Tag Archives: San Jose

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.

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

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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

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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.

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

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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

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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.

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.

Turkey & Chicken Pesto Sausage – Le Boulanger, Lincoln Ave, San Jose, CA

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The chicken & turkey pesto sausage at Le Boulanger

Greasy Sandwich Month continues with this song of a sandwich from Le Boulanger. First of all, it’s always nice to get a sausage sandwich that is in fact a sandwich, and not a hot dog masquerading as a sandwich. I sometimes feel a fool interrogating some poor staff member about whether it comes on a bun or a roll, and is it horizontal, yes, horizontal, this way, not that way. Yes, I insist, I’m aware it says “sausage sandwich” on the menu but that can mean different things to different people, and I would really appreciate a degree of certainty before placing my order. I digress.

The joy in this particular sandwich is not a product of construction, but constitution. The seeded sourdough roll is baked up with a hearty crust, and as any experienced sandwich eater knows, a hearty crust necessitates proper technique. The sandwich must be gripped with pressure in just the right places, holding all ingredients together without sending them sliding straight out of the side. It is a careful application of force, and this made for a wonderful pairing with the sausage. Each squeeze wrung a little more juice out of each bite, and juice by another name is fat, and so we return to grease. Pleasing in taste and texture, this sandwich was awash, the pesto flavors playing well with the roasted red peppers and the baby greens. The provolone was lost somewhere in the song, but you’ll get no complaint over that from me. Altogether, this was a very fine sandwich.

Chorizo Torta – Bakery Mexico No. 2, E Santa Clara St, San Jose, CA

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The Chorizo Torta from Bakery Mexico in San Jose, CA

What better way to kick off Greasy Sandwich Month here at On Sandwiches than with a seeded telera roll stuffed full of Chorizo? I got this sandwich to go, and upon unwrapping it the wrinkles in the tinfoil had each accumulated their own pool of grease. This might be enough to scare off some people, but not yours truly. No, fat provides both a pleasing taste and texture, and I welcome it. So let us celebrate the greasy, sloppy sandwich, starting with this very one. Accompanied by tomato and a healthy-but-not-obtrusive amount of cheese, the savory Mexican sausage soaked into the bread and made for a delightfully juicy, wonderfully savory sandwich. Not every sandwich should put you down for a nap, but every so often it’s just what you’re looking for. Without jalapenos or any other bold ingredients, this one stood on the strength of its grease and I am happy to say it was a success.

Meatball Sandwich – Premium Pizza, Hillsdale Ave, San Jose, CA

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Meatball Sandwich with onions, peppers, and mozzarella cheese from Premium Pizza

Is there a sandwich more capable of exceeding the sum of its parts than the meatball sandwich? There was nothing special about any of the individual ingredients of this sandwich. The meatballs lacked any sort of texture, the sauce was standard-issue, the cheese, onions, and peppers were all present but hardly worth a song. Together, though, together they are a meatball sandwich. And a meatball sandwich is something special. I had developed a craving for such a sandwich a few weeks back and had held off, knowing that the longer I waited the more satisfying the eventual sandwich would be. The parameters of what makes a meatball sandwich are fairly narrow, and this is to its advantage. Any place you find with a pizza oven can serve you up exactly what you are expecting to get, exactly what I needed to satisfy my craving. It was a meaty, zesty sandwich, bound together by oozing cheese and a crispy roll. It wasn’t the best possible meatball sandwich, but it was exactly what I needed.