Tag Archives: Reviews by Pete

Portebello & Goat Cheese – Made at Home

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mushroomcheesefinal

There was no high minded goal with this sandwich. I simply set out to make myself a tasty sandwich and I am pleased to say that I succeeded. I marinated portobello mushrooms in olive oil, lemon juice and garlic then wrapped them in foil and grilled them until tender. Crumbled goat cheese made the next layer, slices of cucumber were laid down for their fresh snap and caramelized onions finished the sandwich with their buttery sweetness. It was all piled on to a grilled roll that had been prepped with a garlic butter. For my money grilling makes the best sandwich bread. You get warm, soft bread with just the right amount of crunch. Some sandwiches benefit from the all-over toasting or methods such as stale bread but for the general sandwich I prefer the grill. I wouldn’t say there was anything special about this effort but it resulted in a tasty, flavorful sandwich. What I am left to consider, then, is the mushrooms.

When I sat down to write this review the first word I thought to describe it was ‘meaty.’ Now this is both a failure of my imagination and a statement about my choice in mushrooms but a quick google search reveals that I have nearly 8 million other people to keep me company, all of us talking about meaty mushrooms. Is this what the mushroom deserves? It seems the mushroom is most often considered as an accent and when it is given a starring role it is cast in contrast to what it is. I ask myself if this sandwich honestly celebrated the mushroom and I am not sure of the answer. And so we make another entry on the list of sandwiches to make; one that savors mushrooms. Mushrooms are a broad category and their nuanced textures and flavors deserve to be highlighted better that they were here. I may have made myself a fine sandwich but I am forced to admit I should have aimed higher.

Whitefish & Fried Polenta – Made at Home

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polenta

Any fool can pile ingredients so high that the sandwich is evacuated when you try and hold it. When given the chance to make their own sandwiches young children will often exercise little restraint with condiments. Grape jelly and relish do not compliment each other and if you employ both on the same sandwich you will have failed to achieve what I consider to be the most important element of a sandwich: Balance. In a truly great sandwich every element relates to the others. The flavors of any condiments play off the flavors of the main ingredient, contrasting textures come together to form a whole, and any strong ingredients like cheese or bacon are properly restrained into their supporting roles. It is a delicate harmony but any great sandwich must have balance.

If balance is a delicate harmony, my friends, then I am sad to say that this sandwich was a tepid bleat. I am being harsh, both associates who enjoyed this sandwich with me indicated it was tasty, but I feel to be fair I must be as harsh on my own creations as I am on those served to me elsewhere. The origin of this sandwich was the simple sun-dried tomato. In order to temper their bold flavor a bit I toasted some garlic and roasted a few red peppers and combined everything into a loose paste. Fish suggested itself and so the final major question was that of texture. Now, I believe contrasting textures are important in a sandwich but to always run to diametric opposites is a mistake. To put light, flaky fish on a hard, crusty roll would leave me with a sandwich that all but disintegrated while I tried to eat it. The classic ‘grinder’ ideal has its place but it wasn’t on this sandwich. The roll would have to be soft though in the end I toasted it a bit so that it would have a light crunch before giving way. I decided that my contrasting texture would come from fried polenta and I’m afraid that is where I went wrong. My experience working with polenta is limited and I just didn’t get it to fry up to the crisp I needed for this sandwich. It browned a bit but I was aiming for something more like polenta chips, something with true crunch to sit opposed to the soft fish and a soft roll. The crunch was absent and into its absence fell the entire sandwich.

The sandwich came together like so: The sun-dried tomatoes, roasted red peppers and toasted garlic were processed into a paste. The rolls were lightly toasted in the oven. The polenta was fried in a rosemary/lemon compound butter, the fish fillets simply got a little salt & pepper and were pan-fried in olive oil. A bit of mozzarella cheese was added though not too much, as I am ever wary of cheese overpowering the rest of the sandwich. In the final analysis I think that light hand might have been my undoing. The sun-dried tomato paste that I set out to highlight wasn’t as flavorful as it could have been, I included no vegetables and in general went for the minimal sandwich. With polenta fried up right and some bigger flavors I think this might be quite a sandwich. As it stands, though, this was a bland sandwich.

The Smokie — Just Burgers & Q, El Camino Real, Santa Clara, CA

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(A quick note: My phone failed to store the picture I took of this sandwich. The photography on this blog will improve considerably in the coming weeks, I promise.)

