Tag Archives: Chicken

Garlic Chicken Press Sandwich – Tanya’s Lunchbox, Glendale Ave., Glendale, CA

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It's pretty unexceptional.Tanya’s Lunchbox is a new, unassuming little storefront, touting itself on its “kebabs, falafel, sandwiches, and salads.” I can’t speak to the other three options, but the sandwich I selected left me underwhelmed.

Granted, their sandwich selection was less than half a dozen options, nothing dazzling or avant-garde, which is perfectly acceptable if you’re starting something up and not attempting to put on any airs. “Don’t reach beyond your means” is a fine lesson for any new business. Certainly they cannot be faulted for this. I asked for a recommendation, and the attendant behind the counter suggested the Garlic Chicken pressed sandwich. The sandwich is chicken, lettuce, tomato, and garlic spread on a pressed, grilled roll.

The sandwich was fine, but its shortcoming was its blandness, its ordinariness. Let this not be confused with my earlier comment about putting on airs. There is a great difference between flaunting a fancy-pants sandwich that you can’t back up or doesn’t appeal to the average person, and presenting a humdrum, bland, dry sandwich that could be improved with minimal effort. The “garlic spread” was just that: garlic paste, spread along the length of the sandwich. It turned the sandwich into a dry, grueling affair that honestly made one feel was “too garlicky,” a phrase seldom used in our circles. Some sort of garlic mayo, garlic aioli, or garlic pesto would have been preferred here, anything to give the sandwich some creaminess or break from the monotony. Similarly, a bit of red onion for snap, a hint of dijon mustard, a strip or two of red pepper…any number of slight changes that would make the sandwich come alive, but still not turn away any potential customer with a finicky palate.

The sandwich was not terrible, but it was boring. A sandwich should not be a chore, but a reward.

Chicken Parmigiana Hero – Shackleton’s, Hempstead Tpk, Franklin Square, NY

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Shackleton’s is a fairly standard pub, in an unspectacular part of Long Island. The menu features nothing that demands to be sampled, and while there’s a tasty beer or two, the selection is less than superb. And, as you might expect from that kind of establishment, the sandwich was, well, tasty enough. It was fried fresh, which is a pass/fail sort of quality, the sauce was fine. The only real downside is that the bread, billed as a garlic hero, doesn’t really carry much garlic flavor. It’s there, somewhere, but as someone who likes a heavy dose of garlic, I was disappointed. There wasn’t too much cheese. Like I said, it was tasty enough.

But let us consider this for a moment, the idea of good enough. This, I think, is one of the more wonderful things about sandwiches: most of them are pretty good. They aren’t hard to make, there are a substantial number of established classic forms you can work with, and in the end you’re more likely to get a good result than a bad one. It’s the best of all things. A hot dog is easy to make, but there isn’t much going on. A full meal can be delicious, but there’s a good amount of work involved. A sandwich, though, is a simple route to fine things. Thanks to the sandwich, I could enter a fairly ordinary bar on an ugly stretch of road and know that I was probably going to come away satisfied. “Most sandwiches are good” might seem like a tepid, pedestrian sort of insight, but think about it. I ate a sandwich today. I went in knowing that my life was probably going to be a bit better off for having eaten it, and I was right. I put it to you that that is no small thing, and that sandwiches can bring us these things is something for which we should be very grateful.

The Rip Taylor – Hamilton’s Tavern, 30th St, San Diego, CA

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The "Rip Taylor" grilled cheese sandwich at Hamilton's Tavern in San Deigo, CA

