Western Tri-Tip Sandwich — Wood Ranch, The Grove, Los Angeles

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We have spoken before about the very few different options for a steak sandwich. The Wood Ranch, known for its premium meats and barbecue, which you can order in large quantities to take home a la carte, offers only the “chopped meat” version of the steak sandwich, but thankfully does it well. There are two tri-tip sandwiches on offer, and the “Western” option is a bit more intriguing. Consisting of tri-tip, Monterey jack cheese, sauteed onions and peppers, it is served with what the menu boasts is “real au jus,” which makes one wonder what was in all of those other bowls of drippings we have been consuming for years, and more importantly, what is in this one.

When I first ordered the item, I missed the “real au jus” on the menu, so when the sandwich was delivered, I feared that I had mistakenly ordered nothing more than a gussied-up diner French dip. Thankfully, the onions and peppers were flavorful and provided actual taste to the sandwich, in stark contrast to a sandwich like the tepid cheesesteak of North Carolina. The Monterey jack also brought a fine element to the sandwich, rather than being lost. This was a surprisingly well-balanced sandwich, and tasted fine both with the au jus and without. (The au jus was just as flavorful as any other au jus I have heretofore encountered, regardless of its highly-touted authenticity.) Although this wasn’t anything ground-breaking, sometimes a pleasing sandwich experience comes down to whether you can taste the vegetables.

Jewish Corned Beef – Hatville Deli, Arch St, Philadelphia, PA

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Don’t serve me a sandwich with a fork in it. This has happened to me a number of times recently, and sooner or later I’m about to start demanding that it be served with an apology as well. Serving a sandwich with a fork in it is a naked concession of defeat. It is openly admitting that the sandwich you have served me will fall apart in my hands. “This is gonna be a mess,” it says, “you clean it up.” It’s an insult, and I’m tired of it. There are plenty of sandwiches that lose a bit or two as you eat them, but including a fork almost makes it seem like you think it’s a feature. Don’t give me a fork. Put a little effort into putting forth the best construction you can.I’m going to leave aside the curious fact that the Hatville Deli, staffed by the Pennsylvania Dutch, felt the need to label the corned beef as Jewish. It’s something that doesn’t strike you at first, but a split second later earns a full “Wait, what?” I’m not sure what’s going on there, so I’ll focus on the fact that they mince it practically to dust. A big hunk of corned beef can easily be sliced into strips fit for a sandwich. In fact, it works like nearly every other meat. But not so at the Hatville Deli! There they prefer to completely obliterate the cut of meat, shredding it to a completely irresponsible degree and leaving you on cleanup duty. There wasn’t really anything special about the sandwich beyond that. Minced beef, Russian dressing and coleslaw all came together in a sloppy construction it somehow became my responsibility to remedy.

Chicken Fried Chicken Breakfast Sandwich — Black Bear Diner, Bancroft Rd, Walnut Creek, CA

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Sometimes, in the service of finding interesting sandwiches, you will find yourself presented with precisely what you ordered, and you will feel a sudden sense of…well, not quite sadness, precisely, but something very near to that. The special promotion at Black Bear Diner at the moment, is a selection of “Chicken-Fried Chicken” items. I loathe the term “chicken-fried chicken,” as it’s redundant at best, and shameless, nonsensical, pandering buzzword-grasping at best. There is such a thing as a chicken-fried steak. That is a steak that is battered and fried in the matter that one would fry a chicken. There does not exist any such beast as chicken-fried chicken. There is merely fried chicken.

Getting past semantics for a moment, let us discuss this creation. Black Bear Diner is a chain of kitschy diners, mostly located in smaller towns throughout Northern and Central California, and their claim to fame is an extensive menu of extremely generous portions at a fair price. The quality of their offerings is, on average, far above your usual chain diner, so it’s a great place for an individual on a budget. The “chicken-fried chicken” breakfast sandwich is a fried chicken filet, scrambled eggs, and gravy served on a biscuit. The biscuits at Black Bear Diner are generally the size of softballs, and not the first thing you would think would make an ideal delivery method for a fried chicken sandwich.

