Apricot & Egg Sandwich – Made at Home

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I recently prepared a meal of roast pork loin with apricot glaze and as I considered the leftovers the next day a sandwich seemed like the obvious choice. I’ll be honest: It’s a rare set of leftovers that doesn’t suggest a sandwich. I had some arugula left over from a stellar arugula & grilled potato salad and I laid it down on a toasted whole wheat English muffin. The pork loin was sliced as thin as I could manage and seared in a skillet, lending it a wonderful crisp. Apricot preserves went on the top half of the English muffin. As it stood then, though, it just didn’t seem like a complete sandwich. Since it was still morning, albeit late morning, an egg seemed like a natural addition.

Mixing eggs with fruit preserves seemed a bit risky, so I decided to scramble the egg. The more mild flavor of a scrambled egg, I reasoned, was less likely to get all crossed up with the preserves. That instinct proved to be correct to a fault. The egg didn’t do much of a job announcing itself, and I had no real sense of how the egg and the apricot worked together because I couldn’t taste the egg doing any work. It was a tasty sandwich, but it was lacking. Luckily, this was a problem with an obvious remedy: Fry the egg.

Frying the egg wasn’t the only change I made. Immediately after putting the egg down in the pan I sprinkled it with minced toasted garlic, the setting egg holding the garlic fast. I also went into the fridge and replaced the standard preserves with a bit of leftover pan sauce from the night before, a concoction of preserves, citrus, butter and savory drippings. Arugula and seared pork made for the same base as before, but the rest of the sandwich had been considerably upgraded. The actual eating quickly confirmed what I suspected, that this was a very good sandwich. I suppose the pan sauce and the garlic stack the deck a bit in favor of the fried egg, but it was the rich, creamy yolk that brought those new, stronger elements together in harmony. The first sandwich was pleasant enough, but the second one was exceptional, a surprising bit of genuine deliciousness on a lazy morning. And what more could I ask for, really, than a fine sandwich to ease me into the rest of my day?

General Sandwich Discussion: The Catered Sandwich

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From time to time throughout the year many of us find ourselves at catered events. Often behind these events is some celebratory purpose, or perhaps one of memorial or charity. In any case, it is unlike a large meal out or anything of that sort in that the food is not the foremost concern. There is often something serious to be discussed, and those of us who would suggest that the food is serious simply seem gauche. The upside to this socially motivated silence, though, is that when it comes to most catered sandwiches the less said the better.

Consider the item above, a fairly typical representative of the catered sandwich. Having been quartered, the ratio of ingredients to bread is way off, and even the ratio of ingredients to other ingredients falls out of line. What’s stunning about this is not that it has happened to the corner of the sandwich you have. What’s stunning is that it’s frequently the case that all of them have suffered this sort of fate. One whole becomes a collection of unsatisfactory fractions, a result both unfortunate and unsurprising.

Sandwiches served in the “slider” style tend to avoid that problem, but they still fall short. With their trademark size it’s just when you’re really getting to appreciate the sandwich that you finish it.

So with all available options being substandard, the question that rises is whether any sandwich is better than no sandwich at all. That’s a matter I leave for each person to settle on their own. I begrudge no one their answer, whatever it may be.

Introducing: Slummin’ It

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In my post earlier this week, I reiterated that I consider myself an enthusiast and not a critic. I go looking for good sandwiches; it’s very rare that I’ll sit down for a sandwich without some sense that it’s going to be good. But I’ve been thinking about that, and I think there’s room for growth.

In my review of the fried chicken sandwich from Flanagan’s Ale House in Kentucky I got into a discussion of how most people experience sandwiches. It is not, I feel safe in saying, very close to how I experience sandwiches. (I’m going to come off like a snob here, but the shoe fits so I’ll wear it.) The numbers, were we to look at them, present a distinctly American portrait that I’m sure you’re all capable of putting together. What I’m driving at is there’s a gap between the kind of sandwich looked for by someone like you or I and the kind of sandwich you average person on their lunch break settles for. They take their five dollars, wander in to their local franchised sandwich joint and walk out, convinced that the pile of iceberg lettuce and few scraps of lunchmeat they’ve been handed are a legitimate sandwich. Maybe all that salt goes to your brain after a while, I don’t know.