The menu at Hamilton’s boasts a fair number of grilled cheese sandwiches, a number of which look tasty. Only one, though, contains a note. Beneath the description of the Rip Taylor (slow roasted pulled chicken, pesto, red onion, tomato and provalone) is the following: “Don’t be surprised if you win $1.98 and get showered with confetti upon ordering.” Unable to resist, I ordered the Rip Taylor. Well, I received no monetary reward and the celebration of my order was minimal, but I did get a damn fine sandwich. The nicest thing here, and this is exceedingly rare for obvious reasons, was that the emphasis in this grilled cheese was on the chicken rather than the cheese. (If you click through the above photo, you can see the emphasis for yourself.) If a purist wanted to castigate this sandwich for betraying the spirit of a grilled cheese, I wouldn’t put up much of an argument. But I’m no great fan of cheese and so I was quite pleased with the sandwich. The chicken was tender and juicy, the red onion a welcome spice. It could have used more pesto, but anything lacking in this sandwich was covered by the bread. The sandwich came on rosemary sourdough, buttered and grilled. It was outstanding. Strong rosemary flavor and a strong buttery crunch to match. A grilled cheese sandwich can easily go wrong, but I’m happy to say that by underplaying the lead, Hamilton’s has pulled off an outstanding example of the genre.

BBQ Chicken – Bellissimo Cafe, Colorado Blvd., Los Angeles

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Just a sad, sad, sandwich.Occasionally, ordering a sandwich from an unorthodox establishment provides a lovely surprise. Unfortunately, the “lovely surprise” is the exception rather than the rule. Cafe Bellissimo is a brand-new establishment in the Eagle Rock neighborhood of Los Angeles; a curious amalgamation of “light Italian fare” and an array of salads, with a prominent pastry counter on display. I ducked into this “cafe” to see whether they had sandwiches on offer, and indeed they did. Of the few selections, I opted for the BBQ Chicken on the counter attendant’s advice.

When a sandwich calls itself a “BBQ Chicken” sandwich, there are two possibilities as to what you will receive: either a flame-grilled, honestly-barbecued piece of chicken on a hearty roll, or a chicken breast slathered in BBQ sauce obtained, one can only imagine, from a squeeze bottle. There is no middle ground. Since this cafe was a tiny storefront with no discernible kitchen, that should have been my first hint as to which option I would receive. I was instructed to choose my own bread and cheese, which in a non-deli, non-Subway environment, is the first clue that you’re about to have a less-than-spectacular sandwich. My fears were realized when I unwrapped the sandwich. The bread seemed slightly stale. The chicken was indeed bathed in a substandard BBQ sauce. The tomato was unyielding, but not as tough as the chicken, which had the texture of meat that has been pre-cooked and microwaved back to a reasonable temperature.

The Bellissimo Cafe has an extremely friendly staff and wonderful pastries, and I assume their bread and butter (as it were) is with their Italian fare and salads. Unfortunately, their sandwich selection is lacking on many levels. If they insist on offering sandwiches (as it appears they feel compelled to do so), they should play to their strengths and acknowledge their weaknesses. Just because your establishment can serve sandwiches does not mean that it necessarily should.

Old Fashion Chicken Salad Sandwich, The Oinkster, Colorado Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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Chicken Salad sandwich from the Oinkster. A chicken salad sandwich sliced into two triangles, piled with nearly equal portions of chicken salad and pickles.The Oinkster is an eatery of moderate fame in the north end of Los Angeles proper, in the Eagle Rock area. It is famous for its pastrami sandwiches and its peanut butter-and-jelly cupcakes. I have a particular affinity for neither of these items. I visit The Oinkster frequently, but my “regular” item of purchase is their pulled-pork sandwich, which my esteemed colleague has written about, at length, but which I find more than agreeable.

I felt that my first foray for On Sandwiches should not be a well-traveled road, so I selected the “Old Fashion” Chicken Salad Sandwich. Chicken salad is a very interesting sandwich star: underrepresented, little thought-of (at least on the West Coast, and among those under 40), and potentially pleasing under ideal conditions and when in a particular mood. In my mind, chicken salad has two defining characteristics: the first is that it is the classier older brother of tuna salad; the second is that it is the very definition of the “Oh, ______ sounds good” menu item. An item you see on a menu that you hadn’t considered before sitting down, but darn if that doesn’t sound tasty on a fine Spring afternoon.

So it was with the thought of giving time to the neglected Chicken Salad that I ordered. As is customary for On Sandwiches, I ordered the item as presented on the menu. The only item that gave me pause was the inclusion of pickles. I am traditionally averse to pickles, but pressed ahead, eager to file my first column. My eagerness turned to dread when confronted with the sandwich itself, which, as you can see in the above photo, was fairly inundated with pickle.