I was accompanying an associate on an errand when I saw it. A professional light-up sign proclaimed “JUST BURGERS & Q”, while a smaller, computer-printed sign in the window specified that the Q in question was Bar-B-Q. I instantly made several assumptions about Just Burgers & Q and when I visited them that afternoon I found out that all of my assumptions were correct. This is the type of establishment that is offended even by the suggestion of a frill. It’s barely even a restaurant, pared down even for a take-out joint. 3 tables and less than a dozen chairs crowded the front, a high counter had a menu taped to it and beyond that a man who appeared to be the proprietor busied himself in the kitchen. He took my order from the back, rang my order up when he had a moment and when my sandwich was ready he brought it out to me.

As I sat and waited for the sandwich I found my anticipation building. When someone chooses to forgo the formalities of a restaurant it is usually because they know their food can stand without it. It is a bold move to deny your customers a pleasant atmosphere, daring them to admit that they only thing that matters is your food and that your food is very, very good. I thought it was all-or-nothing. I thought if the sandwich was good then the whole enterprise was a success, and if it wasn’t then I was just sitting in a dirty storefront drinking a watered down coke.

I was wrong. To cut to the chase the sandwich was no good but I am unwilling to write off the whole of Just Burgers & Q. The sandwich was a bed of shredded lettuce on a sesame seed bun, some shaved pork loin and a slice of tomato. That’s not much of a sandwich but what saved the whole thing from disaster was the sauce. The pork loin was soaked in a smokey bar-b-q sauce thick enough to hold the sandwich together but not so thick as to impede things. The sandwich was lousy but the sauce was amazing and as I ate it the disconnect between the two made me uncomfortable. The caramel notes in the sauce played against the spice and the whole thing just overshadowed the rest of the sandwich. The meat in the middle could have been roast turkey or tofu loaf, it was all lost. To have a sauce that is so obviously a product of so much work and love poured over a sandwich that no thought has gone into is an unacceptable dichotomy. The sauce at Just Burgers & Q is amazing, and for all I know the ribs are transcendent. The sandwich, however, is no good.

Smoked Turkey and Bacon – Made at Home

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Smoked Turkey and Bacon – Made at an associates house, Boston, MA

Smoked Turkey & Bacon Sandwich

In the quest for the most rarefied of sandwich airs, for perfection, I sometimes forget that at its heart the sandwich is a humble meal. And while the best sandwiches are slaved over, tried again and again until they are perfect, sometimes some things are just thrown between two slices of bread and then consumed. On a trip to Boston some time ago I arrived at an associates house rather peckish. He offered me his fridge, and so I hastily assembled what you see above.

Cibatta bread holds about a quarter pound of smoked turkey, a few slices of cheese, a leaf or two of lettuce, a generous helping of mustard, and three slices of bacon. Salt & pepper finish it off. The sandwich is what you expect it to be, the turkey flavorful but not greatly so, the bacon savory and with a proper crunch. I would not say I was “wowed,” but my stomach was filled and my taste buds were pleased. I suppose we all need a reminder from time to time of the sandwich as a utility, rather than as art. Whatever its role, this was a good sandwich.

Sausage Sandwich – Giamela’s Submarine Sandwiches, Los Feliz Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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When I moved from the east coast last year it was with the understanding that I would be leaving certain things behind. I wasn’t upset about this, I understood that if I wanted my shot at the sunshine I would have to leave things like snow and effective mass transit systems behind. I don’t regret my decision at all, but all the same I spend a fair amount of time trying to relate my life out here to the things I knew there, trying to find echoes and impressions of life back east. As my associates and I drove over to the restaurant I wondered how faithful it would be to the establishments I had known and loved in the past. I must say that were I to judge it solely on the design Giamela’s is a wonderful establishment, almost designed specifically for the transplant. Plastic checkered tablecloths covered the tables. The price for a refill was written on a paper plate and taped to the side of the soda fountain. The menu tacked to the wall displayed the restaurant’s original offerings in proper printing, with later additions and revisions written below in all capital letters. The atmosphere was as authentic eye-talian as I was likely to find, but this is not a blog about atmosphere.

Beneath the onions but above the wax paper is a hero roll and several succulent sausage links.

Beneath the onions but above the wax paper is a hero roll and several succulent sausage links.

