Tag Archives: Sandwiches I Have Eaten

Pulled Pork Sandwich – Subway

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The pulled pork sandwich from Subway.

Well meaning friends and associates have, in the past, suggested I write about subway. Each time I have declined to do so. The topic is a challenging one for me, a point where my passions intersect with a sincere desire to minimize snobbishness. I fear I cannot address the topic in a rational, restrained manner. But my esteemed colleague is addressing pulled pork sandwiches soon and I have felt a certain dismay over Subway offering one, so the time has come.

Let’s start with the sandwich. I’m a man who thinks that things have rules. They can (and should) be bent or even broken, but always for a good cause. Here’s a rule: pulled pork comes on white bread. Sliced loaf, roll, that part doesn’t matter, it just has to be white. The
point of a pulled pork sandwich is to savor laboriously prepared pork and (ideally) a sauce with a history. The bread should say as little as possible.

Subway doesnt have white bread. They have honey oat, the have 9-grain, they even have a Hearty Italian that might be close, but no straight white. So when the sandwich artist asked me what kind of bread I wanted, the first step in any Subway sandwich, I was at a bit of a loss. Ideally, this wouldn’t even be a choice. I ordered a pulled pork sandwich, white bread should be available and they should know to use it. Thinking that the “hearty” in Italian might be too much, I went with sourdough.

The pork sits in a small tray like any other ingredient. A portion of pork was scooped out and placed on my sourdough, and then I was asked what kind of cheese I wanted. Cheese? What kind of cheese did I want? I was struck. If the bread is a slip-up, cheese is heresy. I try to remain open to all ideas but I cannot accept this. There is no cheese in a pulled pork sandwich, full stop. It doesn’t belong and it’s presence will only hurt the sandwich. I declined cheese, but who knows what everyone else is doing. By now I could have had BREAD and CHEESE, a ghastly pair to bring to a pulled pork sandwich. “So what?” you ask. “Why not try it?” Because it won’t be any good. Because some questions
have been asked and answered. You respect that people have eaten a lot of lousy sandwiches by accepting their conclusions. Pulled pork goes on white bread and it doesn’t involve cheese*.

More of the same followed as I was asked what toppings I wanted. The rules are more loose here. There are different things you can try, but there are limits. Coleslaw is a fine thing to add, sliced cucumber is just weird. I opted for a bit of red onion and said that was enough. I got a strange look for being satisfied with a sole topping. A few days after eating the sandwich I looked closer at an advertisement.

Look at all that lettuce! A good pulled pork sandwich is a savory, chewy affair. A bed full of watery shreds isn’t needed, it isn’t needed in the slightest. I’m left shuddering with thoughts of pulled pork with mounds of lettuce, limp tomatoes, banana peppers and god knows what else. How does the line go? It was not my strength that needed nursing, it was my imagination that wanted soothing. Next came the sauce, dispensed from a squeeze bottle like every other subway topping. You can see this is how the sandwich is represented in the ads, with a layer of sauce on top.

This is also less than ideal. Tf you’re going to involve sauce, toss the meat in it. The pork obviously isn’t prepared in house, so an additional bit of adulteration is only one more on the pile. (It occurs to me that they might avoid adding sauce to give you the option of
adding something like their chipotle southwest sauce. Oddly enough I would be ok with that, because at that point youve got a chipotle pork sandwich and I don’t care what the hell you do.) This is a pulled pork sandwich in the classic barbecue pulled pork sense, and tossing the meat in the sauce would be the best option.

The most important question here, apart from all of my uptight ranting, was whether or not the sandwich was any good. It was…it was alright. The pork was juicy enough, the sauce could have used less sugar and more smoke. I didn’t hate it but I didn’t love it. Meh.

There are a lot of subway restaurants. To foster growth, Doctor’s Associates was willing to accept a lower franchise fee than other major franchisors, and they were willing to put franchisees closer to each other than might seem wise. This was intentional, they had a goal of having more subway than there are mcdonalds and they achieved that goal. But this is not an abstract,”hey did you know” point. The hack jokes people told about Starbucks are accurate descriptions of subway and this has consequences. If you’re so hung up on being the biggest, being the best is an afterthought.

