The German – Emil’s Swiss Pastry, Santa Monica Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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Emil’s is first and foremost a bakery, and most of their attention goes into the cakes and the tarts and the macaroons and not into the sandwiches. This might spell doom at some establishments, but at Emil’s a secondary concern is still a concern, so despite the fact that the chicken schnitzel in the German sandwich was not fried fresh, care was still taken. It was placed by itself in the sandwich press while the rest of the sandwich was prepared, giving it an acceptable, if not quite full, level of crunch. The German is a simple sandwich, and the rest of the sandwich is simply tomatoes and cranberry sauce on Bavarian rye. There’s enough mayo to keep the bread from being soggy, but not enough to be noticeable otherwise.

Perhaps I’m guilty here of the soft bigotry of low expectations, but much of my pleasure with this sandwich stems from the fact that it could have been much worse. It could have been a soggy patty and soggier bread, a sorry sandwich carelessly tossed out by a place more concerned with cakes and other confectioneries. But it wasn’t. It was tasty enough. I’m not certain the tomatoes needed to be there, as the sweetness from the cranberries is far superior and not burdened by the mushy texture, and I would have used some of the balsamic that went on the spring mix on the sandwich to temper the sweetness a bit. So this could have been much better, but it could have been much worse. I often rail against ‘good enough,’ but I do so in the sense of lack of effort, of an acceptance of mediocre results. But there was care taken here to avoid the worst of outcomes, and so I feel comfortable in celebrating it for what it was: a pretty good sandwich.

La Cubana – Tortas Boos Voni, Mission St, San Francisco, CA

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I try to take all sandwich related requests and suggestions seriously, but time and opportunity often conspire to keep an establishment on the to-visit list for quite a while. Tortas Boos Voni is one such establishment: More than a year ago, I dined on a pair of tortas milanesa and began to think that there was a really special torta out there somewhere. In the comments, regular commentor Doug recommended Tortas Boos Voni. It was only last week that I visited, but mercy do I ever wish I’d gone sooner. Simply put, this was the best torta I’ve ever had. I decided to skip the milanesa and go for the cubana, simply because it’s a higher degree of difficulty. It includes two kinds of milanesa, that of beef and of chicken, as well as ham, hot dog, and a well spiced shredded chicken thigh, all in addition to the usual tomatoes, onion, and mayo.

Balance is important on a sandwich, but what the ideal sandwich really drives for is harmony. Balance is the easiest way to get there; making sure ingredients contrast each other and that one doesn’t stand too far above the others is an easy way of making sure everything works together. The route taken by sandwiches like the cubana is more challenging, but done right it’s perfectly effective. The recipe for the sandwich is meat, meat and more meat, but the harmony is there. The issue is that if something like this falls out of harmony, it’s a long way down. Should it go wrong, it is likely to go very, very wrong.

But the cubana at Tortas Boos Voni doesn’t go wrong. It’s worth noting that this was a massive sandwich, easily a foot long and more than six inches across, with no real taper to the bun. So you have a huge sandwich with five different kinds of meat; making this sandwich a success is not a task for beginners. Well, someone at Tortas Boos Voni has an experienced hand, because this was spectacular. Everything inside was hot and tender, the patties milanesa both crisp. The bread was well toasted and stayed crispy for the substantial length of time it took to eat the sandwich. There wasn’t enough avocado, the exact problem I had with the last cubana I ate, but it wasn’t enough to derail the overall quality. Given how good this sandwich and the one at Casita Chilanga were, I’m almost afraid of how good they would be if given a proper amount of avocado. That, I put it to you, is the mark of a good sandwich. It could be better, sure, but it’s a little scary to think about what that might mean.

Chicken Salad Sandwich – Little Chef Counter, San Pedro Sq, San Jose, CA

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Just because running around eating my favorite sandwiches wasn’t the best way to pay tribute to San Jose before I take my leave doesn’t mean I didn’t do it. I dearly wish Little Chef Counter had been around before my last year in this city, because they’re doing really wonderful things with sandwiches. My last experience there was disappointing, but every one before and since has been anything but. The chicken salad sandwich is the latest example of their excellent offerings: big chunks of chicken join Shashito peppers, romaine lettuce, peach jam, and a few slices of bacon on a hearty roll. There’s nothing too fancy going on here, just a very good sandwich. The bacon (as is so often the case) wasn’t strictly necessary, but it didn’t detract from things. The sweet flavor of the peach jam was the dominant note in the sandwich, and the chicken itself was very lightly dressed, everything I could have asked for. I’m sure there are fine sandwiches to be found in my new city, but I can guarantee you that on some warm afternoon I will find myself wondering what new sandwich Little Chef Counter has cooked up, and wishing that I were there to eat it.

