Hot Cheesy Steak – Specialty’s Cafe & Bakery, S Market St, San Jose, CA

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I seem to be having a bit of bad luck with the execution of sandwiches lately, as this is another fine idea for a sandwich that suffered as presented. Roast Beef, provolone and cream cheese join fresh mushrooms, bell peppers, red onion, pepperoncini, stone ground mustard and mayo on toasted ciabatta bread. The first thing I noted when I got the sandwich was that the crust was pale and soft, which is a bit uncommon for places that make some note of their baking. Thick crust is used to signal artisan or fancy bread, and that was lacking here. As it turned out, that was a good thing. You can see the excess mayo on the sandwich there, the top half of the roll was sliding around even as I took the picture. Upon my first bite that mayo sent half of the ingredients shooting out of the rear of the sandwich. I hadn’t run across this level of filling creep in quite a while, and needless to say I wasn’t pleased to see it again. Peppers, mushrooms, onion, pepperoncini, roast beef, all of it went sliding this way and that. Had the crust actually been a bit stronger I shudder to think of what a chore this sandwich would have been.

Similar to the tragedy at On a Roll, what’s really terrible here is how simple this is to fix. Move either the roast beef or the mayo to the bottom and your problem is instantly solved. It’s the juxtaposition of the slick surface of the cold cuts against the slickness bread spread with mayo that’s at issue. There’d still be slippage if you piled the veggies on top, but nothing to the degree that you get with the roast beef. Specialty’s is a small chain, and I wonder how rigorous their preparation guidelines and recipes are. Is the roast beef on top mandatory? Did someone at this particular Specialty’s simply slip up? I pondered all of these questions as I chased sandwich ingredients around my plate, trying to pile them back on the roll for the next bite. I might remake this sandwich myself, just to see what it’s like with a bit more thought behind it. Alas, this particular experience was lost. I come to sandwiches to indulge, not to labor.

BBQ Pork – On A Roll, San Pedro Market, San Jose, CA

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There are two bits of context that are essential to understanding this sandwich. The first is that it cost $5, well above the average price for bánh mí in the south bay. Obviously prices are going to vary between neighborhoods, but $5 is steep even for downtown. The second thing you need to know is that my sandwich was the only order On A Roll was processing while I was there, and it still took them more time than is reasonable to make the sandwich. Having established those things, I would like to note what the sandwich did well. The BBQ pork was Xa Xíu, the kind of thing you find in pork fried rice, and it was sweet and moist. The Vietnamese mayo was also choice, a fine buttery example of the type. Both of those things were quite good. But sadly I cannot praise the sandwich as a whole, and here is why:

I draw your attention to the scant strings of carrot on the sandwich. What you see there is the full extent of it, there’s none buried under anything and of course I made no adjustments to the sandwich before photographing it. The daikon and jalapeño weren’t exactly plentiful, but I cannot get over that shortage of carrot. The bánh mí, as an archetype, is excuisitely balanced and included in that balance is a good deal of carrot. So why on earth would you leave it out? Carrots aren’t expensive, and even if they were, On a Roll is charging  almost double what many establishments charge. I know the profit margins in the food game are slim, but there’s got to be room in those margins for a bit more carrot. The only excuse I can think of is sloppy execution, as I’ve found at places doing booming business. But that hardly describes On a Roll, which means that as this sandwich was assembled, someone had the time to look down at it and decide whether or not this was a proper sandwich. It’s too bad, really, because On a Roll gets the hard part of the sandwich wrong. Lackluster execution is lackluster execution, though, and in this case there’s no excuse I can see for what went wrong.