When my plate arrived, I was filled with a strange sense of remorse. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I ordered it, but the reality of the situation seemed extremely daunting. I feared there was no way to eat it without getting a large amount of gravy on my hands, and that fear proved extremely accurate. Nevertheless, it wasn’t the most difficult-to-handle sandwich I’ve ever eaten. It was even easier to eat than the Shrimp Po’ Girl, which was surprising after first glance.

The breakfast sandwich was far too large, which was its first mistake. It would have been far better served on toast or on a roll, which would have eliminated one of the only two elements which made it a breakfast sandwich in the first place. The other breakfast element, the scrambled eggs, were mostly lost in the doughiness of the biscuit, the crunch of the breading, and the creaminess of the gravy. this is a sandwich that would have been far better served with a few strips of thick bacon rather than a couple whisked eggs.

Overall, the sandwich was not entirely objectionable, and certainly very unique, but not at all worth revisiting. It was far too much food, and far too gimmicky, from its ridiculous name to its being forced into the breakfast sandwich role.

One final note: this may be a sandwich that many people would be too “embarrassed” to order, or would feel shameful upon consuming or being observed while consuming. This sandwich blog is delightfully free of any unnecessary societal taboos like embarrassment or shame. We exist for the pursuit of the sandwich, whichever form it may take. We recommend you do the same. You will find this attitude quite preferable to the alternative.

 

 

Roast Pork & Cherry Peppers – The Cask Republic, Crown St, New Haven, CT

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This was a fantastic, fantastic sandwich. This was a restaurant I picked at random and chose largely because they had a wide selection of beer, so I was not expecting something so good. But it was to my surprise and delight that I was served such a phenomenal sandwich. Incredibly juicy roast pork worked with cherry peppers, a bit of cheddar cheese, crispy fried onions and a dijon mustard aioli to come together in perfect harmony. Somewhere in there the chef snuck a bit of spice, and so there was a present-but-not-overpowering heat throughout the sandwich, delightfully playing against the sweetness of the peppers. The onions were a crisp contrast to the chewy pork, again demonstrating a skilled balance. The ciabatta roll was neither toasted nor grilled, and contrary to what you might expect that only added to the appeal. With each bite, more of the juice from the pork soaked into the roll.
With every squeeze, the bread itself grew exponentially in flavor and the sandwich began to disintegrate slightly. Not so much as to become a negative, but just enough to remind me that pleasures in life are fleeting, that all things should be appreciated as they are in front of us, and that nostalgia is a sad shadow of experience. Things built and built until the final bites of the sandwich were barely holding together in my fingers, the experience peaking in a clash of appreciation and regret, hostility towards the very idea of the passage of time and the scarcity of all things. I was left with a plate of french fries, half a glass of fine stout, and an aching sense of loss. Undoubtedly, I was better for the experience.

 

 

Breakfast Sandwich – Kevaccino’s On The Beach, Vista Del Mar, Los Angeles, CA

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I have a special place in my heart for the breakfast sandwich. Simply put, there’s no better way to start a day than with a good sandwich. It sets your spirit right and sends you into the world sated and ready for anything. A good breakfast sandwich doesn’t need to be complicated, but trying something a little bit more involved can often yield an excellent sandwich. On one recent cloudy morning, while cycling between Venice and Manhattan beaches, I stopped for a bite to eat. The breakfast sandwich at Kevaccino’s seems on the simple end of the spectrum, being listed on the menu board as simply eggs and cheese. An addition of avocado and having the sandwich grilled are offered, and I took advantage of both options. I’m not a man to pass up and avocado, and if you’re not dealing with a roll, toasting or grilling bread for a breakfast sandwich is almost mandatory.

