Tag Archives: Los Angeles

Odies Hoagie – Sunset Deli, Sunset Blvd, West Hollywood, CA

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A picture-perfect deli-sliced ham sandwich. Three types of ham piled high, bacon, provolone and accoutrement on a white roll. A pickle spear supports the composition.

In recent weeks I have encountered some less-than-ideal sandwich offerings. This week, I’m happy to bring you a different sort of tale.

On an inordinately rainy Los Angeles evening, I set out for a music venue, with hopes I may find a sandwich establishment before the beginning of the concert. The streets of West Hollywood were flooded, and roads closed due not only to the downpour, but also as a result of some sort of police manhunt. By the time I reached the block for the venue’s parking structure, I was only too happy to surrender my car to the valet and stop driving. I set out on foot in search of a place to eat. I headed two blocks west, but the heavy Boulevard left its businesses behind and became housing. I turned back around and headed east, hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to the upscale Japanese restaurant across the street. After another two blocks I spied, just up ahead, the familiar Boar’s Head logo in a storefront window. To my great delight, I had discovered Sunset Deli.

This was an oasis of a sandwich shop. Priding themselves on their Boar’s Head-only meats and cheeses, they offer a wide range of sandwiches for hungry roamers like myself. I selected the Odies Hoagie, a curiously-named sandwich that features bacon, Black Forest ham, honey maple ham, “deluxe” ham, mayo, spicy mustard, lettuce, tomato, and onion on a white French roll. The ham, as in the photo above, is truly “piled high” unlike many establishments that make the same boast. After the first bite, I was in heaven. The true appeal of deli meat sliced thin is that it feels like light fare. The different type of ham blended together to provide definite substance, yet didn’t feel like I was eating an enormous meal. I settled in with a great sandwich and a great book and took shelter from the storm.

Post-script: another item on the Sunset Deli menu caught my eye, and has captured the imagination of both myself and the esteemed founder of On Sandwiches. Stay tuned in the coming months for what may be the first On Sandwiches Special Event.

Steak Sandwich – Jerry’s Mexican Grill, Eagle Rock Blvd, Los Angeles

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A run-of-the-mill steak sandwich on a flat, oval, slightly-charred roll.

Occasionally, one gets what they bargained for. I ducked into Jerry’s Mexican Grill one afternoon in search of a quick torta. “Quick” being the operative word here, as the sandwich took an inordinate amount of time to prepare. I stood awkwardly in the deserted restaurant, certain that whatever lay in store for me, it would not reach the sublime heights of the finest of tortas, but hoped it would at least hit the spot.

The sandwich I was given was an allotment of beef strips, no more than a half-dozen scatted pieces of diced tomato, a leaf or two of lettuce, and a thin, white, tasteless spread that I can only assume to be mayonnaise. Since neither the Jerry’s menu posted in the shop nor the one on their website offers any clues beyond “STEAK SANDWICH” I shall have to leave the matter there for the time being. At least the attempt at a complete sandwich was made, which is more than can be said in certain cases.

The steak was shoe-leather tough, stringy and elastic. The accoutrement barely present. The one saving grace of the sandwich was the charred bread. I have long been a fan of a roll plopped onto a grill for any significant amount of time, as it adds a fine note to any appropriate sandwich. Unfortunately, it was wasted here. The steak sandwich is a dicey proposition: in certain cases, like the transcendent Los Reyes de la Torta, or with a local sandwich which I shall feature in the coming months, steak works well in sandwich form. More often than not, however, you are left tugging at a rubbery bit of meat like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon. Sadly, the gamble is rarely worth the reward.

Pan con Lechon – Porto’s, North Brand Boulevard, Glendale, CA

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Porto’s is a Cuban bakery and café, and features several interesting-looking sandwiches. This certainly won’t be the last you’ll see of Porto’s on this site, dear reader.

For my first trip there, I selected what is normally a can’t-miss, namely a roasted pork sandwich. The Pan Con Lechon is touted to be slow roasted pulled pork, grilled onions, and mojo sauce on grilled Cuban bread. As the above photograph makes clear, Porto’s served me my sandwich without cutting it in half. It is a rare beast these days when any foot-long sandwich – shy of those on offer at a Subway or Quizno’s – is served in a single quantity, without even an offer of being cut.

