Tag Archives: Reviews by Pete

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.

Apricot & Egg Sandwich – Made at Home

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I recently prepared a meal of roast pork loin with apricot glaze and as I considered the leftovers the next day a sandwich seemed like the obvious choice. I’ll be honest: It’s a rare set of leftovers that doesn’t suggest a sandwich. I had some arugula left over from a stellar arugula & grilled potato salad and I laid it down on a toasted whole wheat English muffin. The pork loin was sliced as thin as I could manage and seared in a skillet, lending it a wonderful crisp. Apricot preserves went on the top half of the English muffin. As it stood then, though, it just didn’t seem like a complete sandwich. Since it was still morning, albeit late morning, an egg seemed like a natural addition.

Mixing eggs with fruit preserves seemed a bit risky, so I decided to scramble the egg. The more mild flavor of a scrambled egg, I reasoned, was less likely to get all crossed up with the preserves. That instinct proved to be correct to a fault. The egg didn’t do much of a job announcing itself, and I had no real sense of how the egg and the apricot worked together because I couldn’t taste the egg doing any work. It was a tasty sandwich, but it was lacking. Luckily, this was a problem with an obvious remedy: Fry the egg.

Frying the egg wasn’t the only change I made. Immediately after putting the egg down in the pan I sprinkled it with minced toasted garlic, the setting egg holding the garlic fast. I also went into the fridge and replaced the standard preserves with a bit of leftover pan sauce from the night before, a concoction of preserves, citrus, butter and savory drippings. Arugula and seared pork made for the same base as before, but the rest of the sandwich had been considerably upgraded. The actual eating quickly confirmed what I suspected, that this was a very good sandwich. I suppose the pan sauce and the garlic stack the deck a bit in favor of the fried egg, but it was the rich, creamy yolk that brought those new, stronger elements together in harmony. The first sandwich was pleasant enough, but the second one was exceptional, a surprising bit of genuine deliciousness on a lazy morning. And what more could I ask for, really, than a fine sandwich to ease me into the rest of my day?

Introducing: Slummin’ It

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In my post earlier this week, I reiterated that I consider myself an enthusiast and not a critic. I go looking for good sandwiches; it’s very rare that I’ll sit down for a sandwich without some sense that it’s going to be good. But I’ve been thinking about that, and I think there’s room for growth.

In my review of the fried chicken sandwich from Flanagan’s Ale House in Kentucky I got into a discussion of how most people experience sandwiches. It is not, I feel safe in saying, very close to how I experience sandwiches. (I’m going to come off like a snob here, but the shoe fits so I’ll wear it.) The numbers, were we to look at them, present a distinctly American portrait that I’m sure you’re all capable of putting together. What I’m driving at is there’s a gap between the kind of sandwich looked for by someone like you or I and the kind of sandwich you average person on their lunch break settles for. They take their five dollars, wander in to their local franchised sandwich joint and walk out, convinced that the pile of iceberg lettuce and few scraps of lunchmeat they’ve been handed are a legitimate sandwich. Maybe all that salt goes to your brain after a while, I don’t know.

So there’s a gap there, between me and them, and I’ve been thinking about how I might cross it. What I’ve come up with is the newest semi-regular feature here at On Sandwiches: Slummin’ It. I’m going to go out and eat a sandwich that I wouldn’t ordinarily even stop to consider, and I’m going to share my thoughts about it with you. I hope I find something to enjoy in these sandwiches, and I hope you find something to enjoy in reading about them.

Slummin’ It: Jack in the Box Bourbon BBQ

Jack in the Box Bourbon BBQ Steak Grilled SandwichPhoto courtesy of flickr user theimpulsivebuy 

I start here because the grilling is a good sign. There are plenty of sandwiches out there that wouldn’t be successful but for the magic of a flat-top, and I suspected that if Jack in the Box understood that they might understand some of the larger, more important issues in sandwich making.

The grilling is the high point, unquestionably. I’m trying not to judge these sandwiches too harshly; while the buttery grilled bread contained neither the nuance nor depth of flavor that you might get in a competent diner, it was buttery and it was grilled. Call it the soft bigotry of low expectations, but I’ll give out points here for reasonable approximations. Beyond the bread, though, the sandwich comes up short, very short. I’m not sure what kind of steak went into this, but it’s tough and whatever flavor is there has disappeared. Where did it go? Well, it went the same place the namesake bourbon bbq sauce went: into the cheese. The downside of the grilling is that the cheese melts to a slimy ocean, and anything that might have been good about the sandwich is lost at sea.