Subway doesn’t make terrible sandwiches. I think they’re pretty salty, but they aren’t outright bad. But they aren’t good either, and there is no worse place to be than the middle of the road. I can forgive aiming high and falling short, as in the Mad Maple at Joe Davola’s. But I cannot forgive lack of effort. I used “meh” for a reason. It represents a deliberate unwillingness to care, a 21st century rejection of enthusiasm. It is the perfect summation of Subway. There is no greater sin than being boring, and this was a boring sandwich.

This, in and of itself, isn’t worth getting worked up over. There are scads of mediocresandwich shops; long winded rants about each one wouldn’t be interesting to read or write. But Subway is ubiquitous. For a lot of people, Subway is sandwiches and that is what I cannot stand.

Subway is aiming above boring. A pulled pork sandwich is a departure for them, as is the recent promotion of the turkey with avocado. But they’re setting out to make these sandwiches with the same pattern, skills and effort they bring to everything else. Honey oat bread, add swiss cheese, dump the sauce on top. If it was good enough for the sweet onion chicken teryaki, it’ll be good enough for everything else. Meh got them here, and meh shall carry them through. This is the middling effort I cannot forgive. If you aren’t going to do pulled pork right, don’t bother. Spare us your sputtering attempt. Stick to ham and swiss, the Italian BMT. We’ll find pulled pork elsewhere.

*This argument ignores the grilled cheese with pulled pork that has become popular recently because that’s a grilled cheese first and the pork is not the central element as it is here.

Pulled Porkstravaganza, Part One — Lucille’s Smokehouse BBQ, West Chapman Avenue, Orange, CA

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We here at On Sandwiches have never made any bones about our deep and abiding love for the pulled pork sandwich. In August, we are showcasing some of our recent pulled pork experiences and seeing how they stack up against one another, and against our idea of what a pulled pork sandwich should be.

Lucille’s Smokehouse is a chain of BBQ restaurants in California, Nevada, and Arizona. They smoke their meats in-house and offer fine, traditional barbecue fare with ample portions. I have eaten there before and been extremely pleased.

Lucille’s offers three different pulled pork sandwich options: Original, Memphis Style, and Carolina Style. As we shall get into in future Porkstravaganza posts, the type of sauce offered with a pulled pork sandwich can, more often than not, tell the entire tale. I opted for Carolina Style, and I believe this is where I made my mistake.

I am a fan of spicy foods, although it must be in moderation. I am not one of those types who seeks out “the hottest hot sauce known to man” as a lark. Nor am I the type of person who, seeing a menu where the hot sauce options are presented in a graph resembling a thermometer, would motion anywhere near the top third when making my selection. Lucille’s billed their Carolina Style pulled pork sandwich as being tossed in a “tangy” East Carolina BBQ sauce.

When I think of the word “tangy,” it does not begin to describe what occurred when I took my first bite of this sandwich. I inhaled sharply, my eyes watered, and I fumbled for my water glass. This was beyond “tangy,” my friends. The sauce was so overwhelmingly hot, that I could scarcely finish the sandwich. The smoked pork, although fine, was lost in the heat of the sauce. It was a decent sandwich, and would have been just the thing if I were in the mood for an overwhelmingly spicy meal, but I will stick to less “tangy” options in the future.

 

Pombazo Original – El Tucan, Bascom Ave, San Jose, CA

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The pambazo original from the El Tucan food truck in San Jose.There’s a food truck parked on Bascom Ave in San Jose that rarely moves. Thinking that a stationary food truck might be just the kind of place that would be the answer to my quest for the perfect torta, I stopped by after a bike ride. With no torta milanesa on the menu my eyes drifted elsewhere, and they settled upon the Pombazo Orginal. The Pambazo is another type of Mexican sandwich, named for the type of bread used. The bread is dipped in a red sauce, filled with potato, chorizo, lettuce, salsa, and queso fresco. Then the whole thing is browned on a flattop or in a skillet. The result is a delicious sandwich. Not one of those sandwiches where a hearty crust sends a tender filling sliding all over, the pombazo crust yields easily to give up the soft potato and chorizo filling. Everything is so soft that the iceberg lettuce, all too often an afterthought, provides a nice crisp contrast. There’s no great philosophy to lay out here, just a very tasty sandwich. Should you get the opportunity to eat a pombazo, my advice is that you take it. There will always be other tortas.

