Tag Archives: Los Angeles

Lobster Grilled Cheese – LA Cafe, Spring St, Los Angeles, CA

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The lobster grilled cheese sandwich from LA Cafe in downtown Los Angeles.The Lobster Grilled Cheese at LA Cafe is $9.99. That’s the tell. The price of lobster fluctuates, of course, so with something that doesn’t go for ‘market price’ the only thing a restaurateur can do to protect their margins is to fiddle with the amount of lobster involved. Priced somewhere around $20 you might be confident you’d get a fair helping of lobster, but at $9.99 you know you aren’t in for too much. I still wanted to see how the whole thing worked, so I ordered it anyway.

As an ordinary grilled cheese sandwich this would be a strong success. The bread had a wonderful buttery crunch, the cheeses used played together well and brought a smooth flavor with just enough tang. Everything that needs to work in a grilled cheese worked. But the inclusion of lobster makes it an upscale grilled cheese, and by those standards it’s a failure. The lobster, first and foremost, was lost in the cheese. Without substantial, meaty chunks the subtle flavor of the lobster was completely overwhelmed, leaving you to suss through each bite, hunting for the lobster purely by texture. It was there, but with a few exceptions it was diced too fine to stand out. That, I imagine, is a product of there not being enough of it – forced to use a small amount and wishing to distribute it throughout the sandwich, small pieces are the only option. I found myself wondering if a handful of large chunks could have stood with some filler. Had I gotten a sandwich with a few large chunks of lobster and some artichoke hearts or mushrooms, would I have felt cheated? I suspect I would have considered it fair, given the price. Another option might have been dressing the lobster in lemon before adding it to the sandwich, hoping the citrus would cut through the cheese and let flavor of the lobster shine through. In any event, neither these remedies nor any other were present in LA Cafe’s Lobster Grilled Cheese, and so I cannot call the sandwich a success. It would work very well if you did more to highlight the lobster or if you removed it entirely, but as it stands it misses the mark. This sandwich stands as a strong example of what I’m talking about when I say I don’t hold it against someone for aiming high and falling short. Someone clearly wanted a grand sandwich here, and by one constraint or another they were prevented from achieving what they set out for. I wish them better luck next time, and I make no strong mark against them in my book.

Slummin’ It: Double Hamburger w/ Everything – Original Tommy’s Hamburgers

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The double hamburger with everything (including chili) at Original Tommy'sThis is the first hamburger to be featured at On Sandwiches. There isn’t a real strong reason for that, hamburgers are clearly sandwiches. It’s just that I don’t eat them particularly often, and in most cases there’s always a sandwich I’d rather eat, always a sandwich I’d rather talk about. But with the Slummin’ It project developing, my options are much wider if I consider hamburgers. A good friend was urging me to try a double Whopper with cheese, and for his sake I’ll get to that soon enough. I didn’t want it to be the first hamburger featured at On Sandwiches, though. It just didn’t seem right. Original Tommy’s, however, seems to fit that role rather nicely.

I went in to Tommy’s with an associate who was grooving on pure nostalgia, reminiscing about day after day crowned with Tommy’s chili, be it atop hamburgers, cheeseburgers, or french fries. They sell it to go, you take it home and put it on everything, he told me. Seeing the enthusiasm Tommy’s fostered in this man I gladly ordered a double hamburger and some chili cheese fries. I confirmed that I wanted the hamburger with everything on it, which at Tommy’s entails the usual tomato, pickles, and onions but also includes a not insubstantial helping of chili. Extra chili is available at no charge, I’m told, but given that this was my first time I figured the standard amount was the wise choice.

I mentioned the french fries only because they’re key to describing the chili. Where the chili on the hamburger was largely hidden under the bun, the chili on the fries sat front & center, and I was able to marvel at the little pools of shiny red grease collecting in the hills and valleys the chili formed. I mention this not to damn Tommy and his hamburgers. Fat can provide a pleasing taste and texture, and while I’ve had plenty of lousy greasy sandwiches, some folks can pull it off. I’m happy to tell you that Tommy’s is one of those places. The burger itself is pretty standard issue but the chili sings. It’s thick and smooth, with enough texture to not be slurry but not so chunky that you’ve got stew on top of your burger. My associate speculates that they blend it down to a smooth consistency, perhaps adding oatmeal to thicken it up. Whatever they’re doing, it works. This is the kind of sandwich I was looking for when I started Slummin’ It. It’s a sandwich that revels in its grease but does so artfully. The calorie count is high but not obscene, and fares much better than similar burgers that don’t feature a mound of chili. I find that reassuring, a signal that whatever madness is at play here, someone is keeping an eye on it. This was a fine hamburger to be the first at On Sandwiches, and the easily the first success of Slummin’ It. It was a delicious hamburger, and late on a Saturday night that’s often all you need.