I will say I’m disappointed that this project started with a bad sandwich, but I cannot claim to be surprised. But I intend to continue on, still an enthusiast, but an adventurous one. Here’s hoping I find some sandwiches worth the effort.

Sausage & Egg – Le Boulanger, Bascom Ave, San Jose, CA

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I popped into Le Boulanger one evening, thinking I would enjoy a quick sandwich before heading on my way. At the counter I simply ordered “the sausage sandwich,” thinking of the turkey & chicken pesto sausage sandwich that I have enjoyed in the past. Apparently that it was dark out wasn’t sufficient context to convey that I wasn’t interested in a breakfast sandwich, and so I received the Sausage & Egg you see above. I didn’t really have time to attempt an exchange so I took what I was given and went to eat.

I’ll cut to the chase: This was a bad sandwich. I don’t write about a lot of the sandwiches that I don’t like, because I prefer On Sandwiches to be a celebration of things we love.  That said, sometimes something just strikes me the wrong way and I can’t let it slide. This wasn’t any good. It goes beyond uninspired. A few scrambled eggs, a breakfast sausage patty, some cheddar cheese. That kind of simplicity is one thing when I’m paying three or four dollars in a deli. But if I’m handing over a ten spot and barely getting enough back to buy a newspaper I expect a little bit more. The eggs were unobjectionable. If pressed to describe the sausage patty the best I might be able to come up with is “It’s a sausage patty.” The cheese quickly took on that oily sheen that makes you wonder why anyone bothers with any cheese, at all, ever. The dutch crunch roll was as good as dutch crunch often is, but it was all wrong. It would have been swell on the sandwich I thought I was ordering, but here it just didn’t fit. Between that and the aim-low-and-we-won’t-have-far-to-fall ambitions, there wasn’t anything redeeming here. A trio of uninspired ingredients somehow came together to be a good deal less than the sum of their parts. Enough. On Sandwiches is a celebration; I am an enthusiast, not a critic. There is no need to dwell here, there are great sandwiches out there, waiting to be eaten.

Crumb Donut & Ice Cream – Made at Home

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I am something of an active individual. I see much value in the pursuit of physical culture, and so I pursue with great vigor in a variety of ways. I do this both for its own sake and because it allows me certain indulgences in my diet. I earn a great deal in miles traveled and pounds lifted, and what good are things earned if you never cash them in?

And so it was that on a recent summer day I concluded a vigorous bit of cycling with a donut ice cream sandwich.  A donut was procured from a local shop, a pint of ice cream from the convenience store. I took a bit of the ice cream and fashioned a crude patty, which I returned to the freezer to firm up. It doesn’t take much to push me towards including a bit of summer fruit in things, so a nearby white peach was conscripted. The donut was sliced in half, the ice cream came out of the freezer, and I had myself a tremendously rich, creamy, fluffy, tender, aggressively sweet bit of indulgence. It was phenomenal.

When I decided that yes, I really was going to cut a donut in half and add some ice cream, I felt as if I might be transgressing the bounds of good sense. Adding the fruit only compounded that feeling, and I as I raised the sandwich to my mouth I felt for sure that I had gone too far. But in eating it my mind began to open to the possibilities.  A chocolate donut, for example, encrusted with lightly crushed graham crackers and holding a bit of marshmallow flavored ice cream would be a tremendous take on the s’more. The whole thing might be dipped in chocolate, leaving a shell to be devoured in concert with the decadence inside. Cracked nuts, macerated fruits, peanuts buttered…with each bite my mind reeled farther and farther away from what I was eating, creating ever more outlandish donut ice cream sandwiches.

This sandwich was otherworldly in its goodness. And, despite my initial thought that this was over the line, I now see that there are worlds beyond worlds, sandwiches of almost incomprehensible indulgence. But some doors are better left unopened. I cut a donut in half, added ice cream and fresh peaches, and I ate it. I believe I will strain my ear to catch the last echo of my good sense and hurry off after it.