Mother Sandwich – Klondike Pizza, S White Rd, San Jose, CA

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In discussions of what is and is not a sandwich, someone will often ask something along the lines of “Well, what if I folded a pizza in half?” That would not be a sandwich, it would be a folded pizza. But something about the idea takes hold of people, something about trying to bridge the gap between the mutually delicious worlds of pizza and sandwiches. The Mother Sandwich is one such attempt, pizza dough as flatbread, cooked crisp on both sides, holding mesquite chicken, Canadian bacon, lettuce, tomato, cheese and mayo. This is more bridge than imitation, the opposite of something like a pizza sandwich. That is much to its benefit, I think, because you end up focusing on the fact that you’re eating a sandwich instead of that you’re not eating pizza. The bread is the real draw here, and it’s a nice change of pace from your average roll or slice. It’s far from something I’d want to see often, but it’s crisp and it’s tasty. Everything else is more or less average, but ham/chicken/cheese is a classic combination for a reason, and together the whole sandwich rates as tasty enough. Ultimately, it’s just nice to see someone who can look at pizza dough, think ‘sandwich,’ and not end up with an ugly pile of nonsense leaking sauce everywhere.

Bánh Mì Thịt Nướng – Phat Tri, Thien Huong & Aroma Coffee and Snacks – San Jose, CA

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I wanted to say goodbye to San Jose. I’m moving to Los Angeles next week. I’m excited for that – regular access to Phillipe’s, to Original Tommy’s, to Canter’s. In my head I’m already there, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I owe San Jose something, and I hope I have done it justice. I could have gone around and revisited favorite sandwiches, but that didn’t feel like a fitting tribute. What did feel like a fitting tribute was to sit down to new sandwiches, because that’s what San Jose has always offered.

Phat Tri charges $4 for the above bánh mì, which would be steep for the east side if the above picture weren’t merely half of the sandwich. The thing is a monster, bigger than your forearm. There’s no quantity-for-quality switch going on either, this is a fine sandwich. Quality bread, fresh veggies, the meat is tender and has a strong garlic/lemongrass/soy savory quality to it. There are a dozen of these sorts of shops in San Jose, places that are always mentioned in the never-ending best bánh mì discussion.

I noticed Thien Huong while eating at Phat Tri. The had a “Grand Opening” sign out front, and I figured anyone with the guts to open across the street from a place with Phat Tri’s reputation had to have a lot of faith that their sandwich was something special. I don’t know if that’s what Thien Huong thinks about their sandwiches, but it should be. The meat here was piping hot, freshly seared and bursting with the sweet & salty notes of the classic thịt nướng marinade. For every place like Phat Tri, with a reputation and a leigion of devotees, there are a dozen places like Thein Huong. They’re upstarts, latecomers to a crowded market, people with something to prove. Some of them back it up, some of them don’t. They come and go, becoming almost haunting. Maybe the next one is better than this one. You won’t know until you’ve tried it.

Aroma Coffe & Snacks is three and a half miles from the other two establishments. That wouldn’t be so far, if the distance weren’t stuffed with more sandwich shops. Aroma is tucked in to the back half of a shopping center that sits perpendicular to the street, it’s a little tough to see even when you’re looking for it. Seeking it out is worth the effort. Their thịt nướng is deeply caramelized, chewy and full of flavor. For every Thien Huong, there are another handful of Aroma Coffee & Snacks. Great sandwiches that leave you unsettled over how good the sandwiches might be at all the places you haven’t made the time to try.

I’ll be able to get a bánh mì in Los Angeles, but it won’t be like this. I could go try a new sandwich every weekend for a year and I wouldn’t have to double back. Most of them would be pretty good. The bánh mì is going places, and some day it will be widely popular and too big to really get a head around. When that happens, I’ll remember a city that did its damnedest to give a wonderful sandwich everything it deserved. Thanks for all the sandwiches, San Jose.