Pulled Porkstravaganza — Dave’s Chillin’ and Grillin’, Colorado Blvd., Los Angeles, CA

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We here at On Sandwiches have never made any bones about our deep and abiding lovefor the pulled pork sandwich. In August, we are showcasing some of our recent pulled pork experiences and seeing how they stack up against one another, and against our idea of what a pulled pork sandwich should be.

We visited Dave’s Chillin’ and Grillin’ not too long ago and tried one of his unorthodox daily specials. The pulled pork at Dave’s is another daily special, made once per week. Dave slow-cooks the pork in-house for hours before adding to it his homemade bourbon barbecue sauce and spicy slaw. The week I stopped by for a pulled pork sandwich, the bourbon of choice was Wild Turkey.

The sandwich was very tasty, but really wasn’t exemplary of what a pulled pork sandwich can be. I feel that, if you’re going to the trouble to get up well before sunrise and make your pork in-house, you should really let the pork itself be the star of the show. Unlike some eateries, you can have bragging rights. “Hey, you like that pork? I made it with my own two hands.” I have first-hand knowledge that there really is nothing like pulled pork that has been made with care. The spicy slaw and the bourbon sauce were good, and either one on a sandwich would be a lovely grace note. You pair both of these strong flavors with the pulled pork, and the sauces become the star of the show. That’s all well and good, but that isn’t what a pulled pork sandwich should strive to be.

Dave is a fan of his spice, as we found with the Surf and Turf. Sometimes it works in his favor, sometimes it works against the sandwich, and sometimes, like with the pulled pork, you have a perfectly acceptable sandwich that perhaps falls short of its potential.

Lazy Chicken — The Coffee Table Bistro, Colorado Boulevard, Los Angeles

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It’s rare that one encounters a sandwich that lives up to its name in a most unfortunate way. The “Big Nasty” was indeed big, and nasty-looking, but tasted great. The Lazy Chicken, I can only assume, is named after the care with which it was dreamed up, assembled, and presented.

It’s also rare that you’ll find me complain about a sandwich being given too plentiful a portion of its key ingredient. The Lazy Chicken consisted of grilled chicken breast, avocado, swiss, bacon, lettuce, tomato, and herb mayo on an onion roll. The picture does not tell the tale, but the chicken breast was simply enormous, spilling out at either end and probably an inch thick. just a giant chicken breast, slapped haphazardly onto a bun that could neither contain it nor hold up to the act of eating.

All main elements here were disappointing. The chicken was flavorless and a chore to eat. The bacon was burnt — burnt! — and the roll was overtoasted, dry, and the overall effect of such a lousy roll paired with such a massive slab of bland meat made the meal arduous rather than satisfying. File the Lazy Chicken under the “truth in advertising” file, and stay far, far away from this one.

 

Surf and Turf — Dave’s Chillin’ and Grillin’, Colorado Blvd., Los Angeles

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Dave’s Chillin’ and Grillin’ is a site that will be featured again on this site in the not-too-distant future. The eponymous proprietor of this particular establishment is a Boston transplant who, dismayed that he was unable to find a quality sandwich in Los Angeles, set up shop in the Eagle Rock neighborhood. Dave’s is the closest sandwich establishment to my residence, and luckily one of the best.

As I headed into Dave’s yesterday, I noted that the chalkboard on the sidewalk listed specials for Tuesday through Friday, leading me to believe Monday had no such featured sandwich. Still, I verified this was the case at the counter, and was told that today’s special was the “Surf and Turf.” I was then informed that this was a tuna and pastrami sandwich. I imagine my eyebrows must have leaped nearly off my forehead. Not only did this sound like a sandwich so interesting that I simply had to try it, but it allowed me to test my newly-minted theory that pastrami was the perfect complementary sandwich meat. I felt that if anything would stretch the theory to its limits, it must be this.