Tortas Milanesa – Adelita’s Taqueria & Mexico Bakery No 2, San Jose, CA

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The torta milanesa at Adelita's Taqueria in San Jose

Mexican food doesn’t get a tremendous amount of respect. Whether or not it gets the respect it deserves is a matter for another site, I suppose. Something about its ubiquity and its ability to remain tasty while suffering in quality, though, has led to it assuming a place in American cuisine where nobody is expecting much. I think that’s too bad. I eat a fair number of tortas, probably more than any other particular type of sandwich, and I’m hoping that one of these days one of them is going to really knock my socks off. What I have long suspected is that there is a sandwich out there that is as transcendent an experience as the bánh mì at Saigon Bánh Mì. That there is a torta out there that is genuinely sublime, something that when I find it will forever influence my greater sandwich worldview. I had a great, great sandwich at Los Reyes de la Torta, but the very fact that I’m writing this suggests that it didn’t have quite the impact that it could have. You might be wondering what makes me so certain that sandwich is out there, and I’ll admit that for a while it was just an idle thought, something I would consider from time to time but never really embraced. But when I sat down to eat the Torta Milanesa from Adelita’s Taqueria, I knew my search had begun in earnest.

It isn’t a particularly great sandwich. It’s an above average torta, better than La Victoria, but not as good as Los Reyes. What jumped out at me here, though, was the milanesa. The milanesa, cousin to the Italian cotoletta and the German schnitzel, is a thin slice of beef spiced, dipped in egg, dredged in breadcrumbs and shallow fried. That last step was the downfall of this particular torta, as the milanesa had been fried well before it ended up on my sandwich. By the time it got to me the coating was a bit damp and well detached from the beef in places.  In spite of that the beef was tender and the whole thing hinted at what could have been. A crunchy coating on a tender piece of beef, creamy avocado, just the right salsa…it could have been something really special, had it been well executed. I finished the sandwich a bit disappointed, but now certain that there is a torta out there, a transcendent torta just waiting for me. So I went looking elsewhere.

The torta milanesa from Mexico Bakery No 2
My first thought was to try Mexico Bakery No 2, the downtown location of the place that serves what might be the best torta in the south bay. My previous experience with them was downright delicious, a chorizo torta that was that wonderful kind of greasy. If anyone had mastered the milanesa, I figured, it had to be them.


The torta milanesa from Mexico Bakery is considerably more elaborate than the one from Adelita’s. Where Adelita’s brought simple lettuce / tomato / avocado accompaniments, Mexico Bakery provides those things plus a couple slices of soft cheese and a healthy dose of pickled jalapeños. It’s very different than the sandwich at Adelita’s, and very good. They had a bit of a heavy hand with the jalapeños, but a small adjustment evened things out. When consuming the second half of the sandwich I swapped out about half the jalapeños and put in their place a good dose of tomatillo salsa, and that really made things sing. This was a very good sandwich, but ultimately it is not the end of my search. It suffered from the same thing that derailed the earlier torta, namely that the milanesa itself was not freshly fried. Fresher than Adelita’s, but not cripsy or showing any other hallmarks of the genuinely fresh. If it isn’t fresh, there isn’t a whole lot that can save it. It speaks to the quality of Mexico Bakery that the sandwich was so good in spite of that, but ultimately fried food on a sandwich is pass/fail. This sandwich didn’t pass.

So the search continues. There’s a torta milanesa out there, one that’s really, really good. One day I’m going to find it, and on that day I’m going to eat it.

Fried Egg & Anchovy – Made at Home

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I like anchovies. I like them quite a bit, and I’m a bit bewildered that they’ve got the reputation they do. The chewy fish run right up to the edge of “Mercy, this is too salty” and, in my opinion, stop just short. I think they’re delicious, but they’re not the easiest thing to incorporate into a meal. They’ve got quite an attitude, and they’re prone to standing at the forefront of a dish regardless of where you put them. So while I’m quick to try and incorporate them into a sandwich, the boldness they bring is of particular concern. A good sandwich, as we all know, relies on balance. What could stand against the anchovies? My thoughts quickly turned to eggs. A perfectly fried egg, the yolk warm and runny, is incredibly rich. That seemed like just the thing to balance out the anchovies.

