Tag Archives: Los Angeles

The Hodge-Podge — Dave’s Chillin’ & Grillin’, Colorado Blvd., Los Angeles

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I have written about Dave’s Chillin’ & Grillin’ before. The Boston transplant has an affinity for pepper spread and unorthodox creations, so I was not surprised when he recommended an off-menu item when I stopped in one January afternoon.

“The Hodge-Podge,” as he fittingly has titled it, is just that. The sandwich is, at its base, a meatball sub, which Dave creates with aplomb (and, of course, with pepper spread). To this, he adds pastrami and roast beef, both sliced thin, and the Hodge-Podge is born. I admit, I expected this to be a mere gimmick, with the sliced meat disappearing into the meatball sub. To my delight, the pastrami and roast beef added welcome layers of both flavor and texture. The result was not quite a reinvention of the meatball sub, but a lovely alternative.

Normally, things that are not broken do not need fixing. But one should always keep an open mind about putting a new spin on them.

Shrimp Po’ Boy — The Smith House, Santa Monica Blvd., Los Angeles

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Some time ago, I ordered a “Shrimp Po’ Girl” from an establishment in Santa Cruz. The sandwich was a veritable monstrosity, featuring such an abundance of shrimp that the enterprise was a sort of riddle of consumption. I gave the shrimp sandwich another shot at the upscale bar and grill The Smith House in a strange area of Los Angeles referred to as “Century City.” The presentation of this shrimp po’boy was a far cry from my previous experience, and indeed it was perhaps a third of the amount of shrimp for right around the same price, if not more (forgive me, but this was some time ago, and the specifics escape me).

And therein lay the problem with this sandwich experience, if indeed there was one. The shrimp and the sauce both had ample flavor, and the bread was the perfect complement. It was an enjoyable sandwich experience, but I was left wanting more. The coverage of shrimp throughout the sandwich was a bit lacking, as there were entire bites devoid of the main ingredient, leaving me chewing a fine lettuce-sauce-and-bread combination, but falling short of the potential. I am happy to chalk this up to a careless line cook, but should I order it a second time and again find a severe lack of the selling point…well then, shame on me.

Barbecued Chicken Sandwich & Charbroiled Pork Sandwich – Lemongrass Vietnamese Restaurant, Colorado Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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Yesterday I spoke of the bánh mì’s high-floor/high-ceiling, an idea that the average bánh mì is very good, and the best bánh mì almost incomprehensibly so. I also mentioned yesterday that bad bánh mìs, while rare, do exist. This, friends, is them. Lemongrass earns the sad distinction of being the first establishment in which I would, upon being questioned about the bánh mì, tell someone to skip it. It’s a restaurant with a full menu, and the four sandwiches on offer are but a small part of that menu. Being a sit-down establishment, the sandwich runs a bit expensive at $6. To be frank, they shouldn’t have bothered.

The sandwiches just feel limp. The vegetables are scarce, the buttery Vietnamese mayo lacking, the bread nothing notable, the flavors of everything else underwhelming. I hesitated writing this post. Truthfully, I ate these sandwiches some time ago and thinking back on them I think  that they couldn’t have been that bad. After all, high-floor/high-celing, right? The bánh mì itself is so good that any particular bánh mì can’t be terrible. And they weren’t terrible. But it takes a spectacular combination of apathy, bad luck, and willfully sub-par execution to produce a bánh mì better off skipped. I can’t truthfully say I regret eating these sandwiches, but until today I haven’t written about a bánh mì that wasn’t at least worth a stop, provided you were in the neighborhood. There are better sandwich options in Eagle Rock; save the bánh mì for another day, another establishment.

Jerk Chicken – Four Cafe – Colorado Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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A jerk chicken sandwich was one of the first sandwiches featured here at On Sandwiches, and in that post I stressed authenticity. This sandwich was good but clearly inauthentic, and what I mean by that is that the chicken wasn’t rubbed and smoked. It was spiced and grilled, and served with a smoky “jerk sauce” that attempted to bridge the resulting gap in flavor. It was a good sandwich, and the jerk sauce was really good (for jerk sauce.) But it left me with some larger questions.