It is perhaps this method of delivery that failed the sandwich. The pulled pork was plentiful and tender, but the few other components ranged from “scant” to “nonexistent” during my dining experience. From time to time, I would experience a transcendent bite, full of satisfying flavor from all components in abundant and equal measure. Unfortunately, this was the exception rather than the rule. The distribution of ingredients was woefully uneven throughout. I would occasionally have a bite of mostly soggy roll, or a quantity of pork that neither sauce nor onion had ever touched.

Those few spectacular bites left me mostly frustrated that the majority of the sandwich fell well short of its potential. Had all components been applied evenly, this is a no-brainer. We shall see whether the other items at Porto’s merit regular trips in the future.

 

Avocado Al Fresco Sandwich – Whole Foods, North Glendale Ave., Glendale, CA

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Tomato, arugula, avocado, parmesan, bacon and olive oil on a delicious brown sweet pretzel roll.

Many have railed against the at-times unnecessary, yet ubiquitous inclusion of tomato in the sandwich field. In fact, I noted in my first posting here that the unskilled sandwich maker will view tomato as much a requirement of a “true sandwich” as bread. Today, I am pleased to present an example from the opposite end of the spectrum.

The daily special at the Whole Foods sandwich counter was the Avocado Al Fresco sandwich. Olive oil, arugula, tomato, avocado, parmesan, salt and pepper, to which I added bacon and selected a sweet pretzel roll to hold it all together.

As the sandwich was being constructed, I noticed that the Whole Foods employee took pains to build the sandwich in a specific way: oil on both sides of the sliced roll, two thick tomato slices, halved into semicircles and laid down as the “ground floor” atop which was tipped the salt and pepper, and so on. It was a sandwich constructed in a deliberate way. Whether it was due to Quality Control, or because of the demands of the sandwich itself, I cannot say. But I will say this: sandwich construction is important, particularly when building at home, and a careless hand often leads to a sandwich with neither adequate soul nor taste.

The sweet pretzel roll was outstanding, the perfect mix of firmness and lightness that lent itself to the bacon and avocado. The bacon-avocado marriage is something that cannot be denied; salty and creamy, chewy and smooth. But what really held it together were those four pieces of tomato. The perfect ripeness, the perfect thickness. Not mushy, watery, or inundated with seeds, as so many sandwich tomatoes are. They offered a spectacularly satisfying texture and gave the sandwich heft. The parmesan did not add anything noticeable to the experience, but the rest of the sandwich was so pleasing that this can hardly be considered a complaint.

The tomato has not worn out its welcome.

 

Salami Sandwich – Eagle Rock Italian Deli, Colorado Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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Having recently enjoyed a vegan sandwich and said some bold things about lunch meats (they aren’t very good), it occurred to me the other day that I might not be being quite fair. To judge them only in comparison to other, more whole meats was to ignore a whole class of meats that easily transition to a sliceable loaf. Though an honest bit of pork may go down a dark road and become ham, it is also possible that it might take a more noble path and end up better for it. In my earlier condemnation of lunch meat I ignored this, and I do a disservice to my dear readers when I see things so myopically.

So today I offer as penance a shot of this delicious sandwich from the Eagle Rock Italian Deli. The bread was a real standout here, a spectacularly crunchy, brightly flavored traditional Italian hero loaf. Lettuce, tomato, provolone and mustard accompanied what I felt was just the right amount of salami, neither too much nor too little. Cheese, of course, is something with which I’ve also had issues. So between the lunch meat and the cheese it’s easy to see myself really disliking this sandwich. But it was really good. Nothing fancy, just very good. And besides, isn’t this how so many people know sandwiches? As a hoagie, or a hero, or a sub? Meat, honest or not, on bread, with cheese. There’s value in that, isn’t there? Certainly there are much greater heights, but…I don’t know. Maybe this was just such a strong example of the idea, or that I was eating it on a sunny, warm day, but I have no issue with it. I didn’t even mind the yellow mustard! It’s not so surprising, I suppose. The right Soprano or Tenor can sing an aria you’ve long grown bored with in such a way that it becomes fresh and new, and you see its beauty in a new light. And so it is with sandwiches, where good bread, good ingredients and a strong hand can take the mundane and work magic.