The Surf and Turf was basically a tuna melt with pastrami, as touted. Tuna salad, pastrami, tomato, and cheese sauce grilled on white, with Dave’s signature red pepper spread. On my first bite, I was disappointed. But then I paused, and thought about a normal tuna melt. This was markedly better. I suppose I expected the sandwich to be transcendent, but armed with my new point of reference, my theory held up, and I was treated to a very fine sandwich indeed. The pastrami was indeed a fine counterbalance to the tuna, which itself was a step or two above most sandwich shops. Nice, large chunks of tuna, light on mayonnaise, and with a healthy dose of pepper.

If I were to construct this sandwich myself, I would do things just a bit differently. I feel that the cheese sauce would work better if it were replaced by actual slices of cheese. I feel that the inclusion of tomato, if it must be added, would only benefit with adding either onion or lettuce, or both, after the two halves of the sandwich came off the grill, for a true snap and added texture. My final quibble is, I feel, merely a byproduct of having partaken of Dave’s so often. His patented red pepper spread, which really makes his meatball and his sausage subs something unique, was good on this sandwich, but perhaps just a soupcon  of overkill. A solid brown or whole-grain mustard would have been just as good, and wouldn’t have overwhelmed the meats quite so much. But overall, a lovely surprise of an unorthodox sandwich. I imagine I’ll find a reason to return on a Monday soon enough.

 

Canter’s Reuben – Canter’s Deli, N Fairfax Ave, Los Angeles, CA

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This was a fantastic sandwich. I have no great story to tell you, I do not desire to obfuscate this point with discussions of sandwich philosophy. This was just a Reuben, executed perfectly. Not long ago I had a disappointing experience with the Reuben at The Garret. If you’re interested there’s a picture here, but I decided not to post about it because I try to keep things positive and I’d already run down The Garret once. I need no such hesitation when discussing Canter’s, however, as I have nothing but good things to say. Canter’s is a deli, an honest, old fashioned Jewish deli that understands that there’s a certain way to do things, a right way. The Reuben isn’t complicated, but it’s easy to just rest on the recipe and assume that so long as you bother to put it all together the finished product will be good. I suspect that’s what happened at The Garret, someone figured that Reubens are good sandwiches and the details would sort themselves out. Canter’s doesn’t make that mistake, starting with a big pile of pastrami. The spices and the smoke and the salt all came together for a flavor that was about as bold as it can be before it overwhelms the rest of the sandwich. Helping to hold it in check was the sauerkraut, tangy and with a subtle crunch to oppose the tender meat. The bread was rye in both name and flavor, a combination that too many rye breads are missing. The Swiss cheese and the Russian dressing were both unspectacular but thoroughly satisfactory, bringing together a really great sandwich.

As I walked out of Canter’s, holding a black & white cookie from their bakery, I thought to myself that I’d just eaten a damn fine sandwich. Several hours later I had the same thought. The next day, again. It’s weeks now and I’m looking at that picture and thinking about how good this sandwich was. The classics are classics for a reason, and we’re lucky to have places like Canter’s that show them the respect they deserve.

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.

Ham & Turkey Sandwich — Colorado Donuts, Colorado Blvd., Los Angeles, CA

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We have touched upon the subject several times before, but one of the great crap-shoots of being a sandwich enthusiast is ordering a sandwich as an establishment that is not a sandwich shop, a restaurant that includes sandwiches as an afterthought, or perhaps a place that isn’t an eatery at all. How could I possibly pass up a donut shop with a neon sign in its window garishly proclaiming “SANDWICHES”?

I certainly understand the logic of serving sandwiches at your donut shop. Perhaps you’d like to stay open past 11:00 AM and perhaps drum up a little extra business for people who stop in for a mid-day lottery ticket, or tall can of Arizona Iced Tea. Why not hook them in with a bite to eat that isn’t a sugary pastry?

