingredient and how every piece deserves full consideration, et cetera. But. This was outstanding bread, friends, and on this particular morning, for that particular sandwich, that was enough.

It was sourdough, but I sampled the honey whole wheat and found it equally delightful. Warm, tender, flavorful, it had the kind of magic that only fresh-baked bread has. Resting an entire sandwich on that magic is a sizable gamble, but at Great Harvest Bread it’s paying off in spades.

The Bad Boy Sub at Mario’s Italian Deli in Glendale includes pastrami, lettuce, tomato, onion, mustard, mayonnaise, honey mustard, mozzarella, avocado, and spicy Italian peppers. It also includes a bread that’s been trisected, a move I’ve never quite understood. If the roll is too big to make a sensible sandwich, what good does splitting it into three parts do? It’s the same mass of bread, still present in the sandwich. In any case, the bread here is in no danger of overwhelming the rest of the ingredients, present as they are in substantial quantity. And it seems that quantity is how this sandwich lives and dies, as two kind of mustard become hard to pick apart, the rich creaminess of avocado matches that of melted mozzarella, and the whole thing just sort of becomes one indistinguishable flavor. I ran into this issue at Fat Sal’s, although I will say that the quality here is far beyond there. The problem here is that nothing really works together, it’s all just sort of there, one big calamity of disparate foodstuffs. If you can’t send the best, they say, send all of it. I’m sure there are plenty of times when that’s fine advice, but when one is making a sandwich isn’t one of them.

In all honesty, I wasn’t expecting too much from this sandwich. Brand Grill is one of those seemingly-featureless places tucked into a seemingly-featureless corner shopping center that occur every few blocks throughout Los Angeles. When picking a place at random, I try to temper my expectations. Compounding things was that Brand Grill seemed to feature a kind of indeterminately-Mediterranean menu, mostly kebobs and cutlets.

Add all that to not-particularly-notable sausage and you might expect a mildly disappointing sandwich. I certainly did, but as luck would have it I was wrong. This was quite good, and the reason it was quite good is rather simple: cilantro. Establishments often ask if I want “everything” on a sandwich without specifying what that entails, and I usually say yes without asking. I want to see the sandwich on offer, not the sandwich I can talk an establishment into producing. At Brand Grill, apparently, the “everything” includes cilantro. I know that’s not to everyone’s taste, but even if you don’t care for that particular leaf I would like you to consider that herbs are tremendously underused on sandwiches. I’ve had some real winners that featured mint, and the subtle brightness fresh herbs can bring would raise a good number of sandwiches to a new level. It’s clear Brand Grill understands that, and I can only hope that more establishments take note.

Larchmont is one of those blocks that hardly seems like it’s in Los Angeles, provided you aren’t tremendously familiar with Los Angeles. In truth there are plenty of them, tucked here and there and lined with trees and shops that might reasonably be described as ‘quaint.’ Usually a franchise or two as well, but that’s to be expected. My original destination was a deli around the corner from Larchmont Village Wine and Spirits, but finding that closed I ended up in the wine shop. As my luck would have it, it was after the hour they stop making sandwiches. Quaint, remember? There were a few sandwiches left over from the day, however, and the proprietor offered them in consolation. They hadn’t been sitting there long, but with little description beyond “turkey on a baguette” and “salami on olive loaf,” I had little idea what to expect. But what’s sandwich enthusiasm without a little blind faith? The leftover sandwiches would do fine.

As it turned out, the above sandwich is turkey, Gruyere cheese, mixed greens, tomato, a sun-dried tomato spread that was more mayo than tomato, and oil and vinegar. That’s a fine lineup, neither overly complicated nor pedestrian. The Gruyere had a wonderfully nutty flavor, and the balsamic was a quality addition.

The salami on olive loaf was of similar composition, with manchego cheese in place of the Gruyere. Quite different from the turkey but equally successful, with the spice of the salami paired with the more fruity flavor of the cheese and the balsamic rounding things out. I don’t know if I’ve ever had mystery sandwiches as good as these, and I’ll undoubtedly revisit Larchmont Wine Spirits and Cheese during regular sandwich counter hours to see what else is on offer.