Tag Archives: Reviews by Pete

Sausage Sandwich – Rosie’s New York Pizza, The Alameda, San Jose

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Not to keep harping on the previous subject, but I’ve had bad experiences with sausage sandwiches. Good experiences too, but when ordering one the odds that you’ll get a sandwich are as good as the odds that you’ll get a glorified hot dog. But not so at Rosie’s New York Pizza! They solve the sausage sandwich puzzle in a fairly uncommon way, making thin slices of cooked sausage and piling them on a roll with onions, tomatoes, and just enough sauce that you don’t ruin your shirt. It isn’t my preferred way of prepping a sausage sandwich, but it’s still a fine way to do so, and it made for a tasty sandwich. There isn’t too much to say beyond that, but I that’s enough. It has to be enough, doesn’t it? In sandwiches, as in life, though we may seek epiphanies, we fare better when we are satisfied with a few wise words. I may sit down for every sandwich hoping to find the second greatest sandwich in the country, but when all I find is a tasty meal I’m happy to have it.

Buffalo Stew Sandwich, Tommy’s Joynt, Geary Blvd, San Francisco, CA

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The so-called Buffalo Stew Sandwich at Tommy's Joynt, San Francisco

Tommy’s Joynt is a fairly notable establishment, and has been serving their particular brand of comfort food for a long, long time. (The decorations include a flag with only a few dozen stars, a wagon wheel, and an inflatable football promoting the Bud Bowl. Exact age would be hard to pin down.) With age, though, they have yet to find wisdom. I’ll start with the punchline: Tommy’s understanding of sandwiches is about as solid as his spelling. I would try and show more patience, both with Tommy and my own meager joke, but I’m tired of this nonsense. Tired, just dog tired of getting my hopes up for a fine, interesting sandwich, and having those hopes stomped back down by some no-account restaurateur who can’t understand that, at the very least, you eat a sandwich with your hands.

Every so often after I write something about eating a sandwich, someone will point out to me that it could have gone differently. There was a topping bar, they’ll say, or tell me that I could have asked for no cheese. It’s all true, but that isn’t the point of my endeavor. I want to find the wonderful sandwiches where others have dreamed them, exactly how they have dreamed them. To search for dreams, though, leaves one open to finding nightmares.

I ordered the Buffalo Stew Sandwich because it was, by far, the most interesting thing available. Think of it: A sandwich wherein the main ingredient is stew! It’s exciting! The french dip demonstrates that a sandwich can handle liquid, even a considerable amount. I could think to myself how I might go about making a stew sandwich, and I was intensely curious about how the tinkerers at Tommy’s Joynt had carried out such an idea. But my curiosity turned to dismay almost immediately. After slicing a french roll in half, the man making the item took the top half of the roll and sliced it in half again. I was shocked, and as has happened before, that I did not storm out immediately must be chalked up to that state of shock. That extra slice left me in stunned silence, knowing that whatever other steps were taken in preparing this so-called sandwich, they would be a waste. It turned out to be fairly simple, just a ladle full of stew over the bottom of the roll. I was issued a fork and a knife, a rattling mockery of the obvious fact that I could not pick up and eat what had been sold to me as a sandwich.

What I find myself thinking over, again and again, is how this just wasn’t necessary. Get a roll with a good, sturdy crust. Scoop a bit of the bread out of one half, give yourself a pocket to sit your portion of stew in. Serve me that with a few extra napkins and you’ll hear no complaint. It isn’t hard! Tommy could go to sleep at night knowing he understood and respected sandwiches. The extra napkins might cut into the margins a bit, but it’s tough to put a price on a good night’s sleep. The last time this happened I expressed a bit of shame over my own mistakes. Not being careful in my reading of the menu, making unwarranted assumptions, etc. I’ll take on no such blame here. Going forward I will make no changes to how I conduct myself. I am not in the wrong here. Invite me over to watch cricket, I’ll blame you when we sit down and tune in to handball. It maybe a lovely game, but for the love of god, I wanted a sandwich! Is that so much to ask!? I’m getting away from myself. It comes down to this: I believe, and I refuse to stop believing, that a person should be able to walk into an establishment that purports sells sandwiches, order a sandwich, and be served a sandwich.

Pulled Pork – Made at Home

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A pulled pork sandwich on homemade white bread

In my post of two weeks ago I mentioned that a fellow sandwich enthusiast was rather negative on white bread. This is no small matter to him.

As a small child, I would eat no bread but white bread, and considered wheat bread to be disgusting. And then I was eight years old and I boarded an airplane for the first time. I sat at a window seat, refusing to peel my face away from the glorious spectacle as we peeked above the clouds.