Lazy Chicken — The Coffee Table Bistro, Colorado Boulevard, Los Angeles

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It’s rare that one encounters a sandwich that lives up to its name in a most unfortunate way. The “Big Nasty” was indeed big, and nasty-looking, but tasted great. The Lazy Chicken, I can only assume, is named after the care with which it was dreamed up, assembled, and presented.

It’s also rare that you’ll find me complain about a sandwich being given too plentiful a portion of its key ingredient. The Lazy Chicken consisted of grilled chicken breast, avocado, swiss, bacon, lettuce, tomato, and herb mayo on an onion roll. The picture does not tell the tale, but the chicken breast was simply enormous, spilling out at either end and probably an inch thick. just a giant chicken breast, slapped haphazardly onto a bun that could neither contain it nor hold up to the act of eating.

All main elements here were disappointing. The chicken was flavorless and a chore to eat. The bacon was burnt — burnt! — and the roll was overtoasted, dry, and the overall effect of such a lousy roll paired with such a massive slab of bland meat made the meal arduous rather than satisfying. File the Lazy Chicken under the “truth in advertising” file, and stay far, far away from this one.

 

Grilled Kimchi Mac & Cheese – Made at Home

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A grilled sandwich of kimchi, mac & cheese and other cheeses.I wanted to make a kimchi sandwich. The idea had come into my head after thinking about the Canter’s Reuben and how important the sauerkraut is. (I will stop talking about the Reuben soon, I promise.) A sauerkraut sandwich didn’t sound very appealing, though, and in ruminating on things I settled on kimchi. Cousin to sauerkraut, it seemed like it might have the verve necessary to be the starring ingredient in a sandwich. Associates cautioned me against it, but I wanted the challenge. And a challenge it was! Pairing some manner of pork with the kimchi seemed natural but would clearly overshadow the cabbage. I thought about the quinoa and parmesan mix from the squash sandwich I had last winter, thinking that something nutty and smooth would be a nice contrast. Various combinations of rice and egg were suggested, but they seemed logistically risky and unlikely to be rewarding. It was my esteemed colleague Bill who finally came up with the right idea. Kimchi, he said, would go well in a grilled cheese.

From there my own mind was off like a shot. Grilled cheese can be good, but all too often any substantial amount of cheese in the middle becomes soupy. What if instead of just cheese I used macaroni and cheese, providing both a mild cheddar flavor and a contrasting texture? Cheddar wasn’t going to be the only cheese flavor involved, of course. Provolone and smoked gouda were quickly recruited, a sourdough round was obtained and the whole thing was ready to come together beautifully. It wasn’t perfect—it could have used more gouda, I went easy on it thinking the smoke might overpower things—but for a first attempt I was pretty pleased. The textures worked together as well as I’d hoped they would, the spicy kimchi and the cheese played off each other and altogether the whole thing was delicious. I’m not of the opinion that anything can be the base of a sandwich, but there are certainly a lot of options to explore. I was quite pleased to see that kimchi was splendid in a starring role.

Cheese Steak — Outer Banks Cheese Steaks, Austin St., Corolla, NC

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The esteemed founder of this enterprise had an all-too-common experience with a cheese steak in the Bay Area of Northern California. As I have said in the past, I am forever intrigued by geographically-famous sandwiches, and perhaps equally as intrigued by sandwich shops that appear to be a bit out-of-place.

Since I have never visited Philadelphia, I have never had the opportunity to have a “true” cheesesteak, or indeed even a tasty approximation thereof. Finding myself in North Carolina, and finding my initial destination of a deli closed for renovation, I spied Outer Banks Cheese Steaks tucked away in the back of a shopping center. I figured, since this was as close to Philadelphia as I was liable to get for the foreseeable future, why not give it a whirl?

