Tag Archives: Sandwiches I Have Eaten

Bacon and Egg Breakfast Sandwich — Johny’s Kitchen, Cal State Los Angeles

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I have consumed a great many meals on a good many college campuses in my time. Truly, some of my fondest sandwich memories have come from on-campus or campus-adjacent eateries: the truly spectacular but pricey sandwiches from the Ord Market on the territory that comprises CSU Monterey Bay; the turkey and Swiss croissant microwaved with love and served out of a small shack in the middle of San Francisco State.

California State University, Los Angeles is heavy on the name-brand fast food and light on the independent sandwich shop or eatery. There is, however, a storefront in the food court called Johny’s Kitchen, which appears to be a singular entity. The menu is far-reaching diner fare, and when I found myself in need of a quick breakfast, I gave them a shot.There were half a dozen breakfast sandwich options or slight variation: bacon and egg, sausage and egg, ham and egg, etc. served on one’s choice of bread. I opted for the bacon and egg on wheat, and unfortunately, was served a sandwich that will in no way hold a special place in my heart.

There was a significant quantity of egg…I would say between two and three eggs, and a few strips of bacon served on two pieces of slightly grilled toast. There was no butter on the bread, no seasoning in the eggs, and no other element to the sandwich. It is among the blandest sandwiches I have ever encountered. Even a dash of salt and pepper would have made the sandwich exponentially better. I can’t imagine that the other bread choices of rye, white, or sourdough would have improved the sandwich, either. We talk a lot about the unnecessary inclusion of cheese in sandwiches, but any cheese at all on this sandwich would have been a marked and welcome improvement.

As I chewed and swallowed this massive, warm wad of egg with an extremely slight bacon flavor, I reflected on the fact that one of the breakfast sandwich options was merely “double egg.” I felt a deep sadness for any unfortunate soul who elected to travel that unappetizing road.

The Godfather – All About The Bread, Melrose Ave, Los Angeles, CA

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As I spent some time last week maligning Subway for their woefully inadequate bread, I thought it would be as good a time as any to talk about one of the better offerings out there. In the Subway post I mentioned that I can forgive people for crowing about great bread, and All About the Bread is certainly crowing. It’s in the name, of course, and they make sure to inform you that the bread is baked fresh every 30 minutes. I’m not exactly sure what that means. Am I getting the bread that’s fresh out of the oven? Do you take a batch, sell what you can in a half hour, then throw the remainder away and start fresh? While the specifics are hazy the implication is clear: This is fresh bread. As for the rest of what’s on display here, The Godfather is a pretty standard Italian sub. The ingredients vary a little depending on where you are, and All About the Bread features spicy capocollo, mortadella, prosciutto, ham, salami and provolone on the namesake bread. I thought it was OK, but enough of my associates proclaimed it too heavy on the mustard and hot peppers that I feel obligated to pass that information on to you. Considered apart from the sandwich, though, the bread was spectacular. The crust is marvelously crisp, having bubbled up into a crackly shell just waiting for your bite to smash through. The interior of the bread is soft and light, not tasteless but willingly playing a supporting roll to the sandwich. Although I would likely steer clear of The Godfather again, they offer a number of other sandwiches your humble enthusiast is anxious to pair up with that outstanding bread.

Chicken Torta — Eagle Rock Music Festival, Los Angeles

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Street fairs and similar festivals are an interesting time for cuisine, particularly in Los Angeles, where the food truck and the street vendor are at the same time a ubiquitous staple and a hipsterish fad. The recent Eagle Rock Music Festival had the featured food trucks you would expect, as well as the open restaurants and scattered food booths along a jam-packed Colorado Boulevard, but also featured an interesting “food court” down a side street. It was at this food court that I saw a large banner over a crowded stall that proclaimed “SUPER TORTAS.” Whether this was a descriptor of the product, a hyperbolic boast, or simply the name of the proprietary enterprise, I could not ascertain. I was merely certain that I would be ordering a torta.

Following a prolonged and too-complicated ordering process, I was presented with a chicken torta and a pork-and-cheese pupusa. Since this is not “On Pupusas,” I shall restrict my commentary to the former.

As I carried my torta the few blocks home, to enjoy my repaste in comfort at the end of a very long day, I did not have high hopes for the sandwich. Certainly I have an ideal against which all future tortas will be measured, which does a grave disservice to both myself and the unfortunate new torta. The chicken torta from the Music Festival featured minced and grilled chicken, lettuce, and tomato. The grilled roll was given a healthy coat of what appeared to be mayonnaise, and a liberal ladle of salsa was applied to the sandwich just before assembly was completed atop the grill.

