SlawBeJo – Capriotti’s Sandwich Shop, Wilshire Blvd, Beverly Hills

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Capriotti’s is a small but growing sandwich chain. They fancy themselves towards the upscale end of things, and they make an effort to live up to that. The beef and turkey are roasted in-house, for example, although likely in the same sort of prepared-product-at-very-specific-company-standards sort of way that Subway bakes their own bread. I’m not 100% certain that’s the case, but the overall quality of the sandwich hints that it is.

The SlawBeJo is roast beef, coleslaw, provolone cheese, Russian dressing and mayo. The mayo jumps out at me. I respect mayo as a technical ingredient, one that brings a structural element to things. It’s there to prevent bread from getting soggy, not for the flavor. With both Russian dressing and coleslaw involved, there’s simply no need for additional mayo. That’s a conceptual error, though the mayonnaise boosters out there are well within their rights to champion their bland glop all they like.

Mayonnaise aside, this has the potential to be a pretty good sandwich. Contrast in textures, potential for a strong but balanced set of flavors, it’s all there. The problem with Capriotti’s isn’t their vision, it’s that their vision is stretched across nearly 100 establishments. The coleslaw is bland, begging for a bit of pepper. The Russian dressing is hardly present, likely the result of some cost-minded portion control. Flavor by way of committee ruined what could have been a very good sandwich, and there’s no excuse for that.

General Sandwich Discussion – Stately Sandwiches

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Like any enthusiast I try to keep my eyes open for things related to that which interests me. To go only by ones own instincts can yield great things, but it’s a hazardous path. Stately Sandwiches is something that made the rounds a while back. It’s a series of photographs like the above, sandwich ingredients laid out in a things-organized-neatly scheme and photographed. The site features additional snapshots of people making and eating the sandwiches, but the formal product is what you see above.

I’m torn. This is clearly a project born in a love of sandwiches, a deep love. I’m hesitant to criticize that. But at the same time, look at the above and think about muffulettas you’ve know. Is there any relation? Consider Massachusetts:

The peanut butter and fluff is all over the board! With many of the photos it’s at least possible to imagine that you might collect the ingredients, put them together and then have a sandwich, but the above is just a mess. (An aside: kudos to them for not making Massachusetts the lobster roll, as so many are tempted to do despite the notable fact that a lobster roll is not a sandwich.)

“Someone is taking photographs of a different sandwich for all 50 states,” an associate told me. I wanted to love it, I really did, but ultimately such sterile, detached displays simply fail to call forth the hunger and heart-song that set upon any enthusiast that sees a photo of a fine sandwich.

Brisket Sandwich – LA Buns & Company – Santa Monica Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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LA Buns & Company is an establishment right on the main drag in West Hollywood, a large food stand vending hamburgers, hot dogs, tacos and all the rest of the food one finds oneself craving as night rolls into morning. That’s about when I found myself there, and I was entranced by the brisket sandwich. Tucked in the corner of the menu, there’s a note to the side that reads “Sensational!” That’s quite a boast, and brisket stands out on a menu of quick-cooking, greasy-spoon food.

The sandwich itself is the same sesame-seed roll that holds all the burgers, piled reasonably high with slices of brisket and sauerkraut. I think sauerkraut is an underutilized sandwich ingredient, and it was a welcome addition here. The brisket was tender but a touch dry, but it had a good flavor with a touch of spice and a touch of tomato. All together, though, I don’t think I would hail it as sensational, and that raises the question of how much to hold menu copy against a sandwich. Looking to a menu board for an unbiased recommendation is a fool’s errand, I suppose, but lord knows I’ve taken less reputable advice in search of a great sandwich.

Confit Onion & Feta Chicken Sandwich – Bloom Cafe, Pico Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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Confit of onion is a classic technique wherein onions are simmered with white wine, stock and herbs until it reduces to a jam consistency. That’s what was involved here, along with chicken, feta cheese, red bell pepper and some greens. I like this sandwich in concept, but in eating it I couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t just go with plain old caramelized onions. Onion confit can really be done up royal: homemade stock, anchovies, secret blends of spices, hours on the stove, you can really get into it and produce something special. But if you half-ass the thing you just end up with half-browned onions that are really kind of bland. That’s really too bad, because while the feta and the chicken are a great combination the sandwich was lacking the notes of sweetness needed for a decent harmony. I will say that it was nice of Bloom Cafe to provide the sandwich on regular old toast, and not slather things in mayonnaise where it wasn’t necessary. That indicates to me a strong conceptual awareness, something that makes the failure of execution in the onion confit all the more disappointing.

