It needed more horseradish. I have said that after literally every horseradish-containing sandwich I have ever had, and the prime rib sandwich from Simple Things is no exception. Let me get the bottom line out of the way: this was a tasty sandwich. Beef, greens, tomato, horseradish on crispy ciabatta is a winner, and sweet caramelized onions and horseradish are a fine pair to cap things off.
But. Needed more horseradish. It always needs more horseradish, and I’m starting to wonder how that can be. Is horseradish really an ingredient that people enjoy consuming in tepid measure? It is distinct, in the sense that anyone who goes in for it knows what they’re getting. I talk a lot about balance and harmony here and one could accuse me of promoting the opposite here, but what I’m actually advocating is the raising of horseradish to the role of starring ingredient. The lineup above describes a fine sandwich but it is also an exceptionally simple one. Why not let it stand out? Were it up to me I might triple the amount of horseradish involved, name the sandwich after it and be done with it. On Sandwiches, though, is ultimately an exploration of what sandwiches exist, not what sandwiches are possible. The prime rib at Simple Things stands as so many good-but-uninspiring sandwiches do: without enough horseradish.
Gjelina is either an exceptionally lucky establishment, or someone there is a wizard. Out of the more than 400 establishments I have patronized, I have never had a sandwich as well constructed as that one. The taste was fine, flavorful tuna, peppery arugula, sweet roasted red pepper and caper aioli is a well-balanced lineup. But the sandwich stayed together from first bite to last, never shifted much, there was absolutely zero filling creep, and each bit of crust was robust but yielded just before the dreaded clamp-and-tear had to be applied. I consider a sandwich successful if it hits even a few of those marks, but to hit all of them is some kind of magic. I’m genuinely unsure of how much credit to award Gjelina because I’m not sure how much of this can be achieved on purpose. How much control does their baker exert over the density of the crust? The air was not especially humid but the ocean wasn’t far; could this same sandwich come together in the inland empire? This is not, I suspect, a question with an answer. No matter. This was a fantastic sandwich, and that much is certain.
Like many a person I enjoy a substantial weekend breakfast, and like many a sandwich enthusiast I see no reason breakfast can’t be a sandwich. That’s how the above came to be, and while it is fundamentally a BLT, it isn’t quite the usual, even beyond the addition of avocado and a fried egg.
To start with, the tomato is an heirloom tomato. I cannot stress enough what a difference that makes; heirloom tomatoes taste like tomatoes, and grocery store tomatoes do not taste like anything. If this marks me as some manner of food snob so be it. I am committed to speaking the truth about sandwiches and their ingredients, and I have yet to find reason for a kind word about grocery store tomatoes. The lettuce is only lettuce in the broadest sense, as it is actually spinach. After frying the bacon in a skillet I deglazed the pan with a splash of bourbon, then sauteed the spinach with a plentiful bit of minced garlic. Lastly, an avocado was mashed and spread along a toasted whole wheat bolillo and an egg was fried in a bit of bacon fat.
Perhaps the highest compliment I can pay this sandwich is that when the egg yolk spilled out onto the plate I did not immediately begin sopping it up. The spinach brought a wonderful depth of flavor to the affair, thanks in no small part to the whiskey. The BLT is a fine foundation for a sandwich, and the egg and avocado retched up the smooth, rich flavors of fat, cut by the savory notes of the spinach and the salty bacon. It was exquisite, and next time you find yourself hungry on a sunny Saturday morning I cannot recommend it enough.
Upscaling a cheesesteak is never a question of could one do such a thing, but rather should one do such a thing. It’s always possible, and long-time readers will recall that I came out against the filet mignon cheesesteak from Citi Field, calling it “the ugly product of a severe misunderstanding. I stand by that, as it was filet mignon and pepper jack, a high/low combination that’s doomed to fail. But consider the above: skirt steak with gruyere and cheddar, with sauteed onions and peppers. That seems a fair middle ground, better than the average lineup but hardly ostentatious. It was delicious, but it was also very, very (very) rich, running dangerously close to too-rich-to-finish territory. The cheesteak is a far more delicate thing than most people seem to think, at least judging by the examples I continue to encounter. I suppose we’re better off, though, having people make new attempts at grand things, even if some of them fall off the mark. The cheesesteak at The Curious Palate may not be exactly right (or exactly necessary), but it sure is delicious.
Simplethings has been featured here before (twice, in fact) and I was recently delighted to find they had opened a branch in Westwood. I happened to arrive on a rather blustery day, cold for Los Angeles, and it seemed the heat of a pulled chicken sandwich was just what I needed. Friends, did this sandwich ever set me right. It’s chicken, arugula, pickled onions, garlic aioli, chevre spread,and chipotle bbq sauce on a pretzel roll. That’s a lineup that might offend some purists, but I’m trying to become less dogmatic in matters like that. So long as everyone executes as well as Simplethings, that shouldn’t be too hard. This sandwich was a delight, and I don’t know if I’ve ever had a sandwich that came together as well as this one did. Aside from the arugula nothing in particular stood out, leaving the sandwich less a series of notes and more a single, harmonious tone. Not every sandwich excels with something like that, but there’s no question this one did. It was rich, balanced, sweet but with some heat to it, and the pretzel roll brought deep flavor of its own. All in all, an excellent sandwich.