Fat Sal & Fat Jerry – Fat Sal’s Deli, Gayley Ave, Los Angeles, CA

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“A taste of New York in Los Angeles” my eye. That was the line on Fat Sal’s deli from a local newspaper, a taste of New York in Los Angeles. I’ve lived in New York. I’ve eaten my share of sandwiches there. New York sandwiches are the reason this blog exists. You know what people who make sandwiches in New York know how to do? They know how to make an appetizing sandwich. There are a variety of ways to do this, but here’s one sure-fire come up short: stuff a hero roll with every blasted thing you can think of. Take the Fat Sal, the namesake sandwich pictured above. A garlic hero struggles to contain roast beef, mozzarella sticks, onion rings, fries, brown gravy and mayonnaise. In an abysmal case of subtraction by addition, that massive pile of stuff turns into an ugly mash of gravy, breading, and mayo. I can’t think of a single place in New York City that would offer me the above.
The Fat Jerry isn’t any better. Cheesesteak, chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks, bacon, fried egg, mayonnaise, ketchup and salt and pepper overwhelm a poor hero roll. Where the Fat Sal tasted of gravy, this one was all breading and egg.

In truth, I saw this coming. The mozzarella sticks are the giveaway. I’m sure mozzarella sticks have a fair place on a sandwich, but I’ve never seen them in any context other than an intentionally wacky, get-a-load-of-this sort of sandwich. It’s a flag, flown high and with pride, signalling that restraint has been abandoned, good sense jettisoned. Aren’t we crazy? mozzarella sticks ask, and I can only think to reply yes, yes you are.

I get that the things I’m complaining about are the entire point of the endeavor, but a bad idea executed as intended is still a bad idea. I dined here with my esteemed associate Bill, who pointed out that for all the ingredients in essence what you had was a bland gravy sandwich and a bland egg sandwich. For such large sandwiches, he remarked, they were surprisingly small. That might be the most damning thing, that for all their swagger, these sandwiches are nothing more than blowhards. I know New York, Sal. New York was very good to me. You’re no taste of New York.

Winston’s Vesper – Big Word Cafe, Saratoga Sunnyvale Rd, Saratoga, CA

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Here we have a fine counter example to Monday’s meager offering of a sandwich. All the way on the other side of town, nearly a dollar and a half less than what I paid at Caffe Frascati nets me a much more satisfying sandwich. A few hearty slices of cumin spiced roast pork, a house made mango ginger chutney, roasted red peppers, cucumbers and spinach all pile on a white roll and come together quite nicely. This was clearly a sandwich from a coffee bar; it was served cold, and alltogether wasn’t quite everything it could have been. It was also missing the clear freshness that benefited the recent sandwich featured from Coach House, but despite all of that it was still quite good. The pork was well seasoned and tender, the chutney sweet with clear hints of ginger cutting through, the spinach a nice earthy undertone. This was just a good example of what I wish places like Caffe Frascati understood: A good sandwich isn’t hard, you just have to try. A little effort goes a long way, and at Big Word Cafe it went all the way to a delicious sandwich.

Mortadella and Goat Cheese Panini – Caffe Frascati, S 1st St, San Jose, CA

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Just last week I mentioned that context has an inescapable impact on the sandwich. How it looks, the surrounding atmosphere and our own expectations all influence how we feel about a particular sandwich. That may not be fair to the idea of sandwiches in and of themselves, but we never eat sandwiches in and of themselves. We eat them in the real world.

Some may consider me boorish for it, but I feel obligated to talk about price. The sandwich above retails for $7.95. Now, I’m no country mouse. I’m not at all categorically opposed to paying $8 for a sandwich, provided I get $8 worth of sandwich to enjoy. Sadly, at Caffe Frascati that simply wasn’t the case. I try to sympathize with people trying to make it in an industry that’s ruthless in the best of times, but this is a cafe and not a charity. This was a sandwich with a lot of potential, tangy goat cheese and subtle flavors working together, but with scant few slices of mortadella and the thinnest application of red pepper pesto the whole thing just failed to come together. I can accept a failed sandwich, but it’s hard to be satisfied with a failed $8 sandwich where those eight dollars ended up everywhere but on the plate.