I started with a large roll, spreading roasted garlic across the top and laying a bed of caramelized onions and tomatoes on the bottom. Now, I must admit that I can be a man of appetite and I’m unlikely to open a tin of anchovies then put some aside for later. This was where I first cast restraint aside, reasoning that I had a full tin of anchovies, so they all ought to all go on the sandwich. With that many anchovies, then, I figured that I needed two eggs to achieve the balance I was looking for. That decision, dear readers, would prove to be my undoing.

I like a soft yolk in my fried egg, and so I accept that any fried egg sandwich I make is probably going to be a bit messy. The egg/bacon/avocado breakfast sandwich I wrote about earlier was a bit messy, but the two sandwiches I prepared that day were both tremendous. And that’s the rub, friends. That day two sandwiches, this day one. And the gulf between two fried egg sandwiches and a sandwich with two fried eggs was one I wasn’t capable of crossing. This sandwich was just a complete mess. The roll just couldn’t handle all of that yolk. I was left with hands covered, but afraid that if I put the sandwich down I might never get it back together again. I would like to note that construction aside, this was a good sandwich. The flavors were on point, the richness of the eggs married with the anchovies exactly as well as I suspected it would. But I lost my head in making it, and absent proper restraint I can’t rightfully call this a good sandwich. I tried something and I failed. I learned a few things and I feel my next anchovy sandwich will be absolutely excellent, but there was no excellence here, just a lot of anchovies and a whole mess of egg yolk.

The Wild Wild West – Mr. Pickle’s Sandwich Shop, N. Santa Cruz Ave, Los Gatos, CA

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The Wild Wild West at Mr. Pickles is roast beef, ham, horseradish, provolone cheese, and avocado. That’s a list of ingredients I wouldn’t think to put together, but for whatever reason it struck me as the sandwich to get. I’m not going to dwell on that, though, because the story is elsewhere. As is my custom, when the people at Mr. Pickle’s asked me if I wanted everything on my sandwich, I answered in the affirmative. Everything, I learned, was the polar opposite of the inadequate minimalism of The Garret. Here’s what was added to the sandwich: G-Sauce (a garlic sauce of some sort), mayo, mustard, pesto, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions and peppers. Looking at that list, it has a stealthy sort of insanity to it. A quick glance and you might miss it, but dwell on it and you’ll realize that something isn’t quite right. The pesto gives it away. Pesto? Pesto is part of your everything? Pesto is an appropriate addition to all of the sandwiches you sell? That just isn’t reasonable. I respect the right of every sandwich maker to go about their craft as they see fit, but I know where the bounds of propriety lie and I have no problem telling you when you’ve crossed them. Pesto? On everything? Pesto? I just can’t quite get my head around it. The G-Sauce is another red flag. If it were there on its own it would be a risky trademark, but in conjunction with the pesto it signals that someone involved took “everything” far too literally.

But lets ignore, for a moment, the concept at play here. Low-grade lunacy it may be, but is it at least well executed? Sadly, no. The pickles and peppers could best be described as “scattered,” the lettuce and tomato similarly sparse. Do they want these things to be part of the sandwich or not? If they’re going to include them then thought ought include them, instead of telling me they’re going to and then leave me to hunt them down in a sloppy mess. And it was sloppy, whatever the G-Sauce is made of it joined forces with the mayo to send the top half of the sandwich sliding all over the place.  I can respect someone who gives a 3 out of 10 concept everything they have, but there’s no forgiving poor execution of a lousy idea.

This was a weird sandwich. The avocado was completely obliterated. When the horseradish was present the sandwich almost seemed to come together, but then the next bite would be all pesto. The pickles and peppers played similar in-and-out games. I tried to make sense of it, but eventually I just had to throw my hands up. I would like to note, though, that the bread was really, really good. A sourdough roll of unknown provenance, it had a hearty crust and some really great flavor. Even given the racket it played host to, the quality of the bread made for a small redemptive note in an odd, odd symphony.