I’ve had a number of portobello sandwiches lately, some of which I’ve discussed here. I try to vary things, but I also have a special place in my heart for the mushroom sandwich and I think they get short shrift. As such, I intend to just keep talking about them until I feel like more people are eating them, or I see them at more establishments. This is my blog, and I love mushrooms. I’ve featured fundamental LA before, and they make repeat appearances for good reason. They tend to excell in both concept and execution, and the number above is no exception. The mushroom is joined by avocado, frisee, pickled jalapeño and miso tahini dressing on toasted sourdough bread. The mushroom and the avocado form a deeply rich duet, the frisee is a delightful textural contrast, and the whole thing packs a substantial flavor. This is a great sandwich, and all the more evidence that if you’re steering clear of mushrooms you’re doing yourself no small disservice.
I’m not sure where the grub comes in at Earl’s Gourmet Grub, as the establishment strikes me as fairly typical for a New American eatery. It’s clean as a whistle too, no claim to grub via the greasy spoon. One doesn’t dine on aesthetics, though, so frankly you can call a place whatever you like, so long as the food is good. And the fig-n-pig at Earl’s is good: prosciutto di Parma, blue cheese, fig hash and arugula pressed on a nutty whole-grain bread. I found the bites without blue cheese to be preferable to those with, though I could see another individual preferring the opposite. Overall the sandwich works: the prosciutto is rich and salty, the fig hash a sweet balance, and there’s enough arugula there for it to be a full participant, and not a spectator. Too little lettuce is quickly becoming a frequent irritant in my sandwich eating, so when there’s plenty I appreciate it. The bread has an earthy, buttery flavor to it and the press gives the whole thing a crunch. All in all, a fine sandwich.
If the several hundred sandwiches featured on this site haven’t tipped my hand, allow me a confession: I have a grudge against flatbread. It’s tasty enough, don’t get me wrong, even quite tasty at times. But it makes for a lousy sandwich, and so I just can’t get into it. It flops and it rolls and it just isn’t up to the task. So I avoid the stuff. The cost of that, though, is putting large portions of world cuisine out of my mind. If I’m on the hunt for a sandwich, there are substantial genres I don’t really consider.
Luckily, Dr. Sandwich bridges a gap and gives me something I haven’t had in some time. Flavorful, well-cooked schawarma is piled on to a baguette and joined by hummus, a tomato/cucumber salad, cabbage with a bit of mayo, and skhug, a paste made from hot peppers that packs quite a bit of spice. (Flatbread is available, as many establishments do not share my particular biases and are glad to offer wraps and the like.) That’s a classic lineup, the sort of tried-and-true combination that you so often find in foods with a deep history. Thankfully, Dr. Sandwich rescued that combination from the floppy confines of flatbread, and I was all too happy to indulge.
Don’t let the vertical orientation throw you; those pickles were easily pushed on top of the pastrami, easily making a proper sandwich. That’s not the story here. The story is how a sandwich that’s just pastrami, pickles and mustard relies heavily on the quality of the pastrami, and therefore one should have a reliable method for finding above-average pastrami. Luckily, such a method exists.
Willie’s Grill and Deli happens to be tucked inside the Alameda Jr. Liquor Market, a clean, well-lit liquor store with an ample selection. That’s a good sign for any sandwich counter. The logic is simple: By joining up with a cash-heavy, usually-profitable business the sandwich counter has access to lower overhead, in the form of cheaper rent when they’re a separate business or just general subsidy when they’re owned by the same people. This takes the pressure off they typically-thin margins of a restaurant, and more often than not that means a bump in the average quality of the food. Things tend to be more fresh, from quality producers, or provided at a better value. That was certainly the case at Willie’s, and it only strengthened my belief that if you’re looking for an above-average sandwich at a modest price, you can do a lot worse than head to a liquor store.
I’ve reviewed a fair number of vegan and vegetarian sandwiches on this blog, and if you dig into the archives you’ll find vegan reviews from a most trusted associate. The reason I do this is actually quite simple: they’re often delicious. At many establishments these sorts of sandwiches are shunted off into their own little corner of the menu, all too easy to ignore. Don’t make that mistake; go looking for meatless options, consider them, and I wager you’ll find a reward is quick in coming. Such is the case with the above, a marinated, grilled portobello mushroom with some white bean hummus. Sure, there’s a cursory bunch of lettuce and a slice of tomato with a bit of red onion, but this is really a two-note song. That’s a difficult thing to pull off, but if you’re surprised that it works I’d wager you haven’t dined on mushrooms recently. It’s a dense, rich flavor, one done a disservice by the frequently-applied “meaty” label. The umami notes that are so present in meat are present in well-prepared mushrooms, but it’s its own food. Let it be so, and enjoy it for such. While the mushroom was the standout here, the hummus was a bit sparse in application. That’s especially unfortunate in that what was there was quite good, garlicky and rich in its own right. I appreciate an establishment watching out for excessive filling creep, but not at the cost of the sandwich overall. This was quite good, but with a little more hummus it could easily have been great.