Roast Chicken And Pepperoni – Ace of Sandwiches, El Camino Real, Palo Alto, CA

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There’s something unsettling about a place that boasts gourmet sandwiches and serves mostly cold cuts. I have mixed feelings about cold cuts, as I have discussed before, but surely even their boosters would admit they hardly jump to mind when one thinks “gourmet.” With some 50 or 60 sandwiches on the menu, most based around cold cuts and spreads, Ace of Sandwiches really comes off as an excellent deli more than anything else. There’s no shame in being a deli, of course, unless you’re running around claiming to be something else. I don’t know how I’m supposed to have faith in your enterprise if you don’t.

The sandwich above was listed as the special of the day and came recommended by the staff. It’s sliced roast chicken, pepperoni, mozzarella, red sauce, and red onions on a wheat roll. That’s a tasty if not particularly daring lineup, but I can appreciate a simple classic. Or I could, anyway, had the quality been a bit higher. I found the chicken to be dry, and the red sauce insufficient to cover that up. That makes two strikes against the gourmet idea, and I’m disinclined to wait around for the third to show up. There are too many sandwiches in the world to be tried, too many other eateries to explore, to sit down more than once with any joker insisting it’s an ace.

Crab Cake Sandwich – Alcove, Hillhurst Ave, Los Angeles, CA

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The last time I had a crab cake sandwich, I found it a bit plain. A lightly dressed slaw was one of the things I suggested might improve things, so I was happy to see the crab cake sandwich at Alcove came with just that. Beyond the slaw, though, there wasn’t a whole lot to get excited about. It wasn’t a bad sandwich. There was plenty of fresh crab in a well fried (perhaps overdone) patty. The roll was fresh. I would have preferred a traditional tarter to the chipotle aioli, but the aioli wasn’t bad. Essentially the whole thing just ranked squarely at “capably executed,” and it’s difficult to get excited about capable execution. It’s all well and good for a quick sandwich at a lunch counter, or a $6 number wrapped in butcher paper and only destined to hit the spot, but a $15 sandwich at a fine sit-down establishment really ought to aim for a higher standard, don’t you think? The very fact that you’re putting together a crab cake sandwich really implies more advanced obligations. I’ll have to try another sandwich at Alcove, some chicken number, to see if their other offerings end up so middling. Given the crab cake sandwich, I won’t be holding my breath.

Thanksgiving on a Bun – The Village Bakery, Los Feliz Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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There are countless sandwich archetypes. The ham & cheese, the turkey pesto, the Italian, the French Dip, the Reuben, the Club Sandwich, the BLT. One of the things I enjoy about sandwiches is how many different types there are, and the variety that people find within the limits each form presents. But I also enjoy those limits for their own sake; I am something of a traditionalist and I prefer when someone makes a sandwich that exists comfortably within the form of what I understand a particular sandwich to be. What I enjoy about this is that everyone who’s making that sandwich is essentially attempting the same task. They might go about it in different ways or with different tools, but everyone’s aiming for the same mark. It allows for a kind of 1-to-1 comparison that isn’t possible in a lot of criticism.

In this case, we have the classic thanksgiving sandwich, previously seen here. The root of the form, of course, is thanksgiving leftovers. Roast turkey, stuffing, gravy, and cranberry sauce seem to be the standard requirements, and that seems to be a fine base, as I don’t know if I’ve ever consumed a thanksgiving sandwich that didn’t leave me satisfied. It is the rare sort of sandwich that has both a very high ceiling and a fairly high floor; it can certainly excel but the average example isn’t so bad.

The example at Village Bakery, thankfully, tended more towards the excellent half of that scale. The cranberry sauce was particularly choice, well spiced and full of cranberries, served on the side so you could pile on as much or as little as you wanted. The stuffing had been crisped up in a skillet or on a griddle, something that doesn’t make a huge difference but is certainly a welcome touch. The roast turkey was juicy, and the gravy was tasty and not excessive. The only complaint I have concerns the roll, which associates tell me can vary quite a bit depending on what’s being baked or who’s doing the baking. The taste was fine, but the exterior was just too tough. Toasting it might have crisped things up, but as it stood it took some effort to tear off a bite. That didn’t cause a catastrophic level of filling creep, but there was plenty of sliding going on. Thankfully, though, the sandwich was delicious and well worth the effort to corral things.

Strawberry Sandwich – Clover Bakery, Moorpark Ave, San Jose, CA

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What a fine example of the delightfully simple! Two pieces of milk bread, some whipped cream, and some fresh strawberries. Nothing more than is required, and it’s presented in a serving size that suggests it’s a treat. Fresh strawberries have a bit of bite to them, and that firm body is key to keeping things from getting sloppy. Berries previously frozen or stored in juice would quickly render this sandwich a big mess, but there’s no such mistake made at Clover Bakery. There’s not much to be said here,we just have a sandwich that would be more than welcome next to the right cup of tea or disgetif. Sandwiches don’t often make their way directly into the dessert course, but they do show up in a certain sort of way, in sandwich cookies or other confectionery treats. Here we see proof, though, that a sandwich infrequently seen is hardly unwelcome.