So there’s a gap there, between me and them, and I’ve been thinking about how I might cross it. What I’ve come up with is the newest semi-regular feature here at On Sandwiches: Slummin’ It. I’m going to go out and eat a sandwich that I wouldn’t ordinarily even stop to consider, and I’m going to share my thoughts about it with you. I hope I find something to enjoy in these sandwiches, and I hope you find something to enjoy in reading about them.

Slummin’ It: Jack in the Box Bourbon BBQ

Jack in the Box Bourbon BBQ Steak Grilled SandwichPhoto courtesy of flickr user theimpulsivebuy 

I start here because the grilling is a good sign. There are plenty of sandwiches out there that wouldn’t be successful but for the magic of a flat-top, and I suspected that if Jack in the Box understood that they might understand some of the larger, more important issues in sandwich making.

The grilling is the high point, unquestionably. I’m trying not to judge these sandwiches too harshly; while the buttery grilled bread contained neither the nuance nor depth of flavor that you might get in a competent diner, it was buttery and it was grilled. Call it the soft bigotry of low expectations, but I’ll give out points here for reasonable approximations. Beyond the bread, though, the sandwich comes up short, very short. I’m not sure what kind of steak went into this, but it’s tough and whatever flavor is there has disappeared. Where did it go? Well, it went the same place the namesake bourbon bbq sauce went: into the cheese. The downside of the grilling is that the cheese melts to a slimy ocean, and anything that might have been good about the sandwich is lost at sea.

I will say I’m disappointed that this project started with a bad sandwich, but I cannot claim to be surprised. But I intend to continue on, still an enthusiast, but an adventurous one. Here’s hoping I find some sandwiches worth the effort.

“The Big Nasty” — McAlister’s Deli, Cleveland International Airport, Cleveland, OH

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There are many cities in the United States that have a signature sandwich, or claim to. My goal is to one day try them all. For some reason, when I recently had a layover in Cleveland, I was convinced that Cleveland’s claim to sandwich fame was the “Hot Brown.” It wasn’t until I returned home and looked up the history of the Hot Brown for a refresher that I was reminded it is actually Kentucky’s signature sandwich, not Cleveland’s. Nevertheless, I was able to find a type of Hot Brown represented at Cleveland International, and adopted a “when in Rome” attitude toward the endeavor.

A bit of background info on the “Hot Brown”: traditionally, this is an open-faced sandwich with turkey and bacon, covered in a bechamel cheese sauce and broiled until the sauce is browned. Leaving aside the obvious fact that an open-faced sandwich is not a sandwich, the “Big Nasty” on offer at McAlister’s Deli is a Hot Brown in spirit only, similar to how a Twinkie could be viewed as a type of eclair.

“The Big Nasty” is roast beef and cheese piled atop a quartered foot-long baguette, and the diner is presented with a tub of gravy to pour on top, and a knife and fork with which to consume the beast. I could have attempted to assemble the bread quarters into a couple of makeshift “gravy-dip” sandwiches, but that is not what we do here. It is our business to consume menu items as presented, and as intended, be they sandwich or merely masquerading as one. I am pleased to report that, although far from being a sandwich (and looking like a horror show), “The Big Nasty” — as is the case with many truly indulgent foods — tasted miles better than it looked. The baguette was fresh and withstood the dampness of the endeavor, the roast beef was tasty and plentiful, and the gravy was wonderful and tied everything together. Not a sandwich, not a Hot Brown, and not in the correct city, but I feel I made the right choice.