I turned around only when the stewardess asked me which sort of bread I would like on my sandwich. I asked for wheat bread, and I was stunned to hear myself. Minutes later, she brought a turkey on wheat. I loved it. I loved all of it, and I didn’t much care for bleached sugar-bread after that.

I was eight, and I was short and light, and I had yet to discover my first kiss or car or job or lease. But it was at this point that I became a grown-up.

I understand his point, and I sympathize. I certainly look for sandwiches with bold flavors, sandwiches that embark in new, interesting directions. But that is not always what one wants, and that raises the question of whether or not something bland or boring can genuinely be appropriate. That is a valid question, and the answer raises something that makes me consider how I view sandwiches.

I have long said that balance is the most important element of a sandwich. It is not solely a matter of meat or bread or sauce or of any ingredient. A single strong ingredient can save a mediocre sandwich, as seen in sandwiches such as the California Fresh, but a truly great sandwich needs an equal contribution from every element. Or so I thought, anyway. I’m not willing to completely divorce myself from that idea, but I am starting to suspect that it is not truly essential. That is to say, I’m willing to believe that it is possible to have a really great sandwich that isn’t balanced. In place of balance, it seems, one can rely on harmony.

Harmony feels like a cousin to balance, but still quite distinct. Where balance speaks to evenness, harmony simply suggests agreement. Elements that cannot achieve uniform value can aim for concordance, the strong and the weak working together to the benefit of the sandwich. And that is what I found in my pulled pork sandwich. The pork was done in a slow cooker, so sadly it was missing the bark of a genuine smoked shoulder, but a rub heavy on spicy paprika made sure it was plenty flavorful. Tossed lightly in a sweet sauce (I like my pulled pork a little dry), it was a very fine sandwich. The bread was a big part of that. White bread, even when homemade, is still white bread. I admit that, and even though my friend may call me unsophisticated or childish, I will say that is a benefit. What it lacks flavor it gains in simplicity. It plays host to the pork, gladly yielding stardom. If we wish to seriously consider the full spectrum of what can be accomplished with sandwiches, we must not spend our time bemoaning the limits of our ingredients, but instead search for the places within those limits where we can most excel. Go get yourself a loaf of white bread and start walking that tightrope. I hope your heart races and the tastes sing.

Elvis Keith – Ike’s Place, Market St, San Francisco, CA

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The Elvis Keith sandwich at Ike's Place in San Francisco

Ike’s Place is a sandwich shop. Plenty of establishments serve sandwiches. In finer dining they can be an afterthought, in something like a bistro they can occupy a respectable portion of the menu, and in something like a deli they can be the only option. The deli is the closest cousin to the sandwich shop, but they differ in attitude. I do not mean to malign the institution of the deli, but many of them present the sandwich as something you might as well eat. There can be a fine selection of breads and meats, but leaving the emphasis on the standard set of options and the interchangeability of ingredients seems misplaced to me. This is not the case at a sandwich shop. Where a deli might list a handful of specials, Ike’s has over 50 named, specific sandwiches on the menu. Where a deli has an obligatory veggie option, Ike’s has a full 20 vegan options and over 30 vegetarian sandwiches.

What I see in this celebration of sandwiches is the realization of a dream. I see years and years of a man making sandwich after sandwich, exploring seemingly contradictory, seeing how he can take a good flavor to great, how far he can push great before it falls apart. Sandwiches at Ike’s come with his Dirty Sauce standard; this is a man who has done the legwork in making amazing things and now wants to share them with the world. And the world is happy to share in those sandwiches: Having arrived in only 2007 Ike’s is in 3 locations currently and will soon add another 3. Their sandwiches are widely praised by both press and public.

When I see a place like Ike’s, where I detect a long road of love culminating in a realized dream, I look at the first listed special. In that sandwich one often finds the favorite child: The sandwich loved longest, made most often, the sandwich in which someone’s dream begins to take form. It was with that in mind that I ordered the Elvis Keith, and it was there that I grew unsettled.

The Elvis Keith proceeds along a fairly predictable but likely satisfying path: Chicken breast, a fine base if ever the was one, teriyaki sauce, a strong sweetness, and wasabi mayo, reigning the sweetness back in. Were it to stop there, you would have a fine balanced sandwich, albeit a simple one. But there is one more ingredient: Swiss cheese. I was wary, but trusting. I ordered the sandwich and retired to a nearby park. The sandwich was good. It could have used more wasabi, but that might just be a matter of taste. All in all it was the simple, balanced sandwich I had suspected it could be, sweet and savory. What struck me is that the cheese was completely lost, obliterated by the teriyaki, unnoticeable. So if it was totally absent in flavor, what was it doing there?

