Tag Archives: Reviews by Pete

Carnitas Torta, La Victoria, San Carlos St, San Jose, CA

Posted on by

A carnitas torta from La Victoria taqueria, San Jose

Living in the area that I do, there are a fair number of pretty good establishments serving Mexican food. And the torta, as a class, is a pretty good sandwich. (I’ve previously covered tortas here here and here, though the best I’ve ever had was in Phoenix, not California.) So the combination of two things that are good more often that not gives you a really good shot at getting a sandwich you know will excel. Sadly, La Victoria managed to slip through that narrow window with this disappointing offering. La Victoria’s claim to fame is their orange sauce, a creamy hot sauce that is everything its reputation promises. It is obscenely good, and a healthy dose of it made sure this sandwich was tasty enough. But beyond the sauce, there just wasn’t much there. There was a thin roll, a handful of iceberg lettuce, a few slices of tomato, and a helping of carnitas that might best be described as just on the friendly side of acceptable. If there was avocado in there, it was doing its best to hide from me.

Maybe it’s that Northern California Mexican cuisine is ruled by the burrito, and in many cases the torta appears on the menu as an afterthought. Perhaps La Victoria thought they could skate by on what is admittedly superb sauce, and they just didn’t pay their torta much mind. Well that’s too bad, because even simple sandwiches deserve an honest effort, and the people who eat them deserve a better sandwich than this.

Bánh Mì (BBQ Pork) – Cam Hung, Reed Ave, Sunnyvale, CA

Posted on by

The BBQ Pork banh mi from Cam Hung in Sunnyvale, CA

Bánh mì is Vietnamese for “sandwich,” more or less.  There are scads of different varieties, all of which have their own name I would doubtlessly butcher in trying to pronounce. This is a fairly small problem, though, as the vast majority of Vietnamese sandwich shops are kind enough to display names in English as well as Vietnamese. The problem is that the categories the sandwiches are slotted into are too wide. Bánh mì thịt nướng is my preferred sandwich, the one featured at the top as The Finest Sandwich, and the one I am forever searching for. But that gets translated most frequently as BBQ Pork or Grilled Pork, and within those categories there are numerous variations in both recipe and cut of meat. I’m very rarely disappointed, but excepting The Finest Sandwich, I never find quite what I’m looking for.

And that’s how it was at Cam Hung. This was a tasty sandwich, don’t get me wrong, but the thin slices of pork were a far cry from the substantial, chewy pieces I had hoped for. The roll could have been a bit crustier though, but that’s as far as my complaining can go. This was a fine sandwich, with the wonderful flavor I so love. The marinade brings a savory base, with layers of garlic and fish sauce, in between which plays a distinct sweetness. A healthy portion of jalapeño on top covers the heat nicely, and carrots and daikon radish brought a nice contrast to the soft pork.  Inherent uncertainty aside, ordering a pork  bánh mì rarely goes wrong, and this time was no exception.

Eggs & Bacon on a Bialy – Top Grill & Deli, Bayside, NY

Posted on by

2 eggs and bacon on a bialy

Some time ago I featured the humble two eggs & bacon on a roll, the standard of New York breakfast sandwiches. In that review I mentioned that there was something distinctly New York about that sandwich to me, in that hackneyed oh-they-don’t-make-it-properly-here-not-like-at-home sort of way. Well, my friends, I’m going to return to that shameful stance again, because two eggs & bacon on a bialy feels even more distinctly New York than the standard roll. Cousin to the bagel, a bialy skips the boiling and goes straight to the baking, and simple has a dip where the bagel has a hole. Fill the dip with diced onion, garlic and poppy seeds and you have a wonderful base for a sandwich. They’re not solely confined to New York, but it seems like finding them elsewhere is like something of a snipe hunt, a quest from bagel store to bakery that has thus far been fruitless for yours truly. But, I suppose, that makes the times I find myself in the right territory all the more worthwhile. That’s how it was with this sandwich, a delicious, salty, chewy, and perfect way to start the day.

Chicken Parmigiana Hero – Shackleton’s, Hempstead Tpk, Franklin Square, NY

Posted on by

Shackleton’s is a fairly standard pub, in an unspectacular part of Long Island. The menu features nothing that demands to be sampled, and while there’s a tasty beer or two, the selection is less than superb. And, as you might expect from that kind of establishment, the sandwich was, well, tasty enough. It was fried fresh, which is a pass/fail sort of quality, the sauce was fine. The only real downside is that the bread, billed as a garlic hero, doesn’t really carry much garlic flavor. It’s there, somewhere, but as someone who likes a heavy dose of garlic, I was disappointed. There wasn’t too much cheese. Like I said, it was tasty enough.