Sausage & Egg – Le Boulanger, Bascom Ave, San Jose, CA

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I popped into Le Boulanger one evening, thinking I would enjoy a quick sandwich before heading on my way. At the counter I simply ordered “the sausage sandwich,” thinking of the turkey & chicken pesto sausage sandwich that I have enjoyed in the past. Apparently that it was dark out wasn’t sufficient context to convey that I wasn’t interested in a breakfast sandwich, and so I received the Sausage & Egg you see above. I didn’t really have time to attempt an exchange so I took what I was given and went to eat.

I’ll cut to the chase: This was a bad sandwich. I don’t write about a lot of the sandwiches that I don’t like, because I prefer On Sandwiches to be a celebration of things we love.  That said, sometimes something just strikes me the wrong way and I can’t let it slide. This wasn’t any good. It goes beyond uninspired. A few scrambled eggs, a breakfast sausage patty, some cheddar cheese. That kind of simplicity is one thing when I’m paying three or four dollars in a deli. But if I’m handing over a ten spot and barely getting enough back to buy a newspaper I expect a little bit more. The eggs were unobjectionable. If pressed to describe the sausage patty the best I might be able to come up with is “It’s a sausage patty.” The cheese quickly took on that oily sheen that makes you wonder why anyone bothers with any cheese, at all, ever. The dutch crunch roll was as good as dutch crunch often is, but it was all wrong. It would have been swell on the sandwich I thought I was ordering, but here it just didn’t fit. Between that and the aim-low-and-we-won’t-have-far-to-fall ambitions, there wasn’t anything redeeming here. A trio of uninspired ingredients somehow came together to be a good deal less than the sum of their parts. Enough. On Sandwiches is a celebration; I am an enthusiast, not a critic. There is no need to dwell here, there are great sandwiches out there, waiting to be eaten.

General Sandwich Discussion – Simply Sandwiches

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Though I would like nothing more than to pretend that this is the only sandwich blog in existence, that is not the case. There are other sandwich enthusiasts at work out there, although truth be told there are not many. The amount of discourse devoted exclusively to sandwiches, and forums for same, is actually fairly small. As such, I do not hesitate in bringing other blogs to your attention.

Simply Sandwiches is just such a blog, a celebration of sandwiches by a gentleman in the New York area. His discussion is frequently more descriptive than philosophical, but that’s a matter of style and not sin. He also covers hamburgers, something we at On Sandwiches have to date avoided, though quite obviously hamburgers are sandwiches. I’d like to call special attention to two things. The first is a post on what he calls “filling creep,” the process familiar to all of us where the middle of our sandwich migrates outwards, sometimes to disastrous effect. He proposes an interesting solution and illustrates it well.

The second thing I would like to note is the “‘Wich Plot.” When asked about a sandwich, I will sometimes offer a passing judgement along the lines of “10 out of 10 concept, 4 out of 10 execution.” What I mean is that a sandwich has aimed high but fallen unfortunately short. Simply Sandwiches has a much more detailed way of examining this issue. From a review of Five Guys:

As you can see, the plot shows where a sandwich stands in Strategy and Execution, presented in a visually pleasing and quickly informative manner. It’s a nice feature from a collection of sandwich celebration and I encourage you to check it out.

Crumb Donut & Ice Cream – Made at Home

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I am something of an active individual. I see much value in the pursuit of physical culture, and so I pursue with great vigor in a variety of ways. I do this both for its own sake and because it allows me certain indulgences in my diet. I earn a great deal in miles traveled and pounds lifted, and what good are things earned if you never cash them in?

And so it was that on a recent summer day I concluded a vigorous bit of cycling with a donut ice cream sandwich.  A donut was procured from a local shop, a pint of ice cream from the convenience store. I took a bit of the ice cream and fashioned a crude patty, which I returned to the freezer to firm up. It doesn’t take much to push me towards including a bit of summer fruit in things, so a nearby white peach was conscripted. The donut was sliced in half, the ice cream came out of the freezer, and I had myself a tremendously rich, creamy, fluffy, tender, aggressively sweet bit of indulgence. It was phenomenal.