How big is the world of sandwiches? Is there room enough for a sandwich that could be better and a sandwich that is better, both of them aiming for the same thing? Is it possible for one person, your humble enthusiast for example, to genuinely appreciate both sandwiches without being at least a little disingenuous on either end? Is there any value in “good, not great”? There is an argument for judging each sandwich on its own merits, but that has always seemed to me to be impossible. Where does a sandwich stand except among its contemporaries? How can I rank it but among what I have already known?

Here is my dilemma: I want to tell you this was a good sandwich. But in the past I have railed against those sandwich makers that I perceive as lacking in effort, and it seems inconsistent (to say the least) to say, of this particular sandwich but not of several others, “could have been better, but pretty good.” The challenge left to me is to carve out some ground to stand on, and I think I’m up for it. It comes down to reasonable expectations and degree of difficulty. Four Cafe is located along a major throughway, in a string of connected buildings, and they serve a variety of food. It isn’t reasonable to expect them to have a smoker for a single sandwich. It wouldn’t be impossible, and it would be spectacular if they did, but it’s hard to get too worked up when they don’t. Contrast something like that with an establishment using a processed avocado paste. Using fresh avocados is no Hurculean task, and so forgiveness for not doing so should be hard to come by.

I can’t help but feel as if I am not approaching a particularly satisfying conclusion. I’ve avoided this topic for a while now, preferring just not to write about some sandwiches, rather than clog things up with endless “good, but not great.” But this was a good sandwich, and in the end, maybe good is good enough. I suppose I just have to ask you to trust me. Should you be in the neighborhood, Four Cafe is worth your time. The food is fresh, and it really is a good jerk sauce. There’s room in the world of sandwiches for the three-stars-out-of-five review. When unspectacular is still satisfactory, I’ll let you know. And when a middling effort produces damnable results, you’ll hear about that too.

Turkey and Black Bean — Made At Home

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A while back, I had an amazing sandwich from Porto’s that featured a black bean spread. At the time, I was struck by the simple elegance of an ingredient that I had never before considered. Recently, finding myself with a small quantity of leftover black beans, I was suddenly moved to try a small sandwich experiment. Hastily thrown together with what I had at home, I ended up with toasted wheat bread, deli sliced turkey breast, sweet hot mustard, the reheated black beans, and some Bermuda onion.

The experience was perfectly fine but nothing too great. The failure of this sandwich was the thrown-together nature of the sandwich. An attempt to make the ingredients at hand adhere to an experimental base could have gone much, much worse. As we have mentioned here before, the journey of your life’s greatest sandwich often begins at home on a lazy afternoon, tinkering with this and that.

 

Turkey & Cheese Croissant — Student Bookstore, CSU Los Angeles

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Ah, the prepackaged sandwich. I stood in line at the student bookstore, holding this item, and for the life of me couldn’t understand why. Purchased on a whim, I knew, with certainty, that I was in for an absolutely dismal experience. Visions of my colleague’s recent nightmare raced through my head.

Here, however, is our lesson for the day with regard to sandwiches. The lesson of experience surpassing expectation. It does not happen often. All too often, the sandwich falls well short of its potential, or is precisely what you expect, which is its own specific kind of disappointment — the disappointment of mediocrity.

When I opened this sad little package, I was surprised by two things: the first was that the croissant was moist and flaky, rather than the dry and crumbly mess I anticipated. The second issue was the cheese. I had expected — nay, known — that there would be one horrifying square of freakishly orange cheese topping off the affair. Imagine my shock when I saw instead a large, oval slice of what appeared to be genuine provolone — or near enough, at any rate. This sandwich, as with my recent experience at Billy’s was packaged with a packet of mayonnaise, and a packet of mustard. This, of course, is the standard for boxed sandwiches.

The sandwich was not bad at all, much to my endless stupefaction. Certainly, this was far from a “good” sandwich, but when one’s expectation is set at a 1, sometimes a 4 or 5 is heaven on earth.

Turkey Asparagus Affair — Literati Cafe, Wilshire Blvd., Santa Monica, CA

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Asparagus on a sandwich! I am a fiend for asparagus. I love it so. It is one of the finest of all vegetables. And yet, due to its proportions, I have never once considered including it on a sandwich. When I saw the name of this item on the Literati chalkboard, I could not resist.