Portobello Panini – Zanatto’s Family Markets, Naglee Ave, San Jose, CA

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Zanatto’s is an upscale grocery store, the kind of place with more imported products than average establishment and the atmosphere to match. There’s a counter off to one side, filled with premade sandwiches, pastries, and sweets. This was labeled as a portobello and brie panini, but as you can see by the bit of cheese poking out from under the mushroom up there, that’s no brie. No, it was something more mild, likely provolone, and like so much cheese it neither detracted from the sandwich nor added anything. The real story here is the mushroom, a monster of a cap that puts a great many other mushroom sandwiches to shame. Beyond sizable, it was the kind of meaty goodness that any mushroom enthusiast is perpetually seeking. There was a bit more that could have been done in execution, sadly, as the mushroom was a bit more wet than is ideal. Scoring the cap before grilling goes a long way. There were also scant few leaves of spinach on top, less than a half dozen per side of the sandwich. If you want to include spinach, then include the spinach. Nothing inside the sandwich ought to be there for decoration, after all. On the plus side, the sandwich included one of those hard-to-pin-down sandwich spreads, a concoction likely mayo based and with a good hint of red chilies. The combination of that and the inherent goodness of a huge mushroom was enough to overcome the faults of the sandwich, and in the end this was a mighty tasty panino.

Lunar Dip – Pluto’s Restaurant, Santana Row, San Jose, CA

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Pluto’s is one of those establishments with a make-your-own focus, presenting a long list of ingredients and suggesting you simply get whatever you like. They only have four sandwiches listed on the menu, one of them a weekly special. The Lunar Dip is their take on a French Dip, with grilled tri-tip in place of roast beef. The spice-rubbed beef is accompanied by horseradish mayo and provolone cheese, and it’s served on ciabatta bread with a small cup of jus.

First and foremost, I’d like to know how far one man has to wander to find an establishment willing to put more than a scattering of horseradish on a sandwich. Regular readers will recall that I have bemoaned a lack of horseradish several times, and Pluto’s appears to be another place committing that particular sin. I’m half inclined to think that this is just me, that I happen to really go wild for horseradish and I should stop holding against innocent eateries that the general public doesn’t share my predilection. But the other half of my inclination insists that the horseradish on this sandwich was genuinely scant. I’ve discussed before that while it rarely happens in real life, the platonic ideal of a sandwich includes a bit of each ingredient in every bite. Well, in this case the horseradish was absent from far more bites than for which it was present, and I struggle to accept that. “But that would be too much horseradish,” I can hear people saying. But most often what we are given is not horseradish itself but creamed horseradish or horseradish mayonnaise. And I put it to you that that is the perfect opportunity for any enterprise to tailor an even amount of horseradish, at any degree. The whole thing is wide open, and there’s really no excuse for failure.

But enough of that. Setting aside that one issue, this was a tasty sandwich. The ultimate question governing any sandwich experience is “Was it satisfying?” and I have to say that this sandwich was. The ciabatta roll had a good crust to it but not so sturdy that every bite sent the sandwich sliding all over the place. Provolone is mild and was present in a respectable amount, and the steak was well spiced and tender. The jus was warm, though not particularly flavorful in its own right. What’s more, the sandwich was a bargain. Given that it comes from Santana Row, a downtown-before-the-mall-killed-downtown upscale shopping development, a tri-tip sandwich for around six and half dollars is a good deal. Someday I’ll find a sandwich with all the horseradish my heart desires, but until that day, the Lunar Dip isn’t so bad.

NY Steak Sandwich – Mini Gourmet, Bascom Ave, San Jose, CA

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I have a soft spot for this style of steak sandwich, the non-sliced, non-minced, just-a-plain-old-steak-on-a-roll steak sandwich. I’ve featured one here before, and while this one came with a bit more than that one, it was still fairly plain. A NY strip steak, lettuce, tomato, red onion, and mayonnaise. The steak was well cooked, tender and juicy. Sadly, that’s about as much good as I can say about this sandwich. I can deal with a plain steak sandwich. The steak may have been well cooked, but it was bland as the dickens, and I’m not asking for much. I’m not asking for mushrooms sauteed in a burgundy sauce, I’m not asking for a roasted garlic herb butter, I’m not asking for whole grain mustard, and apple compote. You want to serve me a steak on a bun, that’s fine. But for crying out loud, throw a little salt and pepper in there. It’s a stunning mistake, really. How on earth does this happen? Is this not a professional establishment? Don’t they cook things regularly, and know what makes things good? Never mind all that, are they not human beings? Do they not eat, do they not taste? What excuse could there possibly be here? The Roman Empire has long since gone to its grave; these days there’s plenty to go around. Spare some for my steak, please. As for the rest of it, the lettuce was iceberg, the tomatoes standard hothouse mush, and the red onion sadly sparse. I take no issue with plain, have no grudge against simple. Lackadaisical, though, careless, well that’s another matter entirely.