Savory Chicken Delight – The Garret, Bascom Ave, Campbell, CA

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The Savory Chicken Delight is a hell of a name for a sandwich. It’s a lofty claim, an unmistakable boast thrown right at the opening. This isn’t a chicken sandwich, where italicized menu text informs you that it’s a savory chicken breast, grilled to juicy perfection, an instant delight. This isn’t a savory, delightful chicken sandwich. It’s a sandwich so savory, so delightful that it could bear no other name than Savory Chicken Delight.

That was the claim, anyway. The Garret is a menu board sort of establishment, and there was no description of any of the sandwiches. But Savory Chicken Delight, I figured that had to be impressive. When I ordered this sandwich, the person working the counter asked me if I wanted everything on it. Everything, they told me, entailed lettuce, tomato, and mayo. When I got the sandwich I was taken aback, and wondered what on earth I would have gotten had I passed on “everything.” Would it have just been a bun with a bit of chicken on it? In another restaurant, with another sandwich, something like that might be a kind of inspired minimalism. This was just mediocre. A bland piece of chicken on a bland roll, with a few slices of unspectacular tomato and obligatory lettuce. It wasn’t savory, and it surely wasn’t delightful. I’ve had bad sandwiches, but this wasn’t even bad. It wasn’t anything. A sandwich that aims high and misses the mark is an understandable failure. Being reckless with bold flavors is no mortal sin. But why on earth would you bill a sandwich as a savory delight and then serve something so uninspired. It was boring, and boring is a sin I cannot forgive.

Tuna Steak Sandwich – Made at Home

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When I went to Ike’s Place, I tried the first sandwich on the menu for a reason. ” In that sandwich,” I wrote, “one often finds the favorite child; The sandwich loved longest, made most often, the sandwich in which someone’s dream begins to take form.” For me, this is that sandwich. Don’t get me wrong, I have no plans to open my own establishment any time soon, having no desire to turn my passion into my business and having no access to capital. But this is my sandwich. It is the sandwich I think of in idle moments, the sandwich that instills me in me a possibility I know I must pursue.

When I spoke of the tuna steak sandwich at Ramsi’s Cafe on the World in Louisville, I made it a point to mention how shameful most of the tuna we eat is. That still stands, one day the tuna fish will be gone and when we are asked about it all we will be able to do is lower our heads and think about how we allowed so magnificent a fish to be associated with such mediocre cuisine. This sandwich is an attempt at something better, a love note to a fish, an attempt to live up to a possibility.

I don’t have it quite right. It’s a good sandwich, probably the best I’ve ever made, but it isn’t quite right. The preparation starts with slices of carrot, about a sixteenth of an inch thick. They go into a marinade of soy sauce, rice vinegar and water (in a 1-1-1 ratio), ginger, toasted garlic, red pepper flakes and a touch of honey. After a few hours in there they come out, and the marinade goes into a skillet to be cooked down.  Similar slices of cucumber are prepared but left unadulterated. Wasabi mayo is prepared, with a strong emphasis on the wasabi. I’m no great fan of mayonnaise. In fact, my attitude might be best characterized as “tolerant.” It has its place, but if you use too much…well, I hope you’re right with the lord, because I’m not likely to forgive you. But I find it unobjectionable as a sort of neutral vehicle for another flavor, and it performed well here. The bread went into a 200 degree oven to really maximize the crisp, although I’m not really sure how much this adds to the final product. Anyhow, the tuna steak is coated on both sides with sesame seeds and black pepper, and it goes into a hot pan for a scant couple of minutes. Cooking tuna for a sandwich is no different than any other application, and as always it’s best to undershoot. After coming out of the pan the fish is cut into quarter inch slices, laid atop the carrots, and finally drizzled with the reduced marinade.

It isn’t quite right. Between the carrots and the sauce there’s too much soy. I still want to get the ginger and the garlic onto the sandwich, but I need to back off the soy somehow. Perhaps the ratios in the marinade can shift, I’m still not sure. I might have gone too heavy on the wasabi, although to be frank I prefer that to going light. The flavor of the fish is well represented in the sandwich, but it’s missing something that would bring the ingredients from combination to harmony. I think a bit more black pepper in the coating will help things come together. But don’t let me run this down! This is a damn fine sandwich, and I only spend so many words pointing out its flaws because I know what it is capable of. This is already the best sandwich I make, and it’s only going to get better.