But let us consider this for a moment, the idea of good enough. This, I think, is one of the more wonderful things about sandwiches: most of them are pretty good. They aren’t hard to make, there are a substantial number of established classic forms you can work with, and in the end you’re more likely to get a good result than a bad one. It’s the best of all things. A hot dog is easy to make, but there isn’t much going on. A full meal can be delicious, but there’s a good amount of work involved. A sandwich, though, is a simple route to fine things. Thanks to the sandwich, I could enter a fairly ordinary bar on an ugly stretch of road and know that I was probably going to come away satisfied. “Most sandwiches are good” might seem like a tepid, pedestrian sort of insight, but think about it. I ate a sandwich today. I went in knowing that my life was probably going to be a bit better off for having eaten it, and I was right. I put it to you that that is no small thing, and that sandwiches can bring us these things is something for which we should be very grateful.

Chorizo & Refried Black Beans – Made at Home

Posted on by

A chorizo and refried black beans sandwich, made at home.

I’ve had a can of refried black beans in my cupboard for some time now, and as I do with a great many food stuffs I periodically considered how they might best fit into a sandwich. The fine people at Scanwiches posted a particularly choice sandwich some time back, with black beans prominently featured. I wanted to take a crack at the idea, but wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. Finding a substantial piece of chorizo in the market one day proved to be enough to see my idea through. Refried beans may not be pretty, but black beans are the finest of all beans. Combine them with some sausage, I reasoned, would be a real hit. I brought along red onion and red bell pepper for a bit of snap, and a few thin slices of Oaxaca cheese finished things off.

I’m pleased to say I wasn’t wrong, though as you can see by the above my execution could have used a little work. The sandwiches were a little messy, with refried beans coming out of the side at points, and a red onion or two escaping here and there. The sandwich did pass the final test for messy vs. too messy, though. I was able to put the sandwich down for a minute, then easily pick it back up and resume eating. If something can’t survive a minute’s rest or a shift of the hands, it’s time to reevaluate the sandwich. But this did just fine, and despite the sloppiness was pretty tasty. The chorizo, pan seared then poached in a bit of wine, was spicy, full of delicious fatty juices. The black beans brought an earthy note to things, the bell peppers sweetness and the red onion a bit of bite. The cheese wasn’t lost, but it was definitely playing in the background. That’s why I like Oaxaca cheese. It’s light, unwilling and unable to take over the rest of a sandwich. There are some things I might do differently next time. A thicker roll could be hollowed out a bit, giving the beans a distinct position to hold. The red onion could stand to be sautéed, taking the bite down just a touch. But even without those changed, I was pretty pleased with how this came out. It was a fine sandwich I can recommended to you without reservations.

Classic Philly Cheese Steak – Cheese Steak Shop, E Santa Clara St, San Jose, CA

Posted on by

The Classic Philly Cheese Steak from Cheese Steak Shop, a Bay Area chain

Some time ago, I dined on a po’ boy and considered the role of the outpost. If a sandwich is attempting to represent an entire region, I reasoned, being univentive is no great crime. And the folks at the Cheese Steak Shop make it very clear that their sandwich is intended to be just what you might get in Philadelphia. A Bay Area chain, they really stress the authenticity of their food. They go to some lengths in this pursuit, importing the rolls and peppers from Philadelphia. I do not wish to sully sandwich discussion with my own personal thoughts about America’s varied cities, but it seems to me that this kind of misguided but strong provincialism seems exactly Philadelphian. Think about the fact that the rolls are shipped across the country. The roll, while serviceable, was unspectacular. Surely there is a Bay Area bakery capable of producing an acceptable hoagie roll. Sourced locally, it would be bright and fresh when it gets to me. What makes this roll so special? Why is it good? I can imagine the reply: Because it’s from Philadelphia. If aiming to convince me of your quality, this is ultimately a losing strategy. If you’re only going to put one thing on your resume, make it something other than your address.

Enough. The sandwich hit the spot on a rainy Saturday. I enjoyed it. But something about it was bothered me, and it wasn’t until I was back out on the street that I figured it out. The Cheese Steak Shop understands what a Philly Cheese Steak is: Beef loin is minced beyond recognition, piled in with provolone, onions, and hot & sweet peppers. Grease dripped out as I lifted the sandwich, and the cheese was, at times, a bit much. That is not a complaint, those are hallmarks of the Philly Cheese Steak. In fact, what I came to realize is that it isn’t that the sandwich is needlessly authentic, it’s that it isn’t authentic enough.