In the interest of full disclosure, I must relay the following information: on the menu board at The Oinkster, the ingredients were listed as follows: “pulled roast chicken, housemade (bread and butter pickle), mayonnaise, tomato and onion on focaccia bread.” I had never before encountered the term “bread-and-butter pickle,” so the wording of the sandwich ingredients was beyond baffling to me, particularly when the placement of parentheses were considered. What was housemade? The pulled roast chicken? The bread? Some sort of “butter pickle?” Perhaps it’s my West Coast location, perhaps my picky eating as a child, or maybe due to my unfamiliarity with pickled cucumbers and their briny ilk, but the term had passed me by. All I knew was that it was a chicken salad sandwich, and pickles were involved.

I hefted the sandwich and took a bite, expecting an overwhelming burst of briny, acidic pickle dwarfing everything else. It was at this moment I learned that “bread-and-butter” pickles are sweet, rather than the salty tang of your standard dill. And this element, ladies and gentlemen, is truly what made the entire sandwich sing. I can only imagine how my eyes must have lit up upon that first bite. What an experience! The creamy, savory chicken salad was the yin to the sweet pickles’ yang. Joining the two as a splendid accent was the crisp bite of the onion, which was administered with skilled hand in just the perfect amount. The focaccia bread was, in a word, the perfect vessel, a spectacular firmness without being hard or crunchy, and without soaking up the moistness of the components within. If there was a fault to be found with this sandwich, it was the inclusion of tomato, which truly added nothing to the experience. It has been written about on this blog before, but it has come to the point that the watery fruit is, more often than not, added to a sandwich out of a perceived necessity than paying attention to the needs of the individual sandwich. “Making a sandwich, eh?” the unwashed masses must say to one another, “Better make sure you throw some tomato on there.”

I can scarcely remember a time I have so enjoyed a new sandwich. This experience serves as an excellent reminder to not only myself, but to all of us, that you never know which run-of-the-mill sandwich base  may allow an architect to create something around it that will truly knock your socks off.

Elvis Keith – Ike’s Place, Market St, San Francisco, CA

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The Elvis Keith sandwich at Ike's Place in San Francisco

Ike’s Place is a sandwich shop. Plenty of establishments serve sandwiches. In finer dining they can be an afterthought, in something like a bistro they can occupy a respectable portion of the menu, and in something like a deli they can be the only option. The deli is the closest cousin to the sandwich shop, but they differ in attitude. I do not mean to malign the institution of the deli, but many of them present the sandwich as something you might as well eat. There can be a fine selection of breads and meats, but leaving the emphasis on the standard set of options and the interchangeability of ingredients seems misplaced to me. This is not the case at a sandwich shop. Where a deli might list a handful of specials, Ike’s has over 50 named, specific sandwiches on the menu. Where a deli has an obligatory veggie option, Ike’s has a full 20 vegan options and over 30 vegetarian sandwiches.

What I see in this celebration of sandwiches is the realization of a dream. I see years and years of a man making sandwich after sandwich, exploring seemingly contradictory, seeing how he can take a good flavor to great, how far he can push great before it falls apart. Sandwiches at Ike’s come with his Dirty Sauce standard; this is a man who has done the legwork in making amazing things and now wants to share them with the world. And the world is happy to share in those sandwiches: Having arrived in only 2007 Ike’s is in 3 locations currently and will soon add another 3. Their sandwiches are widely praised by both press and public.

When I see a place like Ike’s, where I detect a long road of love culminating in a realized dream, I look at the first listed special. In that sandwich one often finds the favorite child: The sandwich loved longest, made most often, the sandwich in which someone’s dream begins to take form. It was with that in mind that I ordered the Elvis Keith, and it was there that I grew unsettled.