To say I was pleasantly surprised would be an understatement. By all rights, this sandwich should not have been as good as it was. The chicken was sparse and of low quality. The salsa and grease had soaked through the bottom half of the roll, making it something just this side of “a sloppy mess.” And yet…this torta was absolutely delicious. The marriage of the salsa, mayonnaise, and chicken was approaching sublime. It had far more kick than you would expect from this sandwich, and yet the heat and spice was never overpowering. The bread was of a much higher quality than I expected, and the torta absolutely hit the spot with this weary traveler. My only regret lies in not being able to divine the name of this establishment, so that I may visit their truck or storefront again in the future. Alas.

 

Beef Patty on Coco Bread – Island Spice, Teaneck Rd, Teaneck, NJ

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If you told me this was a lousy excuse for a sandwich I wouldn’t put up much of an argument. There’s nothing there but two bits of bread and a beef patty, which itself isn’t much more than a pastry shell and some spiced ground beef. There may not be much involved here, but I can say without hesitation that on my recent trip east this was the sandwich I was looking forward to the most. (Well, the second most. Nothing supplants The Finest Sandwich.) Part of the reason I was so looking forward to it is that there isn’t much Caribbean food in the bay area, and so if I happen to get a craving for a beef patty and coco bread, the odds aren’t good that I’m going to be able to pick one up. A craving is hardly predictable, as we all know, and my yearning for a beef patty seemed to fade in and out at the most inopportune times. But more than the fact that I hadn’t had one in a while was the simple but not insignificant power of nostalgia. Coco bread is something I ate weekly as a teenager, usually with a beef patty sandwiched in the middle. It’s also a fairly distinct bread, meaning there’s no close cousin for which I can settle.  I’ve made the bread before, but that takes even more time than biking over to one of the restaurants would take and is also something that can be difficult to indulge in at odd hours of the night.

So what does all of that mean? I don’t care that this was a beyond-simple sandwich. It’s a classic combination and I grooved on nostalgia as I savored every bite. I wouldn’t expect anyone else to have a similar reaction, but I hope that each and every one of you has your own sandwich that you remember with such fondness. I hope you get to have that sandwich, readers, regularly enough that your fondness never fades but not so often that it burns out.

Turkey Mac & Cheese — Made At Home

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Every truly great idea begins with but a germ of that idea, and perhaps this meager sandwich can serve as a jumping-off point for further experimentation at this humble blog.

While preparing a box of “homestyle” macaroni & cheese for dinner (“homestyle” is the type that comes with a small packet of bread crumbs for sprinkling atop the finished product), I decided to make it a slightly heartier meal by shredding a quantity of deli turkey into the mixture. As I prepared to spoon the finished product onto my plate, I realized this might actuality be an opportunity for sandwich making.

Unfortunately, due to available materials, said sandwich would have to be a couple toasted slices of whole wheat bread, onto which the turkey mac and cheese was foisted and bread crumbs added from their packet. The end result was pleasing, but obviously, sorely lacking. I feared the bread crumbs would be lost at best, and wholly unnecessary, but they provided a pleasing added crunch and grit. The turkey married well with the mac and cheese. If I were to do this again, it would certainly be a grilled cheese sandwich. But it needs something more, and it’s my duty to determine what that should be.

With sandwich creation, as in all things, one must live and learn. It is our duty as sandwich enthusiasts to try, and fail, and try again. Anyone can make a sandwich, but the question must always be: “How can I make this better next time?”

The Italian – Sal, Kris & Charlie’s Deli, 23rd Ave, Astoria, NY

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Sal, Kris & Charlie’s Deli is a sandwich institution on the west side of Queens. This is their Italian, one of two staples on offer. The body is salami, mortadella, pepperoni and provolone, with lettuce and tomato capping things off. As with any good Italian, there are hots if you want them. They also offers something they call “The Bomb,” which is substantially bigger and adds ham, turkey, and two more kinds of cheese. The Italian is more restrained and is a better sandwich for it.  It’s quality meat and they don’t skimp, piling it high on a locally baked semolina roll that is, without question, the best hero roll I’ve ever had. It has a wonderfully crunchy crust, a strong, chewy body and brings another layer of flavor to the sandwich.