Of the over 100 sandwiches listed on the menu, only three are genuinely free of cheese, two of which are more-or-less the same sandwich. (One has meatballs, the other vegan meatballs.) The third is the Unoriginal, apparently so named because it is nothing but meat on bread. Think about that; whether these sandwiches are all the design of Ike or some process of committee or community, essentially only two are deemed appropriate without cheese. That…I can think of no word for it other than lunacy. It is lunacy. The first conclusion is that a person or persons who love sandwiches has reasonably concluded that less than 3% of the sandwiches in their life should be served without cheese. I refuse to believe that. I simply reject it outright. Ike’s shows a blatant love of sandwiches, a respect and an understanding, and I cannot accept that with that kind of obvious passion comes such a stunning ignorance as to throw cheese onto every damn sandwich they see. I am not unequivocally opposed, I have said in the past that with a skilled hand cheese has its place. But that place cannot be everywhere.

So if it is not madness, it is mandatory. I don’t know exactly when it was established that a sandwich included cheese, but it seems to be the accepted standard. But enough is enough. I am not even suggesting that the default be thrown the other way, to making every sandwich without cheese. I’m just asking that together we take each sandwich as an individual, and ask ourselves whether cheese is needed. Whether you’re making yourself a quick lunch or you own a shop with 100 sandwiches on the menu, we can all take a moment to ask that question. Ask it, and it is in a fair and honest answer that we will find our way to better sandwiches.

Fried Peanut Butter & Banana – Made at Home

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A homemade fried peanut butter and banana sandwich on fresh baked bread

Can a dead man have a birthday? There is an anniversary of his death, certainly, but to me a birthday seems like an event that requires one be present. In order to celebrate a birthday one has to be alive, at the very least. I suspect, though, that I am in the minority on this matter. Every year, shortly after New Years, January 8th comes around and we are all reminded that it is Elvis’ birthday. Elvis is obviously a titan of a man, and I suppose if anyone is capable of celebrating a birthday from beyond the grave it is him.

Every so often one has to stop and think about how we will be remembered. Like most people, I hope to be remembered as a kind and charitable man, thought of fondly by those I love. But, I confess, I am greedy. I want more than that. I want something that I have seen in Elvis’ legacy. I am jealous not of his estate, or his lasting musical career. I’m jealous of the fact that everyone knows he loved a sandwich. The fried peanut butter and banana sandwich is his. You cannot consider it without thinking of him, it is his essence, presented in sandwich form. He may not be known for the sandwich but the sandwich is absolutely known for him, and I can only dream of taking such an association to my grave.

Seeing as it was the anniversary of the man’s birth, I tried to do his sandwich justice. The bread was a classic American sandwich bread, fresh out of the oven and made by my own hands. A fellow sandwich enthusiast was highly suspicious of my making a sandwich out of white bread. The man is forever on the hunt for flavor and as he told me, “I have yet to find a reason to hold any respect for white bread at all.” “It’s Elvis’ sandwich,” I told him. “What, are you going to use 7-grain?” Peanut butter went down on both slices of bread, sliced banana and a drizzle of honey in the middle. Fried in a skillet in enough butter to make me reconsider what I was doing entirely, the sandwiches came out wonderfully. The buttery, nutty sweetness is a celebratory decadence, a powerful combination that must be eaten a little bit at a time. I kept a tall glass of milk close by and took in the sandwich as it deserved. I may never be so known for any particular item but please, remember me as a man who loved a good sandwich.

Mushroom & Butternut Squash – Skinner’s Loft, Newark Ave, Jersey City, NJ

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A portobello mushroom and butternut squash sandwich from Skinner's Loft in Jersey City, NJ

Skinner’s Loft put forth a mushroom sandwich, and I was all too happy to receive it. This is a sandwich that aims high: Roasted portobello mushrooms join butternut squash, grilled red onion, quinoa, spinach, tomatoes, and parmesan fondue all on 7-grain bread. It’s a fair number of ingredients, and some of them seem unnecessary at first glance. But whoever is responsible for this wonder has a skilled hand, and those ingredients come together in a very well balanced harmony. The mushroom and the squash are the stars, of course, and their textures contrast each other perfectly. The tomato and grilled onion bring a sweet note to things, the spinach a contrasting earthiness that echos the mushrooms, and the quinoa and parmesan fondue fill any gaps with a delicious smoothness. Looking at it now and thinking back I only grow more impressed. For nearly every sandwich I eat there is some thought that occurs to me about how it might be made better, but I can think of nothing that would improve this. Every angle is considered, every element properly served. This was a great, great sandwich.