Clementine, Ensley Ave, Los Angeles, CA

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The Tony’s Veggie-Luxe at Clementine is corn, red and yellow peppers, mushrooms, garlic and three cheeses grilled on sturdy slices of whole grain bread, and it’s delicious. I was reminded of the sandwich I had at Bread Nolita, the one where the eggplant and the zucchini were hopelessly lost in the cheese. This sandwich was everything that that one could have been, a delightful melange of vegetables, heavy on the sweet but with mushrooms to provide a grounding influence. The cheese was present but restrained, and the bread grilled in a way that walks just to the edge of burnt and stops, peering over that line. That might not be your thing, but I think it provides a wonderful depth of flavor. There’s nothing fancy about this, it’s just a delicious sandwich.

The Fernando doesn’t disappoint either. A toasted ciabatta roll held tinga de pollo, coleslaw, avocado and something they claim to be a secret sauce, but whatever it is it’s lost behind the smokey adobo flavor of the tinga de pollo. There’s spice here, but not too much of it, the coleslaw has a fresh snap, the avocado is as wonderful as avocados are, and the chicken was moist and flavorful. I don’t know that there’s much of anything you could do to make this a better sandwich, and that’s a rare feat. It’s balanced, complete, and tasty as all get-out.

Merguez Sandwich – Got Kosher?, Pico Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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Merguez is a North African sausage, and the type on offer here is beef, flavored with fennel and cinnamon. That goes on a pretzel roll with harissa, a chili pepper spread that’s really quite delicious, chopped parsley and onions. It’s a simple sandwich, as I believe a good sausage sandwich should be. But the thing about simple sandwiches is that there’s less room for error.

Got Kosher makes their own sausage, their own bread, likely their own harissa as well. I like establishments that do that, both because it makes things more likely to be delicious, and when things fall short I know exactly who is to blame. In this case, the pretzel roll was delicious but the sausage fell short, leaving this sandwich as something less than a success. It’s possible for great bread to carry a mediocre sandwich, but not when there’s this little to back it up. The harrisa was also good, bright and flavorful, but the sausage was dry. It would be tempting to blame the dryness of it being beef, as opposed to pork or some other more moist meat, but the whole point of sausage is you have perfect control over how much fat goes in! If you stuffed it and you cooked it, you’re all out of excuses.

The pretzel roll really was very good, and should I find myself back at Got Kosher I’ll be glad to try something else on the same. It had a deep brown crust and a strong malt flavor, making it all the more sad that the sausage couldn’t keep up its end of the deal.

#1 – Bánh Mì Saigon, Grand St, New York, NY

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The last time I was at Bánh Mì Saigon I was handed a sandwich that had been sitting on the counter for an undetermined amount of time. This is crime enough in and of itself, but it’s especially bad for the bánh mì, and it’s especially especially bad for the bánh mì from Bánh Mì Saigon. This is the sandwich linked at the top, the one that I claim to be the best sandwich in America. And on that day where I was handed one prepared well in advance, it was dry. The bread wasn’t crispy. The vegetables were limp. In short, it wasn’t the sandwich I’ve spent years praising to anyone who would listen. This was deeply, deeply unsettling.

It took me more than a year to get back to Bánh Mì Saigon. I entered the store that day extremely wary, and trying to prepare myself to come before you and offer an apology and a retraction. I would be completely lost in a world in which the No. 1 at Bánh Mì Saigon is not the best sandwich, but if that’s the world I live in then so be it.

It is not the world in which I live. The sandwich I was handed a few weeks ago was warm, the meat tender, the vegetables bright and fresh, the whole thing balanced and flawless. It was everything I could ever hope the sandwich to be, everything I remember. It was perfect.

There is, tragically, a catch. I was there at 10 in the morning, just two hours after they opened. I waited a minute after ordering as my sandwich was prepared fresh, but along the back counter I could see stacks and stacks of baguettes halfway through an assembly-line process. That would be one thing if the place were packed, but at that hour it was limited to myself and two other people. These were sandwiches that were going to sit for a while. How long, no one can say. If you snuck in just before closing you might get a sandwich that was more than eight hours old. That sandwich may or may not be tasty, but it is not the sandwich that I urge associates far and wide to seek out.

The last time I was preaching the virtues of this sandwich to an associate, I tacked on a bit of advice. “Get there early,” I said, without bothering to include an explanation of why. That may have been a mistake on my part, but it breaks my heart to have to offer a conditional endorsement at all. I’ve sent a good number of people to try this sandwich, and every time I’m afraid they will try it and think I have oversold it. “That’s it?” is my biggest concern. It has not yet happened. Yet.

