Tag Archives: Reviews by Pete

The so-called “Italian Beef Beer Bread” – Four Peaks Brewery, E 8th St, Tempe, AZ

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The so-called "Italian Beer Bread" at Four Peaks Brewery, Tempe, AZ

A wrap masquerading as a sandwich. Sickening.

This is, sadly, familiar territory. This is the listing from the Four Peaks Brewery menu: “Lean roast beef with sautéed red onion, green peppers, mushrooms mozzarella and garlic honey mayo rolled in our fresh baked beer bread.” I cannot tell you how disappointed I was when the above was brought to my table.

I am left wondering who is to blame. It was only in going back and preparing to write this post that I actually noticed those words. “Rolled in.” In the poor lighting of the outdoor patio, and in my haste, I missed the crucial words that would have tipped me off to the fact that I was going to be served a wrap, and not a sandwich. Is my disappointment solely my fault? The heading for this section of the menu is “Alehouse Sandwiches.” Was it unreasonable of me to assume that any and all items under that listing would be sandwiches? When one considers beer bread, a tortilla hardly comes to mind. And that is what troubles me, friends. What can be excused by carelessness and unwarranted assumptions on my part can only be explained by callous disregard on the part of whoever decided to call this a sandwich. This is a wrap. I know that a lot of things have changed over the years, and words do not always mean what they once did, but a sandwich is not a wrap. It is not now, and it has never been. But someone at Four Peaks Brewery is either unaware of this or simply does not care. I made a mistake in not reading the menu closer, I’ll admit to that much. But I did not make the mistake repeatedly, day in and day out. I did not serve a customer expecting a sandwich piled on hearty beer bread a bit of limp flat bread. I try to give restaurants the benefit of the doubt, I don’t grill the waitstaff about the construction of their sandwiches. I will take responsibility for not ferreting out the fact that someone with such disrespect for sandwiches designed the menu at Four Peaks Brewery, but the responsibility for so abusing my trust lies entirely with the establishment.

In the end, I hope this will exist as a cautionary tale. Read your menus carefully. There are those out there who, through ignorance or recklessness, will try to serve you a wrap and call it a sandwich.

Chopped Beef Torta – Los Reyes de la Torta, N 7th St, Phoenix, AZ

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Picture in your head a restaurant called “Frank’s Eats.” Across the street, picture “Le Bistro.” Without any further information, you already know a lot about each of these establishments. You already know quite a few of the things on each menu, you know how the lighting will differ, and you can probably guess how likely you are to leave each establishment with heartburn. My point here is that the name of a restaurant says a lot. While in Phoenix not too long ago I was looking for a place to grab a sandwich and came upon the listing for Los Reyes de la Torta. The Torta Kings. This wasn’t a signal of the menu or the cleanliness, this was a signal of attitude. This was a restaurant founded by two or more individuals with such faith in the quality of their food that from day one they announced themselves as the reigning sandwich sovereigns of Phoenix. This is, to say the least, a bold claim.

While I have not eaten every torta in Phoenix there was nothing at Los Reyes de la Torta to lead me to believe they were not all that they claimed to be. The chopped beef torta was piled high with grilled steak, cheese, onion, tomato, jalapenos and avocado. The flavors produced a fine harmony, and a wide, soft telera kept everything under control. I admire the kind of people who run Los Reyes de la Torta. They do something, they do it very well, and they aren’t afraid to let you know about it.

Steak Sandwich – Original Hamburger Works, North 15th Avenue Phoenix, AZ

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Steak Sandwich at Original Hamburger Works, Phoenix, AZ

When I ordered the steak sandwich at the Original Hamburger Works, I was asked how I wanted the steak cooked. I was a bit surprised at this, as a steak sandwich is usually a cheap cut that has been minced beyond recognition, so never mind how you’d like it cooked. I figured aiming for rare was my best bet, as it was likely to be overdone no matter what. However, the fact that it was in fact a full piece of meat turned out to be one of the least interesting things about this sandwich.

The sandwich you see above is exactly the sandwich I received. There is nothing hiding under the bun, no grilled onions, no cheese, no aoli or salad greens, just a steak. It would be easy to be upset about this, to deride the lack of artistry, the withered imagination that puts forth the absolute minimum required to make a sandwich and ceases all effort. It would be easy, but it is not what I did. I sat there and I ate my steak sandwich and I wondered what it was like to eat sandwiches 150 years ago, to know them in such simple forms and only in such simple forms. It must have really been something, and I am grateful this incredibly basic sandwich gave me a small window into that very different time.

Beef on Weck – All Star Sandwich Bar, Cambridge St, Cambridge, MA

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The Beef on Weck at All Star Sandwich Bar

A cousin to the french dip in spirit but not in provenance, the Beef on Weck is a favorite of western New York and generally isn’t found outside of the Northeast. It contains only one ingredient: Slow roasted beef. What distinguishes it from the ordinary roast beef sandwich is the kimmelwick roll, topped with caraway seeds and kosher salt. What distinguishes this specific sandwich from others is that All Star Sandwich bar roasts their beef in-house. The beef on the sandwich is hot, juicy and tender and it really raises the sandwich to another level. This is a good thing, as there are no other ingredients to hide behind, no cheese to mask the taste, nothing to salvage sub-par execution. It is served with au jus and authentic horseradish, not the miserable creamed stuff. The All-Star Sandwich bar walks a tight rope with their Beef on Weck but manages a stellar routine.