When I decided that yes, I really was going to cut a donut in half and add some ice cream, I felt as if I might be transgressing the bounds of good sense. Adding the fruit only compounded that feeling, and I as I raised the sandwich to my mouth I felt for sure that I had gone too far. But in eating it my mind began to open to the possibilities.  A chocolate donut, for example, encrusted with lightly crushed graham crackers and holding a bit of marshmallow flavored ice cream would be a tremendous take on the s’more. The whole thing might be dipped in chocolate, leaving a shell to be devoured in concert with the decadence inside. Cracked nuts, macerated fruits, peanuts buttered…with each bite my mind reeled farther and farther away from what I was eating, creating ever more outlandish donut ice cream sandwiches.

This sandwich was otherworldly in its goodness. And, despite my initial thought that this was over the line, I now see that there are worlds beyond worlds, sandwiches of almost incomprehensible indulgence. But some doors are better left unopened. I cut a donut in half, added ice cream and fresh peaches, and I ate it. I believe I will strain my ear to catch the last echo of my good sense and hurry off after it.

Pizza Steak – Mick’s Sub Shop, Lindley Ave., Encino, CA

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Many times, when at a new establishment with an eye toward a sandwich to review, one must opt for the road less traveled. One cannot always expect a sandwich counter to offer anything beyond “Roast Beef Sandwich” or “Turkey Sandwich” or “Cold Cut Combo.” Thus, while scanning the board at Mick’s Sub Shop, the words “Pizza Steak” jumped out at me and I was forced to inquire. I was informed that the sandwich consisted of “steak,” grilled onions, pizza sauce, and mozzarella. Intrigued by what sounded like a beef parmigiana sandwich, I placed my order.

The end result was, perhaps, less than it could have been. But it could also have been much, much worse. The first notable aspect of the sandwich was that the large was cut into thirds, an anomaly if there ever was one. The grilled onions were hardly more than warmed, and if they were properly browned and caramelized, I feel it would have contributed a great deal toward making this a better sandwich.

As I elaborated in last week’s post, too often is sliced roast beef presented as “steak,” but in the case of presented a sandwich called “pizza steak,” one can forgive the euphemism. This was a greasy and strange sandwich, although not actively bad. I cannot in good conscience recommend the item, but I will say this: the third of the sandwich that I took home with me was immensely better two days later, eaten cold out of the refrigerator, than the two thirds I consumed fresh and hot inside Mick’s.

Tortas Milanesa – Adelita’s Taqueria & Mexico Bakery No 2, San Jose, CA

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The torta milanesa at Adelita's Taqueria in San Jose

Mexican food doesn’t get a tremendous amount of respect. Whether or not it gets the respect it deserves is a matter for another site, I suppose. Something about its ubiquity and its ability to remain tasty while suffering in quality, though, has led to it assuming a place in American cuisine where nobody is expecting much. I think that’s too bad. I eat a fair number of tortas, probably more than any other particular type of sandwich, and I’m hoping that one of these days one of them is going to really knock my socks off. What I have long suspected is that there is a sandwich out there that is as transcendent an experience as the bánh mì at Saigon Bánh Mì. That there is a torta out there that is genuinely sublime, something that when I find it will forever influence my greater sandwich worldview. I had a great, great sandwich at Los Reyes de la Torta, but the very fact that I’m writing this suggests that it didn’t have quite the impact that it could have. You might be wondering what makes me so certain that sandwich is out there, and I’ll admit that for a while it was just an idle thought, something I would consider from time to time but never really embraced. But when I sat down to eat the Torta Milanesa from Adelita’s Taqueria, I knew my search had begun in earnest.