The basics of the sandwich are on point. As you can see in the photo, the sandwich had a substantial amount of scrambled egg, and it was light, fluffy and moist. The cheese was a fine sharp cheddar and there wasn’t too much of it. The grilled was very light, just enough to give the bread a crunch without really trying to brown it. That leaves one remaining hurdle: The avocado. I’m sorry to say that that’s where the sandwich stumbled.Making my way through the first half the sandwich, I gradually came to realize something was not quite right. Peeling open the second half of the sandwich my suspicions were confirmed. What you see above is the entire amount of avocado provided on one half of the sandwich. The first half contained a similar amount. Combined, the two would struggle to equal even half of the most diminutive avocado. The avocado was not a casual “extra peppers” sort of addition to the sandwich. It was a specific option for which I tendered an additional dollar. I can appreciate that a restaurateur operates between thin margins, but what I saw in that sandwich strains the boundaries of what I can accept. I looked down at the second half of that sandwich and I felt cheated. This, I suppose, is the risk in pinning the start of your day to a sandwich. When it goes well, you set off with your best foot forward and greet everyone you meet with a smile and an open heart. If it goes wrong, though, if some charlatan, some rogue takes your money and delivers only the barest pittance of what he has promised, then what faith can you be expected to have in the world at large?

Pressed Cubano Sandwich — Public House, AT&T Park, San Francisco

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AT&T Park, located at the corner of 3rd and King, has been the home of the San Francisco Giants since its construction was completed in 2000. Since its gates have opened, it has become the hub of a brand-new downtown. Eateries, bars, clubs, shops, and other tourist- and family-friendly locations have sprung up for blocks in all directions surrounding the ballpark, and even within it. The “front” of AT&T Park proper is Willie Mays Plaza, a wide expanse of brick and palm trees, statuary, plaques, and two restaurants. One of these restaurants is Public House, which contains a bar and its own entrance to the ballpark.

I was pleased to find several sandwich options on the menu, and picked the most intriguing and, I felt, promising option: the Pressed Cubano. The sandwich included both roasted pork and Niman ham, and was augmented by both Provolone and Gruyere. The finishing touch was a few stray pickles, and the complete sandwich was griddle-pressed and served without further augmentation. The end result is a simply fantastic combination of complimentary flavors. The head chef at Public House is a classically-trained chef with a long pedigree, as is often the case with most eateries in San Francisco. I have learned long ago that when you find a legitimate head chef has placed a sandwich on their menu, you will almost certainly not regret ordering one.

The sandwich contents all blended together into a delightful creaminess, masterfully offset by the occasional snap of a fresh mild pickle, whose flavor simply added as a grace note to the palate, rather than an overpowering and unwelcome crescendo. The true star of the show, however, was the bread. It was, in a word, perfect. It is a rare gift to find a bread that truly completes the sandwich while providing the perfect containment for the ingredients and an ideal texture for biting through. I was over the moon at having been able to eat this sandwich before a lovely evening of baseball. I only hope that someday, all of you can experience the same.

Slummin’ It: Double Whopper With Cheese – Burger King

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As some states have made calorie information on the menu mandatory, many national chains have instituted such policies across the board. Burger King is one of those chains, with each item on the menu board bearing an estimated calorie count. What studies are beginning to show, though, is that no one cares. Instituting mandatory calorie labeling hasn’t lead to people making different choices. To my mind, this makes perfect sense. I walked in to Burger King wanting a double whopper with cheese, and that’s what I was going to leave with. The fact that the menu board informed me I was about to consume about a thousand calories didn’t sway me.

The information may not have moved me, but it did stick in my head. As I ate the sandwich I considered the number over and over again, constantly comparing it to what I was eating. I have no problem eating a thousand calorie sandwich. Some back-of-the-envelope math had the kimchi grilled cheese I made at close to 1000 calories, and had I included bacon it surely would have gone a ways past 1000. So it wasn’t the size of the number that was needling me, but simply the number in comparison to the sandwich. Because above all else, what struck me about the Burger King Double Whopper with Cheese was how insubstantial it was. The patties aren’t particularly thick. The bun isn’t tremendously fluffy, large, dense or really anything at all. There’s no sea of mayo, it’s only a few slices of cheese at most, but somehow you end up with a sandwich where there’s nothing there. The lettuce and tomato are lost in the mayo, what little flavor the beef has is lost in the cheese, but the beef is really very dry so the texture of the beef overwhelms everything else. The bun is quickly compressed to almost nothing, and just like that you’re left picking sesame seeds out of your teeth, having consumed a few slices of cheese and a helping of mayonnaise. And for this you’ve paid 1000 calories. The last time I brought up calorie count on this blog was over two years ago, in discussing a sandwich at Panera Bread. “You only get to eat so much in this life,” I said. “There’s no reason to waste 1000 calories on this sandwich.” In that case, it was that 1000 calories were wasted in the service of a borderline lousy sandwich. In this case, though, I think the sin is greater. It’s one thing to waste 1000 calories on a bad sandwich, but quite another to waste them on nothing at all.