Smoked Salmon Sandwich – Little Chef Counter, San Pedro Sq, San Jose, CA

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I’ve been so impressed by previous visits to Little Chef Counter that as soon as I notice a new sandwich on the ever-changing menu I head over to give it a try. The braised short rib was delightful, the mushroom sandwich delicious, and the breakfast sandwich well executed. The smoked salmon sandwich is the latest, with salmon joined by basil aioli, watercress, and spring onions on the same roll featured in previous sandwiches. Sadly, the law of averages has struck. This was a disappointment, the salmon dry, the basil almost unnoticeable, the spring onion similarly scarce. It functions as a salmon sandwich, but that’s the only note. Dressing the salmon in the basil aioli would have gone a long way, although I can understand the hesitation to do such a thing. The sandwich was just missing something to stand up against the salmon; something peppery or a mustard vinaigrette would have gone a long way.

I suppose a sub-par sandwich from Little Chef Counter was inevitable, but it’s sad to see. My opinion might be colored in the tiniest bit by the fact that this replaced the mushroom sandwich on the menu, that was mighty tasty and this is a big step down. All that said, Little Chef Counter still has a pretty good record and the next time a new sandwich comes up on the menu, you can be sure that I’ll head there with all due haste.

BBQ Steak Sandwich – Burger Bar, S 1st St, San Jose, CA

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From one angle, it almost looks like a real sandwich. After all, a good number of sandwiches hide within their buns, and who knows what’s buried under the top shell of this sandwich. Well, let me show you:

I have, in my discussions about what does or does not constitute a sandwich, settled on what I feel is a clear definition. Two pieces of bread, something in the middle, designed, at least theoretically, to be eaten horizontally. I feel this is as expansive as the definition can be without being meaningless. Burger Bar, it seems, has aimed for the minimum. A large roll, a piece of cheese, a charred bit of meat, and a splash of BBQ sauce. That feels like an awful long list for such a meager item. Burger Bar is an anachronism, a roadside holdout from an era when there were a lot fewer roads. There’s a charm to places like that, and if you’re anything like me when you spot them they beg to be patronized. I expect a greasy sort of sandwich, something with a lax attitude towards heart-smart living but not…not the above.

I don’t know. I’m running out of ways to rant and rave about people who don’t give a care about the quality of their sandwiches. Look at the above and consider the mindset necessary to believe that it’s reasonable to charge another human being money for that. Consider the mindset necessary to believe it’s acceptable in any context, let alone a commercial one! If I made this sandwich for myself, at home, and no other human being was ever going to lay eyes on it, I’d still be embarrassed. I’d know that I screwed something up, something big, something like “what should go on my sandwich?” That, I dare say, is the single most important question one must answer when making a sandwich. As far as what goes into a sandwich, there is no more important issue than what goes in to the sandwich. But no so at Burger Bar! No, no, no at Burger Bar it’s all just good enough. Whatever is good enough. Nobody has to give a hoot, a cuss, a fig, or any other damn thing.

Enough. I gambled, I lost. Such is sandwiches, such is life. Next time I see a roadside joint I’ll say a quick prayer before I pull over.

Rising Sun – Hoagie Steak Out, S 3rd St, San Jose, CA

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The first cheese steak I covered here at On Sandwiches was from a bay area establishment boasting an authentic Philadelphia Cheese Steak. I found this claim lacking, though it wasn’t the imported rolls that fell short:

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.

Hoagie Steak Out, thankfully, is a place that understands this. The Rising Sun is listed as a special, and it includes steak, sauteed mushrooms, bell peppers, and onions, plus a fried egg. That’s a lot for a toasted hoagie roll to handle; a sandwich like that is a fairly large gamble. I have to say I was quite pleased with what I received.

It was loaded from the side, which is never my preference, but picking it up and closing it like a proper sandwich set things right. It gave the layers a symmetry: steak, then the mushroom/onion/pepper mix, then the cheese, then the fried egg, then cheese again, veggies, steak, and back to the roll. The warm yolk lay at the center, radiating richness. I don’t know whether this is an accident of construction or a deliberate stroke, but in either case the effect is delightful. The steak is the typical dry sort of stuff you find on a cheese steak, but it’s well grilled and plentiful. There wasn’t too much cheese, which is a concern on any sandwich, namesake be damned. There wasn’t enough mushroom, but having enough mushroom is a very rare thing. As a whole, it was well balanced, greasy but not excessively so, rich but not overwhelming, substantial but not falling apart.

Anyone who’s been to Philadelphia can wear your ear off grousing about the city or its inhabitants, but for all of that, people keep going. Fact is, the city is an odd kind of charming. There’s much not to like, and much more that would be very easy not to like if it went a little bit farther than it does, but it doesn’t. And so it was that I found a distinctly Philadelphian sandwich in an establishment making no boasts of authenticity at all. Rather than presenting ingredients listed by provenance, Hoagie Steak Out simply presents something that could be a giant, disgusting mess, but isn’t. The sandwich carries an implication, and it is well understood.