I opted for the Ham & Turkey on toast. An interesting and seldom-used mixture of two disparate meats, it was prepared for me with lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, mustard, and “cheese,” which I can only assume was either American or cheddar. I was overjoyed to find that, unlike the aforelinked Bellissimo Cafe, Colorado Donuts understands how to make a sandwich — honestly and simply. Don’t put on airs, don’t reach beyond your means; simply make a sandwich for your customers as you would make one for yourself. The ingredients were fresh and evenly distributed, the toast perfectly toasted, and a great value (a good many dollars less than I shelled out at Bellissimo).

A quality sandwich means much more than the quality of its ingredients, or the creativity involved. Sometimes, even a sandwich aficionado can enjoy a simple sandwich that includes both mayonnaise and yellow mustard. I ate it with a smile on my face, and was perfectly content.

Turkey Croissant Club — Marie Callender’s, N. Pacific Ave., Glendale, CA

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This blog has spoken before about what our founder feels is the finest sandwich of all time, and just this week wrote about his search for a banh mi that might replicate that experience. Another of our contributors has weighed in on what he feels is the finest sandwich he has eaten.

Although the search for the finest sandwich is a quest that one hopes will continue until one’s dying day, it is one of the most noble undertakings I can imagine. Certainly, I have had a number of fine sandwiches, and recall the best experiences with aplomb. But today I am not here to talk about the finest sandwich I have ever eaten. I am here to talk about something else: my favorite sandwich.

The finest sandwich and the favorite sandwich are two entirely different beasts. I will illustrate with an example: Suppose you, at age eighteen or nineteen, are on a road trip. It doesn’t matter where. Say, from New York to Philadelphia. Or from Atlanta to Pensacola. Or from Sacramento to Los Angeles. Or from Des Moines to Denver. Or from Cleveland to Austin. Along the way, you spy a diner, or a sandwich counter, or a drive-in, or a greasy spoon. For whatever reason, you feel compelled to stop. You order a sandwich off the menu, and it is the finest sandwich you have ever eaten. It propels you for the duration of the trip. When you think back on it, the corners of your mouth curl upwards — ever so slightly — all on their own. Several years later, at age 23 or 25, you are taking a similar trip, and stop in at the same place. If it is, in fact, still in business (no guarantees there), the sandwich probably pales in comparison to that first experience.

This is all too often the case. There is no promise that the finest sandwich you’ve ever eaten at a given location will hold up on repeated visits. You must hold on to those memories. Even the master sandwich maker may have an off day, or burn the bread slightly, or cook the bacon too long, or use a slightly-too-under-ripe tomato.

We don’t often touch on chain restaurants in this forum, because chain restaurant sandwiches are mostly of low quality, or are pedestrian, or boring, or there is nothing much to say. If you have had a French Dip at a Coco’s, you have had the French Dip at Baker’s Square, and at Lyon’s, and at Denny’s, and at Carrow’s, and at IHOP, and a hundred other similar restaurants. Which is not to say that these are bad, or good, but certainly there is no comparing these to the original French Dip at Philippe’s, a dipped sandwich without peer.

Marie Callender’s is a ubiquitous chain in the western half of the United States. Not seen on the low level of Denny’s or Applebee’s, but certainly not much better. There is scant little I enjoy on the Marie Callender’s menu, up to and including their famous pies. However, they serve my favorite sandwich, and I say this with my head held high. The turkey croissant club — although some may pick nits with its labeling itself a club sandwich — is a marvelous creation, and I recommend it to anyone in need of a warm sandwich in an unfamiliar location.

The meal itself is fairly straightforward: turkey, lettuce, tomato, bacon and avocado, served with mayonnaise on a croissant. There are two aspects here which truly make it stand out. The first is the croissant, never too flaky or too buttery, which is sliced and both halves lightly griddled before building. The second is that the turkey is fresh-sliced to order, and kept warm. Warm turkey on a sandwich is a rarity, and one bite of this sandwich will have you scratching your head and wondering why. The crisp bacon, snap of lettuce, and firmness of tomato offset what would otherwise be an overwhelming creaminess of the remaining elements. I can find no fault with this creation. Indeed, were it not served at a chain restaurant, one may hear of this sandwich in hushed tones among those in-the-know.

As I say, this is my favorite sandwich. My constant, as it were. It is not the finest sandwich I have eaten to date, but it is always there for me when I need it. I hope all of you have a sandwich you think of as fondly.

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.