I am pleased to say that this sandwich lived up to every expectation. The delivery method of the asparagus (cut in half, with the turkey rolled around each stalk) was inspired. The sandwich came together expertly, and I was happy as a clam. The fresh ingredients used at Literati go a long way toward aiding the experience, as the dairy-free pesto has just enough flavor to be a part of the sandwich without overwhelming the other ingredients.

Asparagus on a sandwich! How the mind reels! What other new delights await us in the infinite genre of the sandwich?

Short Rib Grilled Cheese – Biergarten, Western Ave, Los Angeles, CA

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In direct contrast to the quad deck from Beer Belly, the short rib grilled cheese at Biergarten goes to work with minimal cheese and maximum short rib. Rather than letting the non-cheese materials be swept away, they’re highlighted. The whole thing comes off more like a melt than like a grilled cheese, much to its benefit. I apologize that it doesn’t come across in the photo, but the sandwich is packed with tender shredded meat that’s tossed in a bit of sweet sauce, playing wonderfully against the cheese. The sandwich is crisp and not too greasy. Thinking about it, I suppose I might feel differently if I came in looking for a grilled cheese, in a sort of inverse of the Beer Belly situation. There I looked for moderate cheese and got too much, here someone else might look for copious cheese and find too little. Ultimately it’s something that can only be settled by each enthusiast on their own terms. On this enthusiast’s terms, I will say, this was a delightfully nimble sandwich in a world full of lead-footed dunces.

No. 9 (Billy’s Club House) — Billy’s Deli & Cafe, N. Orange Blvd., Glendale, CA

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It’s no stretch to say that I’m not exactly the most observant person. Still, I’m always very pleasantly surprised when I notice a new sandwich establishment tucked away in some corner I had hitherto never spotted. Such was the case when I happened to walk by the storefront of Billy’s, which was partially obscured by construction. When I went inside, I was overjoyed to find a legitimate delicatessen and restaurant, complete with sliced-to-order meats and cheeses and black and white cookies.

I looked the menu over and selected the No.9, which was a sandwich with turkey, Swiss, and ham on rye. I got the whole shebang to go, and when I got home, I found all manner of packets included with my sandwich: ketchup, mayonnaise, deli mustard. I dug into the sandwich and experienced the unmistakable flavor of recently-cooked and freshly sliced turkey breast. Phenomenal. The rye was hearty and rich in flavor. All in all, the sandwich was very pleasing, especially considering my having stumbled upon it quite accidentally. Only in looking the menu over again do I notice that this sandwich was meant to have included “Billy’s Dressing.” There was no trace of any such dressing on my bone-dry sandwich, and I selected a packet of mustard and half a packet of mayonnaise to augment to meal. I will have to revisit Billy’s soon and insist on the inclusion of the promised dressing. Only with the knowledge of this missing component do I find the experience sorely lacking in hindsight. But c’est la guerre.

 

Beer Belly Grilled Cheese – Beer Belly, Western Ave, Los Angeles, CA

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Any sandwich enthusiast who takes a wide survey these days is bound to find a good number of grilled cheeses. Somehow they’ve caught fire and everybody wants to try their hand at some monstrous tower of cheese. For their part, Beer Belly offers a “quad-deck 4X4,” essentially two standard sandwiches melded together via more cheese. All told, it features cheddar, gruyere, asiago, and goat cheese. There’s bacon and maple syrup in there too, and why not? So many of these grilled cheeses set out not just to gild the lily, but to set in a few precious stones and then have the whole thing bronzed. Now, I have no philosophic objection to the ostentatious. But intention will always come second to execution, and when it comes to this quad deck I’m staying in steerage. It’s entirely too much cheese, with the asiago standing out mostly by virtue of an overwhelmingly grainy texture. The bacon is there because it’s the kind of thing one adds to signal a sandwich of supreme decadence, but it’s just lost in the cheese. The maple syrup, meanwhile, isn’t lost so much as willfully buried. I took to dragging the sandwich through the drizzle left on the plate, hoping to gain some sense of what the sandwich was supposed to taste like, in concept. It was no use. This was a poorly thought out shot at the moon, a sandwich assembled without sense or care. I appreciate a sandwich that wows me, but one that bowls me over is a bit too much.