Tag Archives: Beef

“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.

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.

Classic Philly Cheese Steak – Cheese Steak Shop, E Santa Clara St, San Jose, CA

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The Classic Philly Cheese Steak from Cheese Steak Shop, a Bay Area chain

Some time ago, I dined on a po’ boy and considered the role of the outpost. If a sandwich is attempting to represent an entire region, I reasoned, being univentive is no great crime. And the folks at the Cheese Steak Shop make it very clear that their sandwich is intended to be just what you might get in Philadelphia. A Bay Area chain, they really stress the authenticity of their food. They go to some lengths in this pursuit, importing the rolls and peppers from Philadelphia. I do not wish to sully sandwich discussion with my own personal thoughts about America’s varied cities, but it seems to me that this kind of misguided but strong provincialism seems exactly Philadelphian. Think about the fact that the rolls are shipped across the country. The roll, while serviceable, was unspectacular. Surely there is a Bay Area bakery capable of producing an acceptable hoagie roll. Sourced locally, it would be bright and fresh when it gets to me. What makes this roll so special? Why is it good? I can imagine the reply: Because it’s from Philadelphia. If aiming to convince me of your quality, this is ultimately a losing strategy. If you’re only going to put one thing on your resume, make it something other than your address.

Enough. The sandwich hit the spot on a rainy Saturday. I enjoyed it. But something about it was bothered me, and it wasn’t until I was back out on the street that I figured it out. The Cheese Steak Shop understands what a Philly Cheese Steak is: Beef loin is minced beyond recognition, piled in with provolone, onions, and hot & sweet peppers. Grease dripped out as I lifted the sandwich, and the cheese was, at times, a bit much. That is not a complaint, those are hallmarks of the Philly Cheese Steak. In fact, what I came to realize is that it isn’t that the sandwich is needlessly authentic, it’s that it isn’t authentic enough.

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.

#38 – Press 195, Bell Boulevard, Bayside, NY

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The #38 at Press 195, in Bayside, NY
(Click for a grainy closeup)

Everything you need to know is right in the name. 195 is the street number of the original Brooklyn location, but it’s the other bit that interests me. Press is so named due to the centerpiece and vast majority of the menu being pressed sandwiches. Indeed, sandwiches get top billing with the restaurant;the bar offerings follow second. Press has a fine beer list, and in terms of non-sandwich items their Belgian fries really are outstanding, but personally I wouldn’t give a tenth of a fig if the sandwiches weren’t good. Well friends, I am happy to say that they are more than good. Press has forty hot sandwiches on offer, plus another half-dozen cold ones. The cold come on toasted Italian bread, while the hot come on an outstanding ciabatta bread. It’s got a wonderful crunch to it and yields perfectly to whatever it holds. With forty sandwiches some are bound to be better than others, but I’ve never had one that disappoints. The #38 was no exception. Grilled steak, avocado, sweet onion jam and fresh mozzarella all with a roasted pepper dressing all came together wonderfully. They have a light hand with the dressing, the onion jam doesn’t get lost, the whole thing is just a great sandwich. I’ve had a number of sandwiches recently about which I have nothing even remotely profound to say, so I won’t try. I’d simply like to present them here, share them with you, and together we can appreciate the finer parts of the sandwich world.