I wish I had a more conclusive answer for you. I can’t rightly say that the sandwich linked at the top of this and every page is no longer the best sandwich. That isn’t true. It’s just a little harder to find. I hate that this is where I leave you, with me left mealy-mouthed and bereft of certainty, assuring you that it really is the best but you should probably show up on Tuesday, bring an umbrella, try to approach the counter at an angle of 40 to 45 degrees, and say a Hail Mary (but not an Our Father) as you walk in the door. But hating where I stand does not move me.

Get there early.

Tongue Sandwich – Attari Sandwich Shop, Westwood Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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Attari is a well known sandwich shop in the Persian section of West LA, and a survey of the clientele there on a Sunday afternoon indicates that it’s popular with the locals. The tongue sandwich seems to be the item on the menu everybody talks about, and that’s usually enough to get my order.

The sandwich is tongue, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and a light dressing with some fresh herbs. There is very little that’s notable about the fact that this is tongue, and if you think otherwise I suggest you eat more tongue. It’s a fine meat, not at all out of the ordinary in a great many cultures, and if the idea makes you squeamish it’s your loss. The tongue here was juicy and tender, well cooked but lacking in flavor. The dressing was good but there wasn’t nearly enough of it, and so the sandwich was dominated by a generic beef flavor and the pickles. The pickles are substantial and flavorful, but with a healthy portion of bland meat present the balance of the sandwich was off. Spiced properly, this sandwich would have been a knockout.

A sub-par tongue sandwich is especially disappointing, given that rely exclusively on people to prepare it for me, but I take heart in knowing that there’s a lot more tongue out there for me to try. It’s available sliced, stewed or roasted; I’m not likely to have to settle for mediocre tongue for long.

The Bronx Special – Canter’s Deli, Fairfax Ave, Los Angeles, CA

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The last time I went to Canter’s (the real one, not the one in Las Vegas) I spent about two weeks crowing about the Reuben. I’ll still talk it up, given the opportunity. It’s fantastic. But readers are my first responsibility, and so when I entered Canter’s the other day I knew I couldn’t go back to the Reuben. That’s no great tragedy, as the menu offers all manner of other intriguing numbers. This time I went with the Bronx Special: pastrami and chopped liver on rye. The pastrami, as I knew it would be, was fantastic. I had high hopes for the liver, I’ve gotten some really good liver before and I figured Canter’s would know their way around chopped liver. Apparently I figured wrong, as I found the liver here to be dry and bland, and especially unpalatable in comparison to the pastrami. It’s possible that this is something like intentional, and someone didn’t want the liver to outshine the pastrami, but if one flavor risks outshining another the solution isn’t to do away with one of them. A healthy dosage of mustard helped the sandwich out (and thankfully the mustard selection at Canter’s is substantial) but the sandwich shouldn’t have needed that help. I didn’t care for the assembly required nature of things either, but I try not to complain about that too often or too much.

I’m still sold on Canter’s (good lord, that pastrami is good), but on my next visit I’ll steer clear of the liver.

Porchetta Sandwich – Porchetta, E 7th St, New York, NY

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Porchétta [por’ketta] n. roasted pork with crispy skin, highly seasoned with aromatic herbs and spices, garlic, sage, rosemary and wild fennel pollen. Typical plate of the Roman cuisine. Slow cooked Italian fast food.

I admire anyone willing to offer nothing but meat and bread. There are plenty of situations where I would decry such a thing, where the meat clearly can’t carry things, but when you have enough faith in what you’ve roasted that you serve it plain, I’ll gladly line up to try it. I feel like I could list a dozen things that would go well with the porchétta, but that isn’t what’s on offer here. What’s on offer is just meat and bread, and that’s no small risk.

It works. It’s a delicious sandwich. The herbs are front and center, the pork is tender and juicy, the bread is soaking up every bit of juice the meat lets loose, and the crust on the bread is enough that despite a total lack of supporting ingredients, the sandwich feels substantial. It’s not perfect; I felt the skin wasn’t so much crispy as just hard, and there were a few places where I might have thought I was chewing on a small bone. They can be dealt with, though, and everything around them is wonderful. I would say that I’d like to see one ingredient sandwiches more often, but the establishments capable of succeeding with such a sandwich are sparse. Let them instead rest as rare islands, surrounded by a sea smart enough to realize all it has to offer is water.