It isn’t a particularly great sandwich. It’s an above average torta, better than La Victoria, but not as good as Los Reyes. What jumped out at me here, though, was the milanesa. The milanesa, cousin to the Italian cotoletta and the German schnitzel, is a thin slice of beef spiced, dipped in egg, dredged in breadcrumbs and shallow fried. That last step was the downfall of this particular torta, as the milanesa had been fried well before it ended up on my sandwich. By the time it got to me the coating was a bit damp and well detached from the beef in places.  In spite of that the beef was tender and the whole thing hinted at what could have been. A crunchy coating on a tender piece of beef, creamy avocado, just the right salsa…it could have been something really special, had it been well executed. I finished the sandwich a bit disappointed, but now certain that there is a torta out there, a transcendent torta just waiting for me. So I went looking elsewhere.

The torta milanesa from Mexico Bakery No 2
My first thought was to try Mexico Bakery No 2, the downtown location of the place that serves what might be the best torta in the south bay. My previous experience with them was downright delicious, a chorizo torta that was that wonderful kind of greasy. If anyone had mastered the milanesa, I figured, it had to be them.


The torta milanesa from Mexico Bakery is considerably more elaborate than the one from Adelita’s. Where Adelita’s brought simple lettuce / tomato / avocado accompaniments, Mexico Bakery provides those things plus a couple slices of soft cheese and a healthy dose of pickled jalapeños. It’s very different than the sandwich at Adelita’s, and very good. They had a bit of a heavy hand with the jalapeños, but a small adjustment evened things out. When consuming the second half of the sandwich I swapped out about half the jalapeños and put in their place a good dose of tomatillo salsa, and that really made things sing. This was a very good sandwich, but ultimately it is not the end of my search. It suffered from the same thing that derailed the earlier torta, namely that the milanesa itself was not freshly fried. Fresher than Adelita’s, but not cripsy or showing any other hallmarks of the genuinely fresh. If it isn’t fresh, there isn’t a whole lot that can save it. It speaks to the quality of Mexico Bakery that the sandwich was so good in spite of that, but ultimately fried food on a sandwich is pass/fail. This sandwich didn’t pass.

So the search continues. There’s a torta milanesa out there, one that’s really, really good. One day I’m going to find it, and on that day I’m going to eat it.

Sandwich Discussion – Scanwiches

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Scanwiches is a website run by one or more sandwich enthusiasts. There’s no discussion to speak of, only a presentation of each sandwich in a full frontal sort of view, presumably achieved by taking half of a sandwich and pressing it up against the glass of a scanner. I could do with more information about each sandwich, but as eye candy and occasional inspiration it does the trick. There is to be a book published later this year, a collection of scanned sandwiches, and to promote this book the website had a “fanwiches” contest, inviting readers to submit their own scanned sandwiches. The wining sandwich looked powerfully intriguing, and I would relish the opportunity to try it. Some of the sandwiches deemed runners up, though, left me a bit puzzled.

This is the “New Orleans Surf ‘n Turf Po’Boy,” a monstrosity of fried oysters, fried green tomatoes, potato chips, bacon, lettuce, caramelized onions, andouille sausage and a Cajun remoulade on a baguette. The longer I look at this the more ridiculous it gets. I suspect some manner of trickery was needed to get it to scan, and further that no amount of voodoo would render this tower of quasi-related ingredients edible. It’s too much, much too much. If you could get your hands around it you’d quickly find them full of oysters and sausage and chips as one ingredient after another shot out the sides. The baguette is a fine bit of bread but it’s entirely wrong for something like this, any pressure you apply to get through that crust is going to send the rest of the sandwich scattering. This is less a sandwich, an associate of mine remarked, and more some unholy salad. I couldn’t agree more. But the questionable judgement on display here pales in comparison to the howling errors made in a post a few days following the above.


That’s a lobster roll, and a lobster roll is not a sandwich. Shady entrepreneurs make this mistake in the name of profit, and ignorant children do so because they do not know any better, but I have no idea what excuse the people at Scanwiches have.