The Elvis Keith proceeds along a fairly predictable but likely satisfying path: Chicken breast, a fine base if ever the was one, teriyaki sauce, a strong sweetness, and wasabi mayo, reigning the sweetness back in. Were it to stop there, you would have a fine balanced sandwich, albeit a simple one. But there is one more ingredient: Swiss cheese. I was wary, but trusting. I ordered the sandwich and retired to a nearby park. The sandwich was good. It could have used more wasabi, but that might just be a matter of taste. All in all it was the simple, balanced sandwich I had suspected it could be, sweet and savory. What struck me is that the cheese was completely lost, obliterated by the teriyaki, unnoticeable. So if it was totally absent in flavor, what was it doing there?

Of the over 100 sandwiches listed on the menu, only three are genuinely free of cheese, two of which are more-or-less the same sandwich. (One has meatballs, the other vegan meatballs.) The third is the Unoriginal, apparently so named because it is nothing but meat on bread. Think about that; whether these sandwiches are all the design of Ike or some process of committee or community, essentially only two are deemed appropriate without cheese. That…I can think of no word for it other than lunacy. It is lunacy. The first conclusion is that a person or persons who love sandwiches has reasonably concluded that less than 3% of the sandwiches in their life should be served without cheese. I refuse to believe that. I simply reject it outright. Ike’s shows a blatant love of sandwiches, a respect and an understanding, and I cannot accept that with that kind of obvious passion comes such a stunning ignorance as to throw cheese onto every damn sandwich they see. I am not unequivocally opposed, I have said in the past that with a skilled hand cheese has its place. But that place cannot be everywhere.

So if it is not madness, it is mandatory. I don’t know exactly when it was established that a sandwich included cheese, but it seems to be the accepted standard. But enough is enough. I am not even suggesting that the default be thrown the other way, to making every sandwich without cheese. I’m just asking that together we take each sandwich as an individual, and ask ourselves whether cheese is needed. Whether you’re making yourself a quick lunch or you own a shop with 100 sandwiches on the menu, we can all take a moment to ask that question. Ask it, and it is in a fair and honest answer that we will find our way to better sandwiches.

Chicken Mama Mia – Crosby Connection, Bleeker St, New York, NY

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The Chicken Mama Mia sandwich at Crosby Connection, New York City
Click for grainy close-up

When I first encountered the Crosby Sandwich Connection a few years ago, they were operating out of what appeared to be a large closet on Crosby Street. I mean that literally, the man who works the counter stood in a doorway while someone behind him put the sandwiches together, I’d be surprised if the place had a footprint of event sixty square feet. The cramped quarters didn’t put the squeeze on their sandwich making abilities, though, and during my time in New York they quickly became my first choice for lunch. Since then they’ve been at a few addresses, but now appear settled at 45 Bleeker, in the lobby of the Bleeker Street Theater. Location, of course, is always secondary to the sandwich, and Crosby Connection makes a fine sandwich. The Chicken Mama Mia is sliced chicken breast, fresh mozzarella, tomato basil sauce and ricotta cheese. The ricotta is really want makes things work, providing a slightly salty, creamy counternote to the sweetness of the tomato sauce. You’ll need a couple napkins, things slide around a bit, but it’s well worth the mess. Crosby Connection has about a dozen sandwiches on their menu, and I’d say they’re all worth your time.

Southern Fried Chicken Sandwich – Flanagan’s Ale House, Baxter Ave Louisville, KY

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Recently I was discussing sandwiches with a fellow enthusiast, and the conversation turned to what might be the worst possible sandwich. We both flexed our imaginations and plumbed the depths of our worst nightmares, coming up with a number of horrors. He suggested that the worst possible sandwich was some unholy combination involving white bread, bologna, individually wrapped slices of cheese (or possibly cheeze) and, if you can believe it, ranch dressing, ketchup, and yellow mustard. My position, though, was that when considering the worst sandwich while it might be fun to consider the worst possible sandwich, what is truly ghastly is to consider the worst sandwich that actually exists. While I’m not sure exactly what that sandwich is, I know that a strong argument can be made that it is currently sitting under a heat lamp.