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.

Vegan Sandwich – Figueroa Produce, N Figueroa St, Los Angeles, CA

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The "vegan sandwich" at Figueroa Produce in Los Angeles, CA

This was a fine sandwich. The bread was particularly good, large, tender sourdough bringing together fake chicken, fake cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a bit of avocado. I could go on a diatribe about the woeful inadequacy of yellow mustard, but that’s best saved for another day. The “vegenaise” was a more than acceptable substitute for the standard mayo, and that points at what is bothering me about this sandwich. The fake cheese wasn’t particularly good; you could see where it was aiming but it missed the mark. But the fake chicken, like the mayonnaise, was a fine substitute. Sampled alone, outside of the sandwich, it had a pleasing taste and a texture not at all unlike your standard cold cut. This was a good sandwich, I enjoyed eating it and would gladly return to Figueroa Produce and order another one. But even good sandwiches sometimes suggest larger problems.

I like chicken. It’s tasty, it’s versatile, it’s more-or-less good for you, and it makes a damn fine sandwich. You’ll find plenty of sandwiches here built around a chicken breast. But a lot of chicken sandwiches aren’t made with the breast. The same can be said for ham sandwiches, and turkey. These sandwiches are made with cold cuts, with lunch meat. This feels like a bit of a confession, but I don’t particularly care for lunch meat. Think about a chicken, and think about the kind of chicken you might get from the folks at Boar’s Head. Try as I might, I have trouble connecting that to an honest-to-goodness chicken. And that’s what this sandwich points to. What is done to meat that a couple of soybeans can cling together and stand in its place? Through the flavoring, the shaping, the retexturing, how does chicken get so far from itself that it’s just as easy and just as good to have such a drastically different ingredient? How might be the wrong question here, I don’t want the process explained to me. A better question is why? I understand the demands of cost and efficiency, but should we not aspire to higher ground? A sandwich can be a moment of delicious serenity in an otherwise chaotic life. Why let processing and preserving and stabilizing horn in on that?

I know I’m tilting at windmills. Let the supermarket delis exist, let franchise sandwich chains bury processed meat in salt. Let what was once an honest bit of pork sit, hopelessly round and absurdly pink, one side exposed to the air. Let it sit there for years, never going bad. I will be elsewhere, looking for a better sandwich.

BBQ Pulled Pork Sandwich – The Oinkster, Colorado Blvd, Eagle Rock, CA

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The BBQ pulled pork from Oinkster, which for some reason was served without sauce.

A few weeks ago while in Los Angeles, my associates and I were all set to venture to a local sandwich shop to pick up lunch. It turned out, though, that there simply wasn’t enough room in the car for all of us. Having reviewed the Oinkster menu online, I felt secure in what I wanted and so I simply told them to bring me back a pulled pork sandwich. Having heard tell of The Oinkster’s reputation, I spent the wait imaging the sandwich I was soon to relish, stuffed full and singing with a fine Carolina sauce. That is not what I got. A quick glance at the picture above will tell you that something, somewhere went wrong.

It is hard for me to not get angry. When ordering a sandwich, it is an exceedingly rare occasion where I will make specific requests. I trust in the person who has come up with the sandwich that they understand balance and layering and that their desire to create a fine sandwich matches my desire to eat one. I trust that they will do right by me. I have been let down before, certainly, some yahoo will load up on the cheese or go wild with the chilies. But those are understandable sins, products of misguided enthusiasm. This…I don’t know how this came to be. It was a pulled pork sandwich served without sauce. Pork is a fine, fine meat, but a half pound of it sitting naked on a roll is, dare I say, bland. This sandwich was a movie with the last two reels missing, a season of baseball cut short by strike. The cabbage and onions were both tasty, but the lack of sauce was so distracting it was hard to enjoy anything about the sandwich.