The Piaf – Klein’s Deli, San Francisco Airport, San Francisco, CA

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"The Piaf" sandwich from Klein's Deli. Features roast beef, cream cheese, horseradish, dill pickle, and tomatoes on light rye. One’s options for food in airports might charitably be called “woeful.” Fast food, overpriced, overcooked hamburgers in pseudo-sportsbars, it just isn’t a friendly scene for your average sandwich enthusiast. I was surprised, then, to happen upon Klein’s Deli. Formerly a standby in the Portero Hill section of San Francisco, Klein’s has apparently taken up residence in two locations inside San Francisco airport. With their roster of sandwiches named after notable women of the 20th century, I thought I might finally happen upon a good airport sandwich. I ordered the Piaf, the legendary singer transmogrified into roast beef, cream cheese, horseradish, dill pickle and tomatoes on light rye. There will come a day when I bring you a report of an amazing airport sandwich. That is not today. The Piaf is a decent sandwich. It’s a fine concept; roast beef, cream cheese and horseradish would nicely compliment each other if deployed in the right proportion. That’s the issue, though, isn’t it? Cream cheese isn’t bold in flavor but it is perfectly capable of drowning out other notes, and there simply wasn’t enough horseradish here to stand up to it. The few thin slices of pickles also weren’t up to the task at hand. This could have been a really great sandwich, in a perfect world you’d see tender, in-house roasted beef, and enough horseradish to let you know it was there. But this isn’t a perfect world, and the sandwich I got, while tasty enough, just wasn’t that great.

The so-called “Italian Beef Beer Bread” – Four Peaks Brewery, E 8th St, Tempe, AZ

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The so-called "Italian Beer Bread" at Four Peaks Brewery, Tempe, AZ

A wrap masquerading as a sandwich. Sickening.

This is, sadly, familiar territory. This is the listing from the Four Peaks Brewery menu: “Lean roast beef with sautéed red onion, green peppers, mushrooms mozzarella and garlic honey mayo rolled in our fresh baked beer bread.” I cannot tell you how disappointed I was when the above was brought to my table.

I am left wondering who is to blame. It was only in going back and preparing to write this post that I actually noticed those words. “Rolled in.” In the poor lighting of the outdoor patio, and in my haste, I missed the crucial words that would have tipped me off to the fact that I was going to be served a wrap, and not a sandwich. Is my disappointment solely my fault? The heading for this section of the menu is “Alehouse Sandwiches.” Was it unreasonable of me to assume that any and all items under that listing would be sandwiches? When one considers beer bread, a tortilla hardly comes to mind. And that is what troubles me, friends. What can be excused by carelessness and unwarranted assumptions on my part can only be explained by callous disregard on the part of whoever decided to call this a sandwich. This is a wrap. I know that a lot of things have changed over the years, and words do not always mean what they once did, but a sandwich is not a wrap. It is not now, and it has never been. But someone at Four Peaks Brewery is either unaware of this or simply does not care. I made a mistake in not reading the menu closer, I’ll admit to that much. But I did not make the mistake repeatedly, day in and day out. I did not serve a customer expecting a sandwich piled on hearty beer bread a bit of limp flat bread. I try to give restaurants the benefit of the doubt, I don’t grill the waitstaff about the construction of their sandwiches. I will take responsibility for not ferreting out the fact that someone with such disrespect for sandwiches designed the menu at Four Peaks Brewery, but the responsibility for so abusing my trust lies entirely with the establishment.

In the end, I hope this will exist as a cautionary tale. Read your menus carefully. There are those out there who, through ignorance or recklessness, will try to serve you a wrap and call it a sandwich.

Chopped Beef Torta – Los Reyes de la Torta, N 7th St, Phoenix, AZ

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Picture in your head a restaurant called “Frank’s Eats.” Across the street, picture “Le Bistro.” Without any further information, you already know a lot about each of these establishments. You already know quite a few of the things on each menu, you know how the lighting will differ, and you can probably guess how likely you are to leave each establishment with heartburn. My point here is that the name of a restaurant says a lot. While in Phoenix not too long ago I was looking for a place to grab a sandwich and came upon the listing for Los Reyes de la Torta. The Torta Kings. This wasn’t a signal of the menu or the cleanliness, this was a signal of attitude. This was a restaurant founded by two or more individuals with such faith in the quality of their food that from day one they announced themselves as the reigning sandwich sovereigns of Phoenix. This is, to say the least, a bold claim.