Breakfast Sammich – Little Chef Counter, San Pedro Sq, San Jose, CA

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Little Chef Counter’s menu is constantly changing, and on top of that there are specials moving in and out every few days. Upon hearing that their brunch menu included a breakfast sandwich, you can be certain I made my way over there with all due haste. I’ve already been seriously impressed by one of their sandwiches, and quite pleased with another. Their offering for breakfast was a sweet Hawaiian bread roll, scrambled eggs with spinach, and bacon. Simple, clean, tasty as all get-out. I’ll even forgive calling it a sammich. (For the record, though, “Sammies” is a bridge too far.)

I want to specifically point out the difference between the eggs here and the eggs from Monday’s sandwich. Forget the spinach. One of these places is making an effort, and the other isn’t. And this isn’t a case of “well they aim for gourmet, and we’re just a cafe.” Scrambled eggs are scrambled eggs, and they aren’t tremendously difficult to do well. (Perfect scrambled eggs are hard. Good ones are not.) Bacon is more welcome than not on a breakfast sandwich, and the choice of roll was a subtle thing a lot of places aren’t going to pick up on. It’s soft and yielding, so the actual holding and consuming of the sandwich don’t send the eggs sliding everywhere. That, in turn, allows for softer, fluffier eggs. It’s the kind of touch that shows a bit of thought went into things, and if more folks were committed to doing just that, we’d all have more tasty, tasty sandwiches like this one. Little Chef Counter is now three for three with sandwiches, and if you’re a sandwich enthusiast in the bay area I suggest you give them a shot yourself.

Breakfast Sandwich – Cafe Rosalena, The Alameda, San Jose, CA

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Scrambled eggs, cheddar cheese, and breakfast sausage on sourdough. That’s an easy recipe for a good sandwich, and a good breakfast sandwich is very good indeed. Or it would be, anyhow, with the slightest bit of effort. I was exceptionally hungry when I ate this sandwich, and I’d really like to be able to tell you it was grand, the key to satiety, a great start to the day. It wasn’t. Here’s the thing:

This sandwich was six dollars, and from the outside that seems almost reasonable. But looking inside revealed that my six dollars had bought me two rather large pieces of bread, but a single slice of cheese and a single sausage patty. There are ample eggs, but eggs are almost certainly the cheapest part and amping them up in an attempt to simulate value just throws off the whole balance of the sandwich. So the second half of my sandwich got a sliver of sausage, a corner of cheese, and not much else.

It’s up to each individual establishment to decide just what their product is worth, but whether or not the value offered is reasonable is my decision. If this had been served on smaller bread or an English muffin and been four dollars, I wouldn’t have an issue. I would have eaten it and been on my way, happy as a clam. But instead I confronted the above, two meager accouterments on an expansive of eggs. (The eggs were a bit flat and dry, compounding the sin.) So instead of enjoying a nice breakfast sandwich I just stared at the above, thought about my beloved (and cheap) two eggs on a roll, and was disappointed. And being disappointed by a breakfast sandwich is a remarkably poor way to start one’s day.

Torta Milanesa – Tacos Autlense, Story Rd, San Jose, CA

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We return to the torta milanesa, previously seen here, here, and first here. I’m still searching for the perfect milanesa, and I’ve given up looking at counter-with-menu-board style establishments. There might be a winner out there, but I think I’m much more likely to find a long line of places with pre-fried ingredients getting soggy, waiting for me to show up. Better to go to an establishment with table service, wait a little longer, and get something made to order. That was what I got at Tacos Autlense, and it made a big difference. The beef was pounded incredibly thin, and if this was for reasons of cost control I’m not complaining. The result was an unbelievably crisp milanesa, with a deep brown crust. That was the high point of the sandwich, although the rest of it wasn’t bad at all. There was table cream, but not nearly so much as I found at Taqueria Tlaquepaque. It was just the right amount, with the creamy tang contrasting the well seasoned crisp of the steak quite well. The sandwich, like the one from Mexico Bakery, was primarily flavored by pickled jalapeño. That’s not a flavor I’m tremendously fond of, and the the vinegary heat kept me from enjoying the sandwich as much as I could. This same same sandwich presented with a good red sauce would be quite the number, I think. So it wasn’t a perfect torta, but it was a clear step up from some of the others I’ve had.

It occurs to me that I might be dooming myself to this sort of scenario. What are the odds that I manage to find a string of taquerias that builds ever slowly to a transcendent experience? It seems much more likely that I simple build a catalog of tortas eaten, they fall into some jumble of rankings, and an endless pile of “Good, but not great.” piles up. There are larger questions here that this sandwich doesn’t come close to settling, but I suppose that’s the world of sandwiches sometimes.