The simplicity of the sandwich allows for a lot of latitude. There are a million different things you can do, and it excites me to see people explore new territory. But this isn’t a vision, it’s a mistake. When you stand up and claim you’re taking a shot at an archetype, there are rules. There are lines there to guide you, and this sandwich fell well outside. Next time I’m in LA I intend to return to the Oinkster, to see if they can’t right this wrong.

Roast Pork – Philippe’s French Dip Restaurant, N Alameda St, Los Angeles, CA

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Roast Pork, Twice Dipped

Some time ago I updated this blog with a bit of a complaint about repeatedly being served things that were not sandwiches. I realize that this is no great affliction in life, but all the same I am afraid it tempered my enthusiasm for a fine sandwich. Too many times sitting down for a treat and finding a split roll, I suppose. That said I am not posting today to detail the cooling of my passions, but the opposite. I am posting today to describe how my love for sandwiches was restored.

Phillipe’s is a Los Angeles institution, and the sandwich that they present is one of simple perfection. It is roast meat dipped in juice and served on a french roll. Cheese is available but is not a standard part of the sandwich and mustard is provided at each table but obviously is also optional. Phillipe’s is one of two places laying claim to inventing the French Dip sandwich and you could not ask for a better example of the type. The meat is hot, tender and flavorful, roasted until it sings. It comes dipped in hot drippings and if one so desires the sandwich can be “twice dipped” for maximum effect. Though I have heard tale of sandwiches so juicy that they had to be eaten over a bowl it was my experience that the french roll held together just until it was devoured. The mustard provided is heavy on the horseradish but I found it to be a wonderful compliment to the sandwich.

I cannot imagine anything more simple than the French Dip. Upon taking a bite I was instantly angry I had not ordered two. It was the very essence of the sandwich and exactly what I needed.

Sausage Sandwich – Giamela’s Submarine Sandwiches, Los Feliz Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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When I moved from the east coast last year it was with the understanding that I would be leaving certain things behind. I wasn’t upset about this, I understood that if I wanted my shot at the sunshine I would have to leave things like snow and effective mass transit systems behind. I don’t regret my decision at all, but all the same I spend a fair amount of time trying to relate my life out here to the things I knew there, trying to find echoes and impressions of life back east. As my associates and I drove over to the restaurant I wondered how faithful it would be to the establishments I had known and loved in the past. I must say that were I to judge it solely on the design Giamela’s is a wonderful establishment, almost designed specifically for the transplant. Plastic checkered tablecloths covered the tables. The price for a refill was written on a paper plate and taped to the side of the soda fountain. The menu tacked to the wall displayed the restaurant’s original offerings in proper printing, with later additions and revisions written below in all capital letters. The atmosphere was as authentic eye-talian as I was likely to find, but this is not a blog about atmosphere.

Beneath the onions but above the wax paper is a hero roll and several succulent sausage links.

Beneath the onions but above the wax paper is a hero roll and several succulent sausage links.

As you can see from the photo, the sausage sandwich at Giamela’s includes onions. You cannot see that it also includes sausage and a sharp marinara sauce. All of these things are standard and I would have been more than pleased if they were the only things presented. Giamela’s went above and beyond what I might expect and included peppers, carrots and pickles. I had seen on the menu board that these things were included in the sandwich and I could have asked that they prepare my sandwich differently. I didn’t make that request because when I stopped to consider it, I was very curious about what they had done to the idea of a sausage sandwich. And what they’ve done is….well, they’ve added carrots and pickles. The sandwich was tasty enough, but I couldn’t get past what I saw as interlopers. They added nothing to the sandwich, with the pickles bringing an unwelcome sour crunch and the carrots an equally unwelcome brightness. How had they gotten there? My only guess is this: The idea of a sausage sandwich was, some time ago, carried west via the children’s game of Telephone. From person to person the recipie went, and somewhere around St. Louis “peppers” became “pickles.” 1500 miles later Phoenix made sure to twist “caramelized onions” into “carrots and onions” and in a grimy joint in Los Angeles the whole thing came together. And that left me, pleased with the note-perfect decor but less satisfied with one odd sandwich.