The Istanbul – SUNdeVICH, 9th St NW, Washington, DC

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Sundevich is tucked away in an alley. I might not have even found it if not for the small chalkboard propped outside the door. The chalkboard read “SUNdeVICH – NOW OPEN.” I submit to you that this announcement was an almost superhuman display of modesty. The chalkboard should have read, at the very least, “VISIONARY AT WORK.”

I stood a few steps in from the door, staring at the chalkboard menu. I was paralyzed. I’d come expecting a good sandwich shop, an out-of-the-way gem. I wasn’t prepared for what I’d found. Consider The Cairo: hummus, cucumber, brined vegetables, walnuts, and fresh herbs. Or The Beirut: skirt steak, hummus, tomato, brined vegetables, and fresh herbs. Even the more simple sandwiches seem brimming with promise. The Athens: lamb, lettuce, tomato, red onion, and tzatkiki. The Madrid: chorizo and chimichuri. Their stated mission, local ingredients and global flavors, seems ripe for pretentious indulgence. Yet the menu is full of wonderfully creative sandwiches, one after another begging to be tried. Sundevich was not my first stop of the day and standing there looking at the menu I nearly came to tears facing the ugly fact that I was only going to be able to eat one of the sandwiches. I was leaving the DC area early the next day, too early to even pop in and grab another sandwich on my way out of town. No, I had to look at these offerings, make my choice, and live with it. Life isn’t fair, dear readers. Over and over again we hear this from parents and other adults as we grow up. We never really believe it though, do we? In our hearts we doubt it until one day we stand there, the warmth of our dreams departing us, the cold of reality cementing its grip.

I went with The Istanbul: Ground beef and lamb, sumac onions, tomato, yogurt spread and fresh herbs. After I made my order I saw the gentleman behind the counter put a patty of lamb and beef on a skewer and place it over the grill. Meat cooked to order! It’s one thing to get that in a sit-down restaurant, but in a counter-based sandwich shop it’s beyond rare. Any concerns I had that Sundevich would be high concept/low execution went out the window. The sandwich itself cemented my feeling that Sundevich is something special. The bread had a noticeable crust without being a chore to get through, the meat was well spiced but didn’t overpower the rest of the ingredients, the yogurt sauce and the herbs (chiefly cilantro and big leaves of fresh mint) made a tremendous pair, a tangy and sharp back and forth playing over the whole sandwich.

I’m haunted by that menu. DC isn’t one of my regular destinations and it may be a year or more before I get back. When I do return, though, it will be on an empty stomach and I intend to make a beeline for Sundevich. I’m going to line them all up in front of me: The Kingston (jerk chicken, spicy slaw, salsa, garlic mayo), The Shiraz (beef tongue, pickled vegetables, mustard), The Ifshan (souffle of (spinach, mushroom, walnut, barberry), feta) and more. I probably don’t have the appetite or capacity to make it through the whole menu, but that won’t stop me from trying.

Bagel Egg Sandwiches — Made at Home

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One of my greatest simple pleasures in life is making a sandwich on a bagel. It usually doesn’t matter what type of sandwich. I don’t care for cream cheese, so no matter how much I love bagels — and I do love them — my options for consuming bagels usually comes down to “plain bagel,” “toasted bagel,” or “bagel sandwich.” As you can see, one of those options is clearly head and shoulders above the rest.