My first order of business was to find out how authentic an operation this was. I inquired as to the use of Cheez-Whiz. The woman manning the counter and the grill (for they were nearly one and the same) replied, in moderately offended tones, that the cheese in use was provolone. I opted for the classic cheesesteak, and further opted for onions and peppers, as I feared a large roll filled with steak and mild cheese would be too monotonous.

As it turned out, the roll was the tastiest part of the sandwich. A true grinder, it held the sloppy components admirably and provided pleasing flavor and texture. The rest of the sandwich was bland, bland, bland. The grilled vegetables had nearly no flavor at all, and the cheese was somehow lost, even though the steak appeared to have been minced and cooked with no seasoning whatsoever.

It was sustenance, to be sure. But one wonders as to the value of a large amount of nearly-flavorless food.

 

Chopped Chicken Liver Sandwich – Guther’s Restaurant, Meridian Ave, San Jose, CA

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The Chopped Chicken Liver Sandwich at Gunther's Restaurant in San Jose, CA

As I mentioned last week, I could not stop thinking about the Reuben from Canter’s. I’m an east coast transplant. Great, classic delis are are somewhat sparse in California, so one like Canter’s is going to stick with me for a while. Returning from Los Angeles to the Bay Area, I decided to keep things going by seeking out more classic deli cuisine. I feared that another Reuben would only skew the feeling I carried from Canter’s, so something different was in order. Gunter’s Restaurant is not a deli, it’s a pretty standard German restaurant, but their menu is full of what I might find at the eastern chrome counters I so love.

A closeup of the chopped chicken liver sandwich.

The sandwich was a fine example of chopped chicken liver. Depending on your perspective that makes it a delight or a horror. I fall into the former camp and so I was delighted by the light, smooth sandwich. It needed a bit more mustard, but that’s nothing I couldn’t remedy on my own. The bread wasn’t grilled or toasted, which seemed to me to be a rather substantial missed opportunity. The sandwich was otherwise outstanding, though, making it a very good sandwich overall. I make it back east only occasionally, so it’s always nice to find the spots close to home where I might find culinary comfort.

Slummin’ It: Arby’s Classic Roast Beef

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Arby’s was founded in 1964 with the desire to tempt consumers with something other than Hamburgers. It’s a window into what was available at the time that roast beef sandwiches were both a novel change and enough to propel a restaurant to moderate, then substantial success. I sincerely wish that I could consider this sandwich in that context, because by current standards it’s abysmal. Maybe that’s my fault, for selecting Arby’s classic offering instead of something new. I suspect, though, that the addition of three cheeses and bacon wouldn’t fix the underlying problem. The beef, which is apparently roasted in store and freshly sliced, tastes like it came out of a large can, with a white label reading “BEEF” in big block letters. I tried both the BBQ sauce and the “Horsey” sauce, a sauce ostensibly built around horseradish. I like horseradish and I think it’s underrepresented in American sandwich cuisine and so I had anticipating this sauce providing at least a few positive marks for the sandwich, no matter what else developed. Alas, readers, the Horsey sauce is…well, here’s how I picture it: Someone took a jar of mayonnaise and set it next to a jar of horseradish. They stared at both of them for a minute, maybe taking the jar of horseradish and pointing it at the mayo. Then they take the mayo and start doling it out as Horsey sauce. You could dunk your sandwich in the sauce and you wouldn’t approach a significant level of flavor, which is unfortunate. Horseradish is built around attacking the sinuses and if you dilute it to the level where you no longer have to be careful in its application you might as well not use it at all. The BBQ sauce I found a bit watery but basically inoffensive.

I ended the first Slummin’ It post with a hope that I would fine a really good sandwich where I was not expecting one. That is still my hope, but I now fear it may take much longer than I might have expected.