As discerning sandwich consumers, I think we sometimes forget they exist. I think we get so lost in our own world that we forget that millions of times every day, for millions of people, a sandwich is ordered by number and comes wrapped in paper. Let me give you a specific example: I once found myself in a Jack in the Box near a cattle ranch in Coalinga, California. As is fitting in such a location, I was…I was in a bad way. And so I found myself sitting at a table, suffering the competing waves of screeching children being shouted down, staring at what the teenager behind the counter had called a Fish Sandwich.

The Fish Sandwich. A bun, roughly comparable to cotton in both taste and texture. A lonely leaf of iceberg lettuce. An inappropriate amount of mayonnaise. And finally, in the starring role, a piece of fish so thin you’d think it had been taken from an honest fillet with a woodworker’s plane. With a ratio of breading to fish of at least 3:1, this little pile just wasn’t worthy of the title sandwich.

But what does all of that have to do with the above? The Jack in the Box Chicken Sandwich might be the lowest of the low, but the high-end of that scale isn’t far off. Many people enjoy a particular brand of fast food sandwich, and I don’t mean to begrudge them that enjoyment. Chick-Fil-A, for example, has inspired fanaticism in fans of their simple chicken sandwiches. But even the best fast food sandwiches can barely be considered pedestrian. Take a moment to consider the above, and you see how easily such a thing is bested with a little effort. There’s nothing fancy about the fried chicken sandwich from Flangan’s Ale House. A chicken breast, breaded and freshly fried. A bit of lettuce, tomato, and onion, and the signature touch of pickles. Nothing fancy, but all of it well executed. And that, my friends, is the ultimate indictment of Jack and his ilk. You can forgive someone who aims high and falls short. It is easy to imagine someone without the means to do their best. But to see someone with such means and opportunity aim so low is truly despicable. The margin between simply being the best of a bad lot and being legitimately good is not so wide, and it is a shame more large-scale establishments do not try harder at crossing. Thankfully, we have establishments like Flanagan’s Ale House. There I found a fine sandwich, freshly fried, well seasoned, and tasty as could be.

The Jimmy T – Lenny’s, 9th St, New York, NY

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The Jimmy T at Lenny's, New York, NY

Lenny’s is a sandwich chain in New York city, currently operating over a dozen restaurants. Each one is more-or-less the same in layout and design. There’s nothing particularly charming about Lenny’s. You won’t come away with a story for your friends. You won’t feel compelled to spread the word about Lenny’s and you won’t feel you have to hold it as a personal secret. It’s a chain, someone takes your order, assembles your sandwich and passes it off to the person you pay. Eating at Lenny’s would never be considered an experience. But none of that matters because Lenny’s does something very well and it is the most important thing, the thing that many other chains lose in their constant expansion: Lenny’s makes a very good sandwich.

The Jimmy T, high on the list of Lenny’s signature sandwiches, is a breaded chicken cutlet, melted mozzarella cheese, grilled onions, sweet peppers and honey mustard on your choice of bread. It’s a fine sandwich. The grilled onions and the peppers are the featured ingredients and the mustard is just enough to keep the sweetness from getting out of hand. I do not mean to sell the sandwich short but what is especially notable isn’t that it’s good it’s that you can get it at a substantial number of locations. At far too many chain sandwich shops any chucklehead with $5 is served a pile of salt between two pieces of bread. It is nice to know that at least in certain places there are people who don’t think that availability is a substitute for edibility.

Grilled Chicken Ciabatta – Monterey Coast Brewing Company – Main St, Salinas, CA

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In the same way that you can find the measure of a chef in their omelette the measure of a restaurant can often be found in their grilled chicken. On many menus it is an afterthought, a slapped together kaiser roll, a few pieces of limp lettuce, a mushy tomato and a dry chicken breast. At the other end it can be spectacular with unique sauces, fresh or off-beat vegetable partners and moist chicken. The version presented by the Monterey Coast Brewing Company is a bit pedestrian but well executed. The real standout was the ciabatta roll, soft baked and with plenty of rosemary flavor. A hard crust on the bread would have brought the sandwich down, as the healthy helping of pesto rendered the chicken a bit unstable. The soft crust was a nice compliment then, perhaps showing a bit of thought behind a fine example of the grilled chicken sandwich.