Dungeness Crab Salad Sandwich – Billy’s Boston Chowder House, E Main St, Los Gatos, CA

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When one has strong opinions about any given subject, it is all too easy to settle in to a position where one’s own thoughts and philosophies are the only correct ones. We know that what we think is right, and therefore if someone else thinks something different, well, they must be wrong. After all, if they were right then they would think what we think. The world, of course, is much bigger than can fit in even the most inflated head, and all of the issues that we have settled in our own head have been settled countless times by countless others, all to equally satisfying conclusions. All of that is to say that this wasn’t the crab salad sandwich that I would have made, but it was still very good. I would have preferred larger, meaty chunks of crab, and this was smoother in consistency, the crab present as finely chopped floss. Not my first choice, but there was plenty of it, it had a fresh, bright flavor, and I can deal with it. The avocado was a nice touch, and the lettuce and tomato unobjectionable. I would have liked a bit more lemon as well, as a squirt of fresh lemon juice really took the sandwich up a level, but with a scant slice available I could only treat half the sandwich. The choice of bread reflected someone giving things some thought: a hard crusted loaf would send a soft filling like crab salad sliding all over the place, you’d be scooping it off your plate rather than enjoying it as a proper sandwich. But that mistake was well avoided here, as a soft roll paired perfectly with the interior of the sandwich.

I’ve had a couple not-so-great sandwiches lately. It would be all too easy to grow discouraged, retreat into myself, stay home, make myself a crab salad sandwich, and putter on powered by self-satisfaction. But I’d be missing things I didn’t even know I was missing, robbed of unknown unknowns without ever knowing it. The next time I finish a sandwich with a frown on my face, I will I think of this sandwich. I’ll think of this one, and I’ll know that I’ve simply got to keep going, that someone out there is putting together a sandwich I’d never even consider, that it’s waiting for me, that I’m going to find it, and it is going to be delicious.

Slummin’ It – Wendy’s Spicy Guacamole Chicken Club

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Some installments of Slummin’ It take place almost by accident. For example, I might find myself at a rest stop at 3am and have no option but Burger King. Others grow naturally, emerging where late night revelry meets enthusiasm for a greasy burger. This installment I knew had to happen as soon as I saw an advertisement for the sandwich. After all, it’s not every day that one of the major players in fast food tries their hand at guacamole. Going in, I figured I had this sandwich pegged. I was ready to come back here and holler about a crime against avocados, about know-nothing eggheads overstepping their homogenized, corporate world. But honestly, the sandwich could have been a lot worse. The guacamole is loose and smooth, a far cry from the many kinds of guacamole we all know and love, but in the grand scheme of processed avocado product, it was one of the better ones I’ve come across. It had a bright, strong avocado flavor, and while the texture wasn’t ideal it isn’t like I haven’t run across smooth guacamole at plenty of taquerias. The sandwich includes both cheese and mayonnaise, which, given the avocado, really aren’t necessary. That said, they don’t interfere too much, and all you can really taste is the chicken, the avocado, and the bacon.

Looking at what I’m writing right now, I really do feel like I should be taking a more negative tack. But to do so would be dishonest, because the sandwich wasn’t that bad. I should be clear: It was a fast food sandwich with sub-par processed guacamole, needless cheese and mayo, and a limp, tasteless bun. This is never going to compare with any sandwich made with even a single ounce of effort or thought. But in the wasteland that is fast food chicken sandwiches, I think this sandwich ranks pretty high. Ultimately, I think processed sub-par guacamole is still a far sight better than a standard gloppy ranch dressing, and this sandwich reflects that disparity in quality. That’s the power of an avocado for you, I guess, that even run through some unimaginable factory, treated with all manner of powders and chemicals, piped out, shipped across the country, doled out by some uncaring teenager in a paper hat, it’s still got enough gumption left to pull a mediocre chicken sandwich up to a tolerable level. I’ll understand if you’re hesitant to believe me on this one, but I can only report on what is. This is a tasty sandwich, far tastier than it had any right to be.