For all of the boasting of imported rolls, the sandwich is missing something some essence of Philadelphia. It isn’t aggressive. The cheese is only overwhelming at the occasional bite. Grease may leak out, but the sandwich itself holds together nicely, the portions are sensible and easily managed. Upon finishing the sandwich I was satisfied, but I did not sit back and let loose one big sigh and two or three cusses. And that, as you might imagine, is a far cry from Philadelphia. This sandwich may be enough to impress someone who has never been to the city of brotherly love, but that isn’t me. I’ve been to Philadelphia, and “sensible” isn’t a word you would use to describe a cheese steak.

Roasted Eggplant and Fresh Mozzarella – Los Gatos Gourmet, W Main St, Los Gatos, CA

Posted on by

The Roasted Eggplant & Mozzarella Sandwich at Los Gatos Gourmet

Sitting down to write this post, I looked at the photo I had taken of the Roasted Eggplant sandwich at Los Gatos Gourmet, and I wanted to talk about how delicious it was. It looks really, really good. With eggplant, roasted red peppers, basil, mozzarella, and mixed greens tossed with balsamic vinaigrette on ciabatta, it’s a fine construction. Each element is plenty tasty, and they all go well together save one, and that’s where the whole thing comes apart. As much as I’d like to tell you how great this sandwich was, I cannot.

I am certain that whoever provides Los Gatos Gourmet with their bread is a fine baker. And I am sure that Los Gatos Gourmet has only the best intentions in purchasing that bread. It was a fine loaf of bread, artisan bread in the sense where artisan actually means something. A good sized crumb, not too large and not too small, tender flesh, and a crisp, chewy crust. As bread, it excelled. As bread, I have not one cross word to say about it. But as a part of my sandwich, it just wasn’t right. It’s a question of execution. You have roasted eggplant, roasted red peppers, greens tossed in a vinegrette—any sandwich maker worth his salt can look at that list of ingredients and conclude that that bread has to yield. It’s a great set of flavors, but there’s a lot of sliding in there, and too much pressure on the bread will send all those flavors right out of the sandwich. I enjoy sandwiches a great deal, and I’m willing to go to some lengths to enjoy them, but having to stop after every bite, pick pieces of eggplant up and place them back in the sandwich is asking too much. Yet that was exactly my task with each bite of this sandwich. The crust was thick and robust, taking the force of my teeth and sending ingredients straight out the back, over each side, in every direction other than the one I wanted them to go.

It isn’t hard to get this right. You just have to think about what you’re doing before you do it. Sadly, no one at Los Gatos Gourmet thought this sandwich through. I would speculate as to how, or why this came about, but frankly it’s a bit beyond me. I can’t comprehend it! I just wasn’t raised to make this kind of mistake. Be deliberate in your sandwiches, my father told me. Be deliberate.

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

Posted on by

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.

Bacon, Egg & Avocado – Made at Home

Posted on by

On a recent Saturday morning, after a morning of yoga and other elements of physical culture, I stood in the kitchen wondering what I should have for breakfast. Now, after one’s gotten one’s sutras in order and engaged in bouts of meaningful vigor, it’s important to keep the momentum rolling. That’s not the kind of day where you want to become a lump on the couch. No, it’s a day where you immediately want to set out and achieve great things. And so it was that I started with a couple of sandwiches.

I fried up a few slices of bacon in a skillet, with enough of the fat reserved afterwards to fry a couple of eggs. But before the eggs went in I went for a special touch. I put a few minced cloves of garlic down, waiting a minute for the flavor to develop, then cracking the eggs into the pan directly on top of the garlic. (Truth be told it was more than a few cloves, when it comes to garlic I’ve a heavy hand and offer no apologies.) The egg white held the garlic in place as it cooked, and when the eggs went between wheat toast the garlic came with it. Each sandwich was two slices of bacon, one egg, half an avocado, some cracked black pepper and a few dashes of hot sauce. They were transcendent. A little heat, obscenely rich, and underwritten by delicious, toasted, savory garlic. The avocado was perfectly ripe, offering that instantly-yielding hint of firmness that stood as a subtle middleman to the toast and the egg. An East Coast associate tells me that he has to give up on avocados this time of year, that by the time they get to him they’re completely bereft of flavor. It breaks my heart that he’ll have to wait months to give this sandwich a shot, but I hope when he finds himself in warmer days he does so immediately. This wasn’t a complicated sandwich, it wasn’t revolutionary or an amazing discovery. But it was incredibly delicious, and I suspect that it will quickly find a spot as one of my regulars.

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

Posted on by

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.