Tuna Steak – Ramsi’s Cafe, Bardstown Road, Louisville, KY

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The tuna steak sandwich at Ramsi's Cafe in Louisville
Click for close-up

Ramsi’s Cafe on the World takes their extended name seriously, if their sandwich menu is to be believed. The options span a wide world: Bison steak, Jamaican seitan, chicken tandoori, falafel, chicken parmesan and more. They all looked tasty but the tuna sandwich sang a siren song I could not resist. Tuna is a fine, fine meat and some day when our grandchildren ask us what it was like I think it will be our great shame to tell them that most of the tuna we ate was dry, coming out of a can only to be drowned in mayonnaise, gussied up into fully moldable slop. But not so at Ramsi’s! Understanding the heights that tuna can reach, they instead go with a six ounce filet of tuna fish on homemade cuban bread, topped with pickled mangoes and a sesame ginger dressing. Fruit and meat is a delicate combination, one that can yield stellar results or go south in a hurry. The tuna and mango are the former here, coming together in one of the finest sandwiches I’ve had in a long time.

Mad Maple Baked Turkey – Joe Davola’s, Barret Ave, Louisville, KY

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The Mad Maple Roasted Turkey Sandwich at Joe Davola's in Louisville

The sandwiches at Joe Davola’s all have kitschy names, the Treacherous Tarragon Chicken Salad, the Disgruntled Grilled Pork Tenderloin, the Violent Veggie “Meat” Loaf, and of course the Mad Maple Baked Turkey. It strikes me as unnecessary. When I sit down for a sandwich, I’m not looking for an adventure. I’m looking to be sated, not entertained, and “wacky” is the last adjective I’m looking to use. But I don’t let a name prejudice me against a sandwich. Serve me the Baron’s Bad-Ass Bodacious BLT, if it’s done right I’ll be happy to enjoy it. So it wasn’t the name that left me disappointed at Joe Davola’s, but the sandwich. It seems good in concept, baked turkey, apricot aioli, swiss cheese, lettuce, and tomato. But someone had a tremendously heavy hand with the apricot aioli, and the whole sandwich was lost. I’ve had tasty jam sandwiches, but never with swiss cheese and tomato. The Disgruntled Grilled Pork Tenderloin at Davola’s (with cranberry-apple compote and caramelized onions) is a fine sandwich, leading me to conclude that the one I had that day was a simple swing and a miss, rather than an indictment of the entire establishment. The Mad Maple Baked Turkey lived up to the name, but it a rather unfortunate way.

Chicken Mama Mia – Crosby Connection, Bleeker St, New York, NY

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The Chicken Mama Mia sandwich at Crosby Connection, New York City
Click for grainy close-up

When I first encountered the Crosby Sandwich Connection a few years ago, they were operating out of what appeared to be a large closet on Crosby Street. I mean that literally, the man who works the counter stood in a doorway while someone behind him put the sandwiches together, I’d be surprised if the place had a footprint of event sixty square feet. The cramped quarters didn’t put the squeeze on their sandwich making abilities, though, and during my time in New York they quickly became my first choice for lunch. Since then they’ve been at a few addresses, but now appear settled at 45 Bleeker, in the lobby of the Bleeker Street Theater. Location, of course, is always secondary to the sandwich, and Crosby Connection makes a fine sandwich. The Chicken Mama Mia is sliced chicken breast, fresh mozzarella, tomato basil sauce and ricotta cheese. The ricotta is really want makes things work, providing a slightly salty, creamy counternote to the sweetness of the tomato sauce. You’ll need a couple napkins, things slide around a bit, but it’s well worth the mess. Crosby Connection has about a dozen sandwiches on their menu, and I’d say they’re all worth your time.

#38 – Press 195, Bell Boulevard, Bayside, NY

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The #38 at Press 195, in Bayside, NY
(Click for a grainy closeup)

Everything you need to know is right in the name. 195 is the street number of the original Brooklyn location, but it’s the other bit that interests me. Press is so named due to the centerpiece and vast majority of the menu being pressed sandwiches. Indeed, sandwiches get top billing with the restaurant;the bar offerings follow second. Press has a fine beer list, and in terms of non-sandwich items their Belgian fries really are outstanding, but personally I wouldn’t give a tenth of a fig if the sandwiches weren’t good. Well friends, I am happy to say that they are more than good. Press has forty hot sandwiches on offer, plus another half-dozen cold ones. The cold come on toasted Italian bread, while the hot come on an outstanding ciabatta bread. It’s got a wonderful crunch to it and yields perfectly to whatever it holds. With forty sandwiches some are bound to be better than others, but I’ve never had one that disappoints. The #38 was no exception. Grilled steak, avocado, sweet onion jam and fresh mozzarella all with a roasted pepper dressing all came together wonderfully. They have a light hand with the dressing, the onion jam doesn’t get lost, the whole thing is just a great sandwich. I’ve had a number of sandwiches recently about which I have nothing even remotely profound to say, so I won’t try. I’d simply like to present them here, share them with you, and together we can appreciate the finer parts of the sandwich world.