That said, I don’t like this sandwich. I don’t like this sandwich, but I think you should try it. Let me explain. It’s no secret that I don’t particularly care for cold cuts, but I’d like to think that I’ve shown that I’m willing to be fair. Being fair doesn’t obligate me to like something, though, and I think I can be fair to this sandwich without liking it. This sandwich is the platonic ideal of the grinder. Quality meat, plenty of it, and a great roll. This is everything a hero can be, and if you were called upon to defend the whole idea you could do no better than to cite this sandwich. But it just isn’t for me, and I’m happy to admit that’s about me and not the sandwich. I’ll further admit that I’ve made this site a bit personality heavy. Perhaps that makes this the best time to remind you that I’m not the ultimate authority on the sandwiches you eat, you are. I have my opinions and philosophies and I hold to them, but ultimately I can only experience sandwiches for me, and you only for you. So it may seem a bit contradictory to say that I wouldn’t eat this sandwich again but you should, but that’s what I’m going with. Should I find myself back in Astoria with an associate I’ll gladly guide them to Sal Kris & Charlie’s and enjoy a slice of coffee cake while they settle the issue for themselves. I recommend that one day you do the same.

The Original — Galco’s Soda Pop Stop, York Boulevard, Los Angeles

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Galco’s Soda Pop Stop is a world-famous soda store. The owner and founder of Galco’s had a lifelong passion for all things soda pop, and wanted to collect as many varieties as possible in one place for a thirsty public. He took over an old supermarket and began ordering in every type of soda from every soda brewery, no matter how small. The end result is a can’t-miss haven of carbonated beverages.

Along the back wall of Galco’s, inhabiting the area where a meat and fish counter doubtlessly one stood, is a small area where one can order one of a dozen sandwiches. My first couple of trips to Galco’s were naturally so focused on soda purchases that I didn’t even notice the sandwich counter there. Naturally, once I noticed it, it was added to my list. I have spoken before about sandwiches in unusual venues, so I couldn’t pass this one up.

Most of the sandwiches on the board are labeled under the title “Blockbuster” — the Turkey Blockbuster, the Roast Beef Blockbuster, and so on — although the ingredients didn’t hold any clues as to what might be the blockbusting nature of said items. They seemed fairly straightforward and pedestrian (not that this is necessarily a bad thing). Luckily, I spied an item listed as “The Original.” If I’m going to try a sandwich from a soda stop, I may as well go with their first creation, mayn’t I?

The Original is Italian dry salami, mortadella, salami cotta, ham, mayo, mustard, pickles, and provolone on a french roll.The menu takes care to note that The Orginial is the only sandwich served without lettuce and tomato. I felt this was an important distinction to make, and that the sandwich makers at Galco’s knew better than I what should appear on any given sandwich.

I want to take a moment to compare the sandwich at Galco’s with a sandwich from the Eagle Rock Italian Deli. At the Italian Deli, you get fresh-sliced meats and cold cuts that are carved to order and placed on a roll that is baked in-house daily. At Galco’s, you get cold cuts out of a package which are placed on a french roll out of another package. I’m not faulting Galco’s for not having specialty ingredients at a small counter in the rear of a defunct grocery store, but perhaps I am faulting them for the fact that their sandwiches are more expensive than those at the Italian Deli. The overhead on these sandwiches has to be incredibly low, particularly when the mustard in question is of the “yellow” variety.

The sandwich was disappointing in several respects. The various cold cuts, which appear plentiful in the above picture, are bunched up in the center both along the length and width of the sandwich. The spongy bread, although perhaps the highlight of the sandwich, becomes 80% of any given bite beyond the first couple mouthfuls of either half of the sandwich. The other great failing of this sandwich, I believe, has much to do with the quality of the cold cuts used. Such a melange of cold cuts, were they freshly sliced and of a discerning quality, might be pulled off by the Italian Deli (although they usually, and wisely, stick to one type of cold cut per sandwich), but when you have four different types of cold cut all yanked from a package — packages undoubtedly emblazoned with “Oscar Meyer” or “Foster Farms” — and slathered in a hefty coat of mayonnaise and yellow mustard, without even lettuce and tomato (adamantly), the overall effect was that I was eating a bologna sandwich.

I’ve eaten bologna sandwiches often during my lifetime, but I don’t believe I’ve ever paid for the pleasure of someone preparing one for me. And I’ve certainly never paid someone nine dollars for an unevenly-distributed bologna sandwich. The Original could save a lot of money by simply dropping the pretense and offering bologna sandwiches. Then they wouldn’t have to open four packages every day. They’d only have to open one.

 

Filet-O-Fish – No. 7 Sub, Broadway, New York, NY

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I was excited to try No. 7 Subs. I’d heard them spoken of fondly by other bloggers I respect, but it was more than that. One person described them as “avant-garde,” and it was with this in mind that I looked forward to sampling their wares. I’ve got a quick way to describe the sandwich I had, and it isn’t “avante-garde.” It’s “lousy.” The above photo quickly gives away the main issue: Where’s the filet? This is a $9 sandwich. I get that it’s Manhattan. I’m no country rube, eyeballs shooting out of my head when confronted with big city prices. I’ll pony up for any sandwich, even almost ridiculous amounts. $9 isn’t going to bankrupt me, but when I part with it I expect something more substantial than an undersized filet hiding in the middle of a bread brick. (I should note that the above picture only depicts half of the sandwich I was given.) That only thing you can really see in the photo is bread and cheese is fitting, because that’s about all the sandwich was. There was cilantro in there, and a roasted tomatillo-chili mayo, but neither made themselves known. All I got was a dense roll and too much American cheese, much to my disappointment.