I found myself with a few bagels over the weekend and no lunch meat. I briefly considered making a grilled cheese or a peanut butter sandwich before remembering that I had eggs, and so I made a monster bagel egg sandwich. I split and toasted an “everything” bagel, to which I added margarine. To this, I added two fried eggs and a slice of muenster cheese. The end result was quite pleasing, particularly with the bits of onion on the bagel adding a welcome, savory saltiness. The margarine was a bit lost, and had I used butter, I feel it would have been lost as well.

The following day, I decided to revisit the experiment with a couple of significant changes.

This time using a sesame seed bagel, I again fried two eggs and added a slice of cheese, but instead of butter or margarine, I went with apricot preserves. Although messy (due to the hole in the bagel), the combination of jam and egg is always welcome, and paired better with the sesame seed bagel than it would have with the “everything” bagel. I feel I made the correct choice with both bagel sandwiches. The only thing I would do differently next time is giving the eggs a liberal dose of pepper. If you find yourself with a bagel, a couple of eggs, and five minutes, you would certainly be doing yourself a favor if you whip up a quick and satisfying sandwich.

Boston Brown Bread & Bacon – Made at Home

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That sandwich is bacon and cantaloupe. If you’re making a sour face right now, bear with me. It was worth trying. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more natural the idea seemed to be. The other day I was soliciting ideas for what I might pair with a loaf of Boston brown bread, a rye/corn/whole wheat flour quickbread with a heavy dose of molasses. Something salty and savory seemed like the obvious choice, and within that category nothing leaps to mind faster than bacon. That’s a lazy choice, but I was already making the bread. 60 Minute IPA Pork Belly sandwiches would have to wait. Having settled on bacon, I solicited further ideas as to what else might go well. Associates suggested various items, all of them well within sandwich making tradition, until one associate offered a simple, one word suggestion: “cantaloupe.” At first I thought he was putting me on, but this was the person who had hipped me to the Nobadeer. The least I could do was take his suggestion seriously.

“Fast for a day,” I sometimes advise people, “then brainstorm sandwiches. In hunger, your brain will abandon fear and false limitations.” By the time I was seriously considering a bacon and cantaloupe sandwich, I hadn’t eaten in around 14 hours. I wasn’t about to faint, but it was long enough that my definition of “reasonable” had become more yielding. So I decided to try it. I wasn’t going to add anything else. The deep sweetness of the molasses, the salty, smoky bacon, and the bright sweetness of the fruit was precarious enough. No need to complicate things further.

It wasn’t bad. I wish I had a more dramatic result for you, in either direction. Many of you know how I feel about mediocrity, so I really do wish I could tell you it was shockingly good, or as terrible as your first instinct might have suspected. The bacon and the bread paired very well. The cantaloupe was a little incongruous, but not terribly so. Maybe I oversimplified, and with a few more ingredients a great sandwich would emerge. In any case, my curiosity had been satisfied. I moved on to other matters.

This was the first sandwich that had followed from the “bread, bacon, then what?” question. Sweet potato fries and green apple slaw together with the molasses resulted in three different levels of sweetness, each picking up where the other left off. This sandwich, like the other, wasn’t particularly fancy. It’s just a few things stacked between bread, but I figured it didn’t need anything else. Why gussy it up with an aioli, a bed of endive, or a jalapeño relish? Though the sandwich looked a bit plain, nothing else was needed so nothing else was added. The quality of this sandwich was miles above the other. The varying levels of sweetness worked very well together, and the various textures also worked in harmony. The bread was dense and chewy, the apples crisp, and the potatoes soft with a bit of crisp. Truth be told after, sampling half of the bacon/cantaloupe number I slid the melon off the second half and added the fries/slaw combination. Speaking of halves, the bread was a bit of a disappointment. Boston brown bread is traditionally a quickbread, and between the lack of yeast and my sub-par baking skills, it baked up into a squat, dense loaf. It was tasty enough, but it didn’t exactly provide the right base for the heaping sandwich I had imagined. That said, size and taste don’t have too much influence on each other, and this was a very tasty sandwich.