While I have not eaten every torta in Phoenix there was nothing at Los Reyes de la Torta to lead me to believe they were not all that they claimed to be. The chopped beef torta was piled high with grilled steak, cheese, onion, tomato, jalapenos and avocado. The flavors produced a fine harmony, and a wide, soft telera kept everything under control. I admire the kind of people who run Los Reyes de la Torta. They do something, they do it very well, and they aren’t afraid to let you know about it.

Steak Sandwich – Original Hamburger Works, North 15th Avenue Phoenix, AZ

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Steak Sandwich at Original Hamburger Works, Phoenix, AZ

When I ordered the steak sandwich at the Original Hamburger Works, I was asked how I wanted the steak cooked. I was a bit surprised at this, as a steak sandwich is usually a cheap cut that has been minced beyond recognition, so never mind how you’d like it cooked. I figured aiming for rare was my best bet, as it was likely to be overdone no matter what. However, the fact that it was in fact a full piece of meat turned out to be one of the least interesting things about this sandwich.

The sandwich you see above is exactly the sandwich I received. There is nothing hiding under the bun, no grilled onions, no cheese, no aoli or salad greens, just a steak. It would be easy to be upset about this, to deride the lack of artistry, the withered imagination that puts forth the absolute minimum required to make a sandwich and ceases all effort. It would be easy, but it is not what I did. I sat there and I ate my steak sandwich and I wondered what it was like to eat sandwiches 150 years ago, to know them in such simple forms and only in such simple forms. It must have really been something, and I am grateful this incredibly basic sandwich gave me a small window into that very different time.

Beef on Weck – All Star Sandwich Bar, Cambridge St, Cambridge, MA

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The Beef on Weck at All Star Sandwich Bar

A cousin to the french dip in spirit but not in provenance, the Beef on Weck is a favorite of western New York and generally isn’t found outside of the Northeast. It contains only one ingredient: Slow roasted beef. What distinguishes it from the ordinary roast beef sandwich is the kimmelwick roll, topped with caraway seeds and kosher salt. What distinguishes this specific sandwich from others is that All Star Sandwich bar roasts their beef in-house. The beef on the sandwich is hot, juicy and tender and it really raises the sandwich to another level. This is a good thing, as there are no other ingredients to hide behind, no cheese to mask the taste, nothing to salvage sub-par execution. It is served with au jus and authentic horseradish, not the miserable creamed stuff. The All-Star Sandwich bar walks a tight rope with their Beef on Weck but manages a stellar routine.

Tri-Tip Sandwich – Happy Hollow Market, Senter Rd, San Jose, CA

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tri-tip

When you see Happy Hollow Market from the road you are presented with some information and invited to make assumptions. A hand-painted sign on the slanted roof informs of the name of the establishment and some of the things they sell. There are things you expect from a market, such as beer, snacks and cigarettes at state minimum. The sign also informs you that they sell BBQ and Ribs. This is where you make your assumptions. The assumption I chose to make was that any BBQ sold from the inside of a mini mart was either very, very good, or very very bad. Figuring that most BBQ joints sell some manner of sandwich I decided to try my luck.

The market portion of Happy Hollow Market is exactly what you would expect. Tucked into the corner is a separate counter, behind which sit two men and a large oven. I ordered the tri-tip sandwich, one of the men took my money and the other took a large bun and piled on meat from a warming tray. It was wrapped in foil and I took it outside to one of the small tables.

Luck was not on my side. “Leathery” is not generally a quality I seek out in food and it was by far the dominant quality of this sandwich. Good BBQ has ‘bark,’ a flavorful crust that perfectly compliments the tender meat. The bark in this sandwich was comparable to beef jerky, though the comparison would be less than favorable. The meat itself was tough and dry. The best that could be said about the sauce was that it was not bland, but it was nearly all pepper and no smoke. I have a fondness for dives and holes-in-the-wall, but each one is a gamble. I am sad to say, dear reader, that this time I lost.