Tag Archives: Reviews by Bill

8 oz. NY Steak Sandwich – Smalley’s Roundup, South Main St., Salinas, CA

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There are two distinct families of steak sandwich. The first is sliced or shaved steak, which is normally seen either the heading of “tri-tip” or is a roast beef or French dip sandwich that is gussied up and putting on airs. The second family of steak sandwiches is generally about as honest as a sandwich can get: a steak on bread, typically with some sauce. That is the beast we are dealing with today.

Smalley’s roundup is the most famous and tenured BBQ establishment located in the home of the California Rodeo. Beloved for its sauce and grilled selections, I hoped the quality would translate well to the sandwich medium. There are three steak sandwich options: the 8 oz. NY, the 5 oz. Filet, and a “BBQ Beef” option, which is sliced tri-tip. When dealing with the steak sandwich family that is “a steak on
bread,” I feel the key to a fine sandwich lies solely with the tenderness of the steak. Since the filet would be a more naturally tender cut than any New York strip, I wanted to put Smalley’s through its paces, as it were. You can often gauge the overall quality of an establishment by its basest offering.

I am pleased to report that the steak was tender and did not necessitate my tugging at it as though I were a dog with a chew toy. The sauce was flavorful and applied with just the right amount of gusto. The bread held up nicely without being anything special. The overall experience was one of a hearty, pleasing, and filling meal. Simplicity can often be richly rewarding.

Beer Brat Sandwich — Made at Home

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Beer brats on sourdough. A few glimpses of bacon and avocado can be seen about the periphery.

Occasionally, one may find oneself in need of consuming leftover food before it had passed its date of expiry. It was such a day last week when I realized there were a few different items that would not last more than a day or two longer before needing to be either eaten or summarily tossed out. At once, my mind seized upon a plan of such base impulse that before I knew what madness had gripped me, I was simmering some leftover beer brats and toasting sourdough, while a pan of bacon cooked in the oven. As I sliced an avocado which was in its last few hours of ripeness, I took stock of what was happening and wondered if this was how the Earl of Sandwich himself must have felt: giddy, frantic, and chuckling a bit at the ridiculousness of it all.

As the Frankenstein’s monster of ingredients was being assembled into a sandwich — the brats sliced lengthwise to facilitate sandwichery, the avocado and bacon piled onto the toasted sourdough (one slice smeared with garlic mustard, the other with sweet relish) — I assumed that this was going to be a regrettable mistake. Surely there was no way — just no way — that the sandwich would be any better than its individual components. I was therefore overjoyed upon first bite. The combination of the brats and the bacon was lovely, and I was immediately glad the bacon had been baked rather than pan-fried. This smokiness — and dare I say meatiness — was both offset and complemented by the mustard and relish. The only component that was a bit overwhelmed was the avocado, but even that added a welcome creaminess to the enterprise.

What I had feared would be an inedible mess instead was a hearty and endlessly satisfying meal. There isn’t a thing I’d do differently, and if I owned a sandwich establishment this would be one of my featured items. Sometimes those little moments of madness can have a pleasing end result.

 

 

 

 

 

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.

A Tale of Two Sandwiches — Made at Home

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An associate of mine suggested a night of building sandwiches indoors and stretching out the hinges of a seldom-used sandwich press. Needless to say, I leaped at the opportunity. Fine, fresh ingredients were procured, with options for meat, bread, and accouterments. The first of my eventual creations, pictured above, was turkey with avocado, home-cooked bacon, Swiss cheese, tomato, lettuce, red onion, Philippe’s spicy mustard, salt, and pepper on olive rosemary bread.

The second sandwich consisted of ham, avocado, Swiss, tomato, onion, sprouts, bacon, and again, Philippe’s spicy mustard, this time on white French bread.

Both sandwiches were tasty, warm, crisp, and hearty. The sandwich press performed admirably and set one to wonder why it had heretofore been used so sparingly. The grill of the bread was enhanced by leaving a thin sheen of the bacon grease on its griddled surface before pressing the sandwiches. My two creations were roughly equivalent, but the few minor tweaks left one sandwich standing head and shoulders above the other.

The ham sandwich was good, and had it been the only sandwich made this evening, I would have nodded to myself, a job well done. Unfortunately, the degree to which the turkey sandwich came together exposed the shortcomings in my creation. Had I chosen to place sprouts on the turkey sandwich and lettuce on the ham sandwich, rather than vice versa, the two sandwiches would have achieved something closer to equilibrium. Sprouts, often masquerading as a “health-food item,” do not pair well with ham. They are usually seen on turkey or chicken, and, as I discovered tonight, for good reason. The earthy tone of the sprouts stood apart from the creaminess of the Swiss, the ham, and the avocado, which left two disparate tastes in the mouth, fighting for attention.

The other major factor here was the bread. The olive-rosemary loaf was spectacular, and took the press and the bacon grease with aplomb, bringing yet another layer of wondrous taste to an already spectacular sandwich. I feel bad for old ham on French, as he showed up on the wrong night and was outclassed. I look forward to many more nights spent with the sandwich press and a loaf of this fine bread.

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.

Avocado, Lettuce, and Tomato — Made at Home

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Avocado, lettuce and tomato on sourdough, sliced in half.

Inspired by a sandwich I had a short time ago, I set about making a light and healthy — but still hearty — sandwich. A couple of fine avocados, some tomato and red-leaf lettuce, a drizzle of oil, and salt and pepper to taste. A bit of a different spin on the classic BLT, which on California menus all too often becomes the ubiquitous BLAT. I feared that bacon may have been missed in the creation, but I am pleased to report that the end result was a fine sandwich. The San Luis Sourdough, lightly toasted, was the perfect bread for the job. As a first attempt, it was a bit light on the salt and pepper, and romaine would be preferred over the red-leaf, but this is highly recommended as a quick and light sandwich.

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.

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.

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.

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.