I should have known what I was in for as soon as I set foot in the door. The menu features a pulled pork sandwich, and that pulled pork sandwich features feta cheese. Cheese on pulled pork has come up here before and…an associate once remarked that “No one who puts cheese on a pulled pork sandwich has ever, or will ever, be loved.” That’s a nice summation of my thoughts on the matter. The associate I was dining with at No. 7 Subs had the asparagus sandwich and was kind enough to let me sample it. Her fortunes were no better than mine, as overcooked asparagus sunk a nice granny smith/cashew dressing. “Avante-garde” is probably a fair way to describe the sandwich shop, but they’re aiming high without securing the basics. They’re trying to paint a masterpiece with a rumpled paper bag and a dried out set of watercolors, and it’s a sad sight. This isn’t falling short via trying something that didn’t work. It’s falling short via not trying, and I can’t get behind that.

No. 7 Subs does brisk business, so it’s possible I simply caught them on a bad day. I would be doing my wonderful readers a disservice, though, if I gave them the benefit of the doubt. If you’re searching out a good sandwich in Manhattan I’m sure you’ll have someone telling you how good No. 7 Subs is. I suppose you might have your reasons for taking their word over mine, but if you’re putting stock in the word of your humble sandwich enthusiast, that word is “avoid.”

Bagel Egg Sandwiches, Round Two — Made at Home

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The single most popular thing in all of America is football. Specifically, the NFL. In honor of the first Sunday of the regular football season, the day was spent watching the sport on television while making an assortment of bagel egg sandwiches. You will recall that I have touted the glory of sandwiches made on bagels, and this was a great opportunity to stretch that experience out over two meals while watching some sports.

My first attempt, pictured above, was sausage and egg on a cheese bagel. Chicken apple sausage was cut lengthwise, then again cut in half and pan-fried.  Eggs were fried, white onions seared in a pan, and combined on the bagel along with fresh avocado, medium cheddar cheese, and tomato. The end result, although of a pleasing taste, ended up being frustrating to eat. The toughness of the sausage casing and the shape and positioning of the quartered sausage caused no end of filling creep. The sandwich nearly fell apart in my hands as I struggled to hold it together. A lovely sandwich completely undone by the method in which I chose to include the sausage. Had I the opportunity to do this over, I would have cut the sausage into much smaller half-circles or cubes, which I would have then dropped into the egg as it finished frying in the pan. Hindsight, however, is 20/20, and I was left with a good-tasting but frustrating sandwich.

The second sandwich was nearly identical, served on an “everything” bagel, but with one all-important difference: instead of sausage, freshly-prepared bacon was included. This, my friends, was a road well-traveled, but made all the difference. One cannot deny the allure of bacon, but it is with good reason. The bacon was the perfect meat for this sandwich. It added smokiness, saltiness, and crunch, but more importantly, it yielded perfectly to each bite, adding substance without resistance.

A sandwich that holds together is a good sandwich, and sometimes it all comes down to what best makes the center hold. As you can imagine, this is especially true of sandwiches prepared upon a bagel.

Steak Torta — Porto’s Bakery, North Brand Boulevard, Glendale, CA

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We’ve visited Porto’s before, and we’re certainly no stranger to either steak sandwiches or tortas. The last Porto’s sandwich featured here was a rare miss from an otherwise exemplary sandwich shop and bakery, and it’s nice to showcase a sandwich that really points out how much the establishment shines when it plays to its strengths.

The steak torta is grilled steak, cotija cheese, guacamole, lettuce, tomato, and black bean spread on a French round. The bread, baked in-house, is marvelous. The grilled steak is flavorful, even though it is the normal torta-quality steak you would expect. The true star of the show, however is the black bean spread. Porto’s uses this on several sandwiches, and the first time I took a bite of one, my mind burst into a fire of one vital question: “WHY ISN’T THIS  ON EVERY SANDWICH?” The black bean spread is something that, as soon as you taste it, you wonder why you haven’t thought of it before. It adds a welcome earthiness and savoury element that so many unneeded vegetables can only hope to aspire to.

This sandwich is nothing short of a delight, a wonderful balance of creaminess, firmness, and a wide flavor palate. The bread holds everything together perfectly and although the cheese may be a bit lost, you’ll find the experience pleasing in every way.