As you can see from the photo, the sausage sandwich at Giamela’s includes onions. You cannot see that it also includes sausage and a sharp marinara sauce. All of these things are standard and I would have been more than pleased if they were the only things presented. Giamela’s went above and beyond what I might expect and included peppers, carrots and pickles. I had seen on the menu board that these things were included in the sandwich and I could have asked that they prepare my sandwich differently. I didn’t make that request because when I stopped to consider it, I was very curious about what they had done to the idea of a sausage sandwich. And what they’ve done is….well, they’ve added carrots and pickles. The sandwich was tasty enough, but I couldn’t get past what I saw as interlopers. They added nothing to the sandwich, with the pickles bringing an unwelcome sour crunch and the carrots an equally unwelcome brightness. How had they gotten there? My only guess is this: The idea of a sausage sandwich was, some time ago, carried west via the children’s game of Telephone. From person to person the recipie went, and somewhere around St. Louis “peppers” became “pickles.” 1500 miles later Phoenix made sure to twist “caramelized onions” into “carrots and onions” and in a grimy joint in Los Angeles the whole thing came together. And that left me, pleased with the note-perfect decor but less satisfied with one odd sandwich.

Pork Shoulder & Mojo Sauce – Made at Home

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pork-shoulder-final

There are a range of possible reactions when one bites into a sandwich. For example, one can be satisfied or pleased. You might express the former with a simple exclamation of “mmmmm” and the latter by pointing frantically, trying to motion to an associate that the combination of this spread with that meat is simply sublime. On the other end of the spectrum you might be disappointed in a sandwich, letting loose a puzzled “hrmmm” as you wonder what went wrong. These are fairly average reactions and as you dine on a wide range of sandwiches I’m sure you’ll find yourself expressing these reactions and more. Beyond that range of average reactions, dear reader, are truly rare sandwich related feelings, and it is my hope that you will one day dine on a sandwich that makes you feel as this one made me.

I took one bite and could feel my shoulders turn inward as my head slumped down. I cursed and was instantly disappointed. Not in the way that you might assume, the sandwich itself was amazing. I was very, very disappointed in myself for a very simple reason: This was the only pork shoulder sandwich I had and the odds that I would soon have another one were not good. This, friends, was so fine a sandwich that before the conclusion of the first bite I was angry I did not have another.

I wish that I could impress you with my sandwich ingenuity, but the beauty of this sandwich is that I did no more than millions of my fellow sandwich enthusiasts do every night. I reheated some leftovers, split a roll, added mustard and there it was. I am simply lucky in that I was starting with some very good leftovers. Earlier in the week I had roasted a pork shoulder with a wet rub of garlic, cumin, orange juice and other spices. It was served with a sauce of olive oil, orange juice and garlic. So later in the week when I found a few slices of pork shoulder in the fridge I went to work. A few tablespoons of leftover mojo sauce went into a pan where they were soon joined by some onions. Once the onions softened the whole of it was set aside, and into the pan went 2 or 3 slices of pork shoulder, making sure to include plenty of the flavorful crust. Once the pork was hot it was laid onto a grilled roll, the onions and sauce laid on top of that, and finally a thin layer of mustard went onto the top half of the roll. I took a quick picture with my phone and retired with my sandwich to the living room, where I sat down and experienced the most profound disappointment of my gastronomic life.

The pork was tender and moist, the crust flavorful and just chewy enough. The sauce presented a mellow garlic flavor that paired well with the mustard as well as a tang amplified by the sauteed onions. If the Bánh Mì suggests the idea of sandwiches as a religion, this simple sandwich I pulled from my fridge is a vision. Truly, it was a very fine sandwich.

Bistro Club – Safeway Deli, Santa Clara, CA

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Bistro Club from Safeway

“Life,” I was once told, “Is simply a matter of basics and details. Rely heavily on one, hope the other comes together and you should be all right.” In sandwiches, as we have seen time and time again, as in life.

The Safeway Bistro Club is a sandwich that gets the basics right. The sandwich is an herbed focaccia bread bread with a hearty layer of chicken, a few slices of bacon, an avocado spread and a piece of lettuce. Chicken is the building block of a great many sandwiches, and far too often at fast food establishments it does not measure up. It is cold and tough, long ago chopped up and parceled out into the portion for one sandwich, regardless of the type. The Bistro Club, however, features large chunks of tender chicken, specifically selected for how well they would fit on my sandwich. It was put in the oven for a full minute, ensuring everything was heated through. I was so impressed with the quality of the chicken that I enquired as to whether it had been grilled on site, and I was surprised when I was told it wasn’t.