Surf and Turf — Dave’s Chillin’ and Grillin’, Colorado Blvd., Los Angeles

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Dave’s Chillin’ and Grillin’ is a site that will be featured again on this site in the not-too-distant future. The eponymous proprietor of this particular establishment is a Boston transplant who, dismayed that he was unable to find a quality sandwich in Los Angeles, set up shop in the Eagle Rock neighborhood. Dave’s is the closest sandwich establishment to my residence, and luckily one of the best.

As I headed into Dave’s yesterday, I noted that the chalkboard on the sidewalk listed specials for Tuesday through Friday, leading me to believe Monday had no such featured sandwich. Still, I verified this was the case at the counter, and was told that today’s special was the “Surf and Turf.” I was then informed that this was a tuna and pastrami sandwich. I imagine my eyebrows must have leaped nearly off my forehead. Not only did this sound like a sandwich so interesting that I simply had to try it, but it allowed me to test my newly-minted theory that pastrami was the perfect complementary sandwich meat. I felt that if anything would stretch the theory to its limits, it must be this.

The Surf and Turf was basically a tuna melt with pastrami, as touted. Tuna salad, pastrami, tomato, and cheese sauce grilled on white, with Dave’s signature red pepper spread. On my first bite, I was disappointed. But then I paused, and thought about a normal tuna melt. This was markedly better. I suppose I expected the sandwich to be transcendent, but armed with my new point of reference, my theory held up, and I was treated to a very fine sandwich indeed. The pastrami was indeed a fine counterbalance to the tuna, which itself was a step or two above most sandwich shops. Nice, large chunks of tuna, light on mayonnaise, and with a healthy dose of pepper.

If I were to construct this sandwich myself, I would do things just a bit differently. I feel that the cheese sauce would work better if it were replaced by actual slices of cheese. I feel that the inclusion of tomato, if it must be added, would only benefit with adding either onion or lettuce, or both, after the two halves of the sandwich came off the grill, for a true snap and added texture. My final quibble is, I feel, merely a byproduct of having partaken of Dave’s so often. His patented red pepper spread, which really makes his meatball and his sausage subs something unique, was good on this sandwich, but perhaps just a soupcon  of overkill. A solid brown or whole-grain mustard would have been just as good, and wouldn’t have overwhelmed the meats quite so much. But overall, a lovely surprise of an unorthodox sandwich. I imagine I’ll find a reason to return on a Monday soon enough.

 

Canter’s Reuben – Canter’s Deli, N Fairfax Ave, Los Angeles, CA

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This was a fantastic sandwich. I have no great story to tell you, I do not desire to obfuscate this point with discussions of sandwich philosophy. This was just a Reuben, executed perfectly. Not long ago I had a disappointing experience with the Reuben at The Garret. If you’re interested there’s a picture here, but I decided not to post about it because I try to keep things positive and I’d already run down The Garret once. I need no such hesitation when discussing Canter’s, however, as I have nothing but good things to say. Canter’s is a deli, an honest, old fashioned Jewish deli that understands that there’s a certain way to do things, a right way. The Reuben isn’t complicated, but it’s easy to just rest on the recipe and assume that so long as you bother to put it all together the finished product will be good. I suspect that’s what happened at The Garret, someone figured that Reubens are good sandwiches and the details would sort themselves out. Canter’s doesn’t make that mistake, starting with a big pile of pastrami. The spices and the smoke and the salt all came together for a flavor that was about as bold as it can be before it overwhelms the rest of the sandwich. Helping to hold it in check was the sauerkraut, tangy and with a subtle crunch to oppose the tender meat. The bread was rye in both name and flavor, a combination that too many rye breads are missing. The Swiss cheese and the Russian dressing were both unspectacular but thoroughly satisfactory, bringing together a really great sandwich.

As I walked out of Canter’s, holding a black & white cookie from their bakery, I thought to myself that I’d just eaten a damn fine sandwich. Several hours later I had the same thought. The next day, again. It’s weeks now and I’m looking at that picture and thinking about how good this sandwich was. The classics are classics for a reason, and we’re lucky to have places like Canter’s that show them the respect they deserve.