The Bronx – Flames Eatery, S 4th St, San Jose, CA

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I’ve been to the Bronx, and if you asked me to imagine a sandwich named after it I wouldn’t come up with corned beef, swiss cheese and sauerkraut topped with thousand island dressing on rye. First of all, this sandwich already has a name; it’s basically a reuben. And second of all, nothing about this sandwich suggests the Bronx. It’s in the wrong language, for one. It’s not even on point in the historical sense, the reuben was either invented in Midtown or Nebraska, nobody knows for certain. I digress. A misnamed sandwich can still be a delicious one, after all. The high point here was the marble rye, a dark, flavorful loaf grilled to a perfect crisp. The rest of the sandwich didn’t quite measure up, unfortunately. The sauerkraut was tasty enough, but the corned beef was far too salty. I know that when it comes to cured meat one has to expect a certain level of salt, but it’s all too easy to exceed that amount. Perhaps a bit more dressing might have leveled things off a bit, the sandwich was noticeably stingy with the dressing. But hypothetical solutions have never saved a sandwich-in-hand, and in the end the only thing I gained from this sandwich was a parched tongue.

Carnitas Torta – Iguanas, S 3rd St, San Jose, CA

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I try not to write too many negative reviews. I want people to come here for a celebration of sandwiches, not a festival of gripes. I’ve got a file full of sandwiches about which I didn’t have anything nice to say, so I didn’t say anything at all. But every so often a sandwich comes along that just strikes me the wrong way, something that I find genuinely offensive, and I feel compelled to tell others about it. This afterthought of a torta is one such sandwich.

Plenty of taquerias don’t pay much attention to their tortas. They’re focused on other things, and that’s only fair: In most taquerias, the torta isn’t the big seller. Luckily for these establishments, the torta is a forgivingly simple sandwich. It doesn’t require much effort or care. Good meat, good bread, a bit of cheese, avocado, or a tasty salsa, and there you go. The torta at Iguanas is a failure on all fronts. The bread, sliced down the middle, began to fall apart as soon as I picked it up. I’m not sure if it was old or improperly stored or the victim of some manner of hex, but it lacked all integrity and literally went to pieces on me. Sandwiches are held, as we all know, and it’s hard to enjoy one that’s making a quick escape from your grasp. The meat was dry and bland, part of the appeal of carnitas is the bark it develops in the second stage of cooking; roasted at high heat or laid out on a griddle, the fatty pork develops a crisp, chewy exterior. That was completely lacking in this sandwich, and wherever it was hiding it had all the flavor to keep it company. With the bread and the meat failing, everything else went into a free fall. Iceberg lettuce isn’t going to save anything, nor is mayo. Cheese wasn’t advertised as being part of the sandwich, so it’s hard to complain about it lacking, but guacamole was promised and was not delivered. In short, everything that can go wrong did, and I ended up making my way through the worst torta I’ve ever come across. I take no joy in recounting this for you today, but some things are inescapable fact.

Mushrooms on Toast – Little Chef Counter, N San Pedro Sq, San Jose, CA

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Marinated portabella and cremini mushrooms in a mascarpone cream sauce, topped with arugula, on a crunchy bit of bread. That’s it. You don’t need much for a sandwich, but it’s tough to put together a genuinely simple one that’s also quite good. With the excellent experience I had the first time I stopped by Little Chef Counter, I decided to see if they were up to the task. I’ll cut to the quick: I was delighted by this sandwich, but I can easily see where others wouldn’t think quite so highly of it. I happen to really love mushrooms, and I’ve got a number of associates who are with me on that. Good mushrooms have a dense, earthy flavor that’s complex and subtle, with a sort of humble richness to it. The mushrooms were undoubtedly the star of this sandwich, and their flavor came shining through. The sauce was creamy and boosted the richness, and the arugula gave a contrasting bit of peppery bite. The bread was crunchy, but given that it was stuffed with creamy mushrooms and not much else, a little filling creep was inevitable. Still, it was manageable and well worth the effort.

If mushrooms aren’t your thing, then this isn’t the sandwich for you. There’s simply not much else going on; this sandwich is mushrooms for the sake of mushrooms. But if you feel they way I do about mushrooms, there’s everything here to love. Little Chef Counter is two for two as far as I’m concerned, and I look forward to seeing what they come up with in the future.