As well as the most important element of the sandwich is done, the details are not all there. The avocado, smooth and creamy, is a nice presence but has little in the sandwich to play off of. The avocado is a fine, fine ingredient for a sandwich and it saddens me when I see it merely included, instead of featured. The sandwich resists the urge to pile on extraneous ingredients, but I cannot help but wonder what the avocado might have been. In spite of this, well executed basics carry what is a surprisingly good sandwich.

Grilled Jerk Chicken Sandwich – Primo Patio, Townsend St, San Francisco, CA

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Jerk Chicken Sandwich

Before I get to the sandwich, I’d like to talk about Jerk for a moment. Jerk seems to me to be terribly underrepresented in America’s ethnic cuisine scene. Chinese food is of course ubiquitous, with Japanese restaurants doing their best to keep up. Italian and Mexican are both big time players, with enterprises ranging from your finest neighborhood Taqueria to the Olive Garden. Indian food is the little guy, but any area with any real population density is sure to feature its fair share of Indian restaurants. The same cannot be said of Jerk. Jerk is not going to present itself to you; Jerk must be sought out.

Jerk is a matter of balance. All cuisines are a matter of both ingredients and technique, but rarely are both halves so equally important. The jerk rub is a thick brown paste of allspice, peppers, garlic, cloves, cinnamon, brown sugar and ginger. The mix is too robust to be called delicate, but I assure you too far in the direction of either heat (Scotch Bonnet peppers are no small matter) or sweetness will ruin everything. The cooking must be equally nuanced, with the meat grilled over low, indirect heat, with as much smoke as one can muster. Calling it grilled is almost a misnomer. The smoke mellows the rub, slowly coaxing out the layered flavor and bringing the sweetness and the heat to their perfect meeting point.

You can find Jerk marinades in any supermarket. I have tried them. They are….they are not so good. They contain things like corn syrup, and even if you grill your meat at home, your grill is going to be too hot and not smoky enough. That much sugar and that much heat is the Jerk equivalent of treating a high wire like a diving board. It makes a big mess and it’s going to ruin every one’s appetite. It’s best to leave Jerk to the professionals.

Primo Patio understands Jerk. The chicken sandwich fell apart as I ate it, the connective tissue having been eaten away by the steady but careful application of heat. The flavor was aggressive, the allspice so-very-close to overpowering, brought back by the brown sugar and the cinnamon. It was not as spicy as some rubs, but the peppers let you know they were there. The roll was soft, which ends up being rather important. A hard or even crusty roll would not serve the tenderness of the meat. No one wants to grind away at a roll while the meat is long since gone. This was jerk done right; When one orders a jerk sandwich one runs the risk of getting something that just sits in a marinade before going over a gas grill for 4 minutes a side, and I cannot tell you how pleased I was that this was not the case. Primo Patio gets it, the investment required for proper jerk, the equal parts that must be weighed, considered, and laid in their proper roles. This is a fine sandwich.

Bánh Mì – Bánh Mì Saigon, Grand St, New York, NY

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We should start, then, with perfection.

This is a bánh mì from Saigon Bánh Mì, and it is the best sandwich in America. Now, I have not eaten every sandwich in America, and I do not aspire to. The conclusion that this sandwich is the best was not reached by poll, not by formula, not by proclamation. It simply is. The #1 from Saigon Bánh Mì is not an appeal to reason, it is an argument for sandwiches as a religion.

The namesake sandwich at Saigon Bánh Mì is listed as #1 on the handwritten menu board, and if we’re being completely honest here it is similarly inscribed in my heart. The sandwich is not complicated, and it is the pursuit of perfection of a classic formula that seems to raise the sandwich above its competitors. A baguette grilled to a crunch holds seasoned, diced pork grilled to chewy perfection. Cilantro makes its distinct mark, shredded onion and carrot join cucumber to contrast the pork with a bit of fresh snap, and a slice of pork roll and a bit of mayo smooth things out, bringing it all together. It is everything a sandwich should be, it is flavorful and complete. Rather than merely holding things together, the bread accentuates the overall sandwich.

Saigon Bahn Mi is located in the back half of a jewelry store. After you order your sandwich you can stand there as the jewelry store employees stare at you, no doubt long tired of people who take up space but don’t buy any jade Buddha pendants. I have always felt it a little bit awkward, but before long you surrender your four dollars and leave holding the crowning achievement of the entire sandwich industry. This is the finest sandwich.