Vege Smoked Duck & Vege Pepper Steak – Love and Haight, Haight St, San Francisco, CA

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The smoked duck sandwich at Love and Haight is not actually made of duck. Similarly, the pepper steak sandwich involves no actual steak. They are meat substitutes, products where soybeans and other such things are processed to resemble meat. I’ve considered such things before, and ultimately I concluded that they say more about meat than they do about soybeans. (The short of it is that it says an awful lot about cold cuts that you can mash a bunch of soy together and get something that is more-or-less as good.) But what of the things in themselves?

If we consider the most basic question, I should say that the sandwiches are a success. They taste good. The pepper steak was tasty, and the duck was particularly choice. It had a deep, smoky flavor, and the success of the sandwiches definitively credited to how good these flavors were. The accompanying ingredients were lettuce, tomato, pickles, red onions, mayo, mustard and, in owing to the location and the style of the place, sprouts. That’s a classic deli sandwich, but if the main ingredient fails there isn’t much there for backup. In further evidence of the reliance on the fake meat, if one is going to attempt to pass off a facsimile as hey-I-guess-it’s-good-enough, one does not attempt duck. It’s not a fake-it-and-hope-nobody-notices move. That’s important to note, because it points at the whole problem with the sandwich.

I think there’s a framing issue at work here, and while both sandwiches were quite good I’m far from convinced they were everything they could be. Food isn’t just a question of taste and smell. We eat with our eyes, the atmosphere matters, the context has an impact. There’s a lot going into each meal, even if we’re hardly conscious of most of it. What I found myself wondering at Love and Haight was whether I would have enjoyed these sandwiches more had they not been pitched as fake meat. The fake duck was good enough that I was happy to be eating it, but it was a far cry from real duck. Smoked duck is juicy and tender, a product of abundantly fatty tissue. There are a lot of ways to make soybeans delicious, there are very few that will turn them into duck.

Above I asked what was the value of the things in themselves, and I’m not sure I have an answer to that question. I cannot consider them in a context apart from fake meat, they don’t exist in any other context. I don’t know what you would call it, and I don’t know whether I would have ended up there eating it if it wasn’t trying to emulate meat. Those are difficult questions, and I don’t have answers for them. It light of that, I cannot help but think I haven’t given these sandwiches the full consideration they deserve.

The Kaiser – Coach House Liquors and Deli, S De Anaza Blvd, Cupertino, CA

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I recently read Tyler Cowen’s An Economist Eats Lunch, and I found it to be an interesting book. It presents a certain way of thinking about food with a heavy focus on thinking about inputs, demand, and how other such market forces might influence things. One of the suggestions is to seek out restaurants where the cost of operation is subsidized by a related enterprise. A family run restaurant attached to a motel owned by the same family is one example, restaurants at the back of a casino another.  Upon realized that Coach House had a well stocked deli counter stuck in the middle of a moderately upscale liquor store, I thought back to Cowen’s advice. The reasoning here is that liquor stores tend to do good business, and therefore there would be less pressure on the restaurant to squeeze the maximum profits out of everything. That’s where you run into pre-packaged avocado spreads, tired and wilted veggies, that sort of horror. And indeed, that’s what I found: the gentlemen manning the sandwich counter told me everything was cut fresh for the day, nothing was packaged. Subsidized by the surrounding liquor, the risk of wasting some food isn’t such a dire threat to the owner’s margins, and a better sandwich than might otherwise be had is the result.

The Kaiser is corned beef and pastrami, swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato and pickled jalapeños, and it was a fine sandwich. What seems logically reasonable holds true in practice. The ingredients were fresh, the price fair, everything you might expect from an establishment with some relief from the pressure faced by most. Thinking about it, this isn’t the first time this thinking has yielded me a fine meal. Bibo’s NY Pizza, one of the better places to get a slice in San Jose, was formerly located off the back of a liquor store. My own beloved Bánh Mì Saigon is in the back half of a jewelry store. This isn’t your average way to find a fine sandwich, looking around for something that might be riding some other business’ coat tails, but I suggest to you that if it results in a sandwich as tasty as the above it’s as fine a way to search as any.