The Jimmy T – Lenny’s, 9th St, New York, NY

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The Jimmy T at Lenny's, New York, NY

Lenny’s is a sandwich chain in New York city, currently operating over a dozen restaurants. Each one is more-or-less the same in layout and design. There’s nothing particularly charming about Lenny’s. You won’t come away with a story for your friends. You won’t feel compelled to spread the word about Lenny’s and you won’t feel you have to hold it as a personal secret. It’s a chain, someone takes your order, assembles your sandwich and passes it off to the person you pay. Eating at Lenny’s would never be considered an experience. But none of that matters because Lenny’s does something very well and it is the most important thing, the thing that many other chains lose in their constant expansion: Lenny’s makes a very good sandwich.

The Jimmy T, high on the list of Lenny’s signature sandwiches, is a breaded chicken cutlet, melted mozzarella cheese, grilled onions, sweet peppers and honey mustard on your choice of bread. It’s a fine sandwich. The grilled onions and the peppers are the featured ingredients and the mustard is just enough to keep the sweetness from getting out of hand. I do not mean to sell the sandwich short but what is especially notable isn’t that it’s good it’s that you can get it at a substantial number of locations. At far too many chain sandwich shops any chucklehead with $5 is served a pile of salt between two pieces of bread. It is nice to know that at least in certain places there are people who don’t think that availability is a substitute for edibility.

Turkey Club, Stages Deli, 7th Ave, New York, NY

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Stages Deli is a New York institution and they are quick to remind you of this. The newspaper clippings and photos of famous people who have stopped in for a knish show the full range of time that Stages has been serving classic delicatessen meals in midtown Manhattan. For 70 years Stages Deli has been urging all comers to try the stuffed sandwich.

I remember as a young boy discarding section after section of the newspaper, ignoring all matters of politics and finance. My only interest lay in Dagwood Bumstead and his latest act of grandeur. Dagwood was something of a mythical figure from my formative years, and in the excess and experimentation of my adolescence I tortured myself with two questions: ‘Can this be built higher?’ and ‘Why didn’t this work?’ It did not occur to me for some years that it was the scale that was bringing ruin to my creations.

While Stages is not guilty of piling on ingredient after ingredient the sandwich is no less ostentatious for its limited number of ingredients. I regret that the photo I have included is of such poor quality, dear reader I have seen a great number of sandwiches but the size of this beast was enough to take me aback. Almost as tall as the water glass there has to be four solid portions of turkey, more than a half dozen slices of bacon, 3 or 4 slices of tomato, and a fair amount of iceberg lettuce. The toothpick you can barely see is buried to the hilt and still did not touch the bottom third of this sandwich. I thought I understood the motivation. This had to be a sandwich made by someone who believes in Sandwiches, believes in America, believes in God, and moreover that God loves America, that God loves sandwiches, that he would bless such a towering effort.

When I first saw this sandwich I marveled at the size and thought silently to myself about all of those failed attempts. Maybe I was just too young and too foolish, and some master craftsman toiling away in a noted deli had discovered what I had not. Maybe this sandwich was the magnificent creation I had dreamed of but never realized. It was not. From the first bite it became clear that this was not a divinely inspired attempt at greatness, but a callous stack of sub-par ingredients designed to flabbergast tourists. The turkey was dry and flavorless, seemingly roasted plain. The bland and mushy typical out of season tomatoes had lost whatever flavor they once had to the refrigerator they were stored in. Iceberg lettuce has its place but deployed by default it is the calling card of a hack and with one bite of this sandwich I realized I should have known. Maybe this sandwich was something some day. Maybe in the heady post-war days someone put a little more care into things and it all came together. Maybe back then something grand was possible. Now, though, now it is late afternoon in America and this is just a bad sandwich.

Carnitas Torta – Taqueria Castillo B, McAllister St, San Francisco, CA

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This sandwich was quite a pleasant surprise! When I order a torta I expect a particular construction and style, the center of which is a large fluffy roll. As you can plainly see in the above photo that is not what I got. This sandwich was served on a thin roll grilled crispy. The carnitas and the guacamole were decent enough but unspectacular and the sour cream was a bit heavy handed but all together this sandwich was a nice change of pace from the standard. I have been accused in the past of holding too fast to the traditional idea of what makes a sandwich and I have always offered in my defense that I do not object to things done differently, only things done poorly. This sandwich is a perfect example, it was not at all what I was expecting but it was quite good.

Grilled Chicken Ciabatta – Monterey Coast Brewing Company – Main St, Salinas, CA

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In the same way that you can find the measure of a chef in their omelette the measure of a restaurant can often be found in their grilled chicken. On many menus it is an afterthought, a slapped together kaiser roll, a few pieces of limp lettuce, a mushy tomato and a dry chicken breast. At the other end it can be spectacular with unique sauces, fresh or off-beat vegetable partners and moist chicken. The version presented by the Monterey Coast Brewing Company is a bit pedestrian but well executed. The real standout was the ciabatta roll, soft baked and with plenty of rosemary flavor. A hard crust on the bread would have brought the sandwich down, as the healthy helping of pesto rendered the chicken a bit unstable. The soft crust was a nice compliment then, perhaps showing a bit of thought behind a fine example of the grilled chicken sandwich.

Mozzarella & Roasted Tomato – Twist Cafe, E Campbell Ave, Campbell, CA

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Though I have previously railed against an overabundance of cheese in a sandwich that criticism hardly seems apt when the cheese is the point. Further, mozzarella is a mild cheese and is rather suitable to being presented as the big idea in a sandwich. This wasn’t a spectacular sandwich but it was a fine midweek lunch, the sort of pleasing but ultimately forgettable sandwich which we all come upon rather frequently. The bread had a nice crust to it and the crunch presented a fine contrast to the gooey cheese. The roasted tomatoes had a subtle sweetness which was a bit overshadowed by the balsamic reduction glaze. Altogether a fine sandwich about which there is no need to wax poetic.

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.