Tag Archives: Sandwiches I Have Eaten

Fried Peanut Butter & Banana – Made at Home

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A homemade fried peanut butter and banana sandwich on fresh baked bread

Can a dead man have a birthday? There is an anniversary of his death, certainly, but to me a birthday seems like an event that requires one be present. In order to celebrate a birthday one has to be alive, at the very least. I suspect, though, that I am in the minority on this matter. Every year, shortly after New Years, January 8th comes around and we are all reminded that it is Elvis’ birthday. Elvis is obviously a titan of a man, and I suppose if anyone is capable of celebrating a birthday from beyond the grave it is him.

Every so often one has to stop and think about how we will be remembered. Like most people, I hope to be remembered as a kind and charitable man, thought of fondly by those I love. But, I confess, I am greedy. I want more than that. I want something that I have seen in Elvis’ legacy. I am jealous not of his estate, or his lasting musical career. I’m jealous of the fact that everyone knows he loved a sandwich. The fried peanut butter and banana sandwich is his. You cannot consider it without thinking of him, it is his essence, presented in sandwich form. He may not be known for the sandwich but the sandwich is absolutely known for him, and I can only dream of taking such an association to my grave.

Seeing as it was the anniversary of the man’s birth, I tried to do his sandwich justice. The bread was a classic American sandwich bread, fresh out of the oven and made by my own hands. A fellow sandwich enthusiast was highly suspicious of my making a sandwich out of white bread. The man is forever on the hunt for flavor and as he told me, “I have yet to find a reason to hold any respect for white bread at all.” “It’s Elvis’ sandwich,” I told him. “What, are you going to use 7-grain?” Peanut butter went down on both slices of bread, sliced banana and a drizzle of honey in the middle. Fried in a skillet in enough butter to make me reconsider what I was doing entirely, the sandwiches came out wonderfully. The buttery, nutty sweetness is a celebratory decadence, a powerful combination that must be eaten a little bit at a time. I kept a tall glass of milk close by and took in the sandwich as it deserved. I may never be so known for any particular item but please, remember me as a man who loved a good sandwich.

Mushroom & Butternut Squash – Skinner’s Loft, Newark Ave, Jersey City, NJ

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A portobello mushroom and butternut squash sandwich from Skinner's Loft in Jersey City, NJ

Skinner’s Loft put forth a mushroom sandwich, and I was all too happy to receive it. This is a sandwich that aims high: Roasted portobello mushrooms join butternut squash, grilled red onion, quinoa, spinach, tomatoes, and parmesan fondue all on 7-grain bread. It’s a fair number of ingredients, and some of them seem unnecessary at first glance. But whoever is responsible for this wonder has a skilled hand, and those ingredients come together in a very well balanced harmony. The mushroom and the squash are the stars, of course, and their textures contrast each other perfectly. The tomato and grilled onion bring a sweet note to things, the spinach a contrasting earthiness that echos the mushrooms, and the quinoa and parmesan fondue fill any gaps with a delicious smoothness. Looking at it now and thinking back I only grow more impressed. For nearly every sandwich I eat there is some thought that occurs to me about how it might be made better, but I can think of nothing that would improve this. Every angle is considered, every element properly served. This was a great, great sandwich.

Tuna Steak – Ramsi’s Cafe, Bardstown Road, Louisville, KY

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The tuna steak sandwich at Ramsi's Cafe in Louisville
Click for close-up

Ramsi’s Cafe on the World takes their extended name seriously, if their sandwich menu is to be believed. The options span a wide world: Bison steak, Jamaican seitan, chicken tandoori, falafel, chicken parmesan and more. They all looked tasty but the tuna sandwich sang a siren song I could not resist. Tuna is a fine, fine meat and some day when our grandchildren ask us what it was like I think it will be our great shame to tell them that most of the tuna we ate was dry, coming out of a can only to be drowned in mayonnaise, gussied up into fully moldable slop. But not so at Ramsi’s! Understanding the heights that tuna can reach, they instead go with a six ounce filet of tuna fish on homemade cuban bread, topped with pickled mangoes and a sesame ginger dressing. Fruit and meat is a delicate combination, one that can yield stellar results or go south in a hurry. The tuna and mango are the former here, coming together in one of the finest sandwiches I’ve had in a long time.

Mad Maple Baked Turkey – Joe Davola’s, Barret Ave, Louisville, KY

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The Mad Maple Roasted Turkey Sandwich at Joe Davola's in Louisville

The sandwiches at Joe Davola’s all have kitschy names, the Treacherous Tarragon Chicken Salad, the Disgruntled Grilled Pork Tenderloin, the Violent Veggie “Meat” Loaf, and of course the Mad Maple Baked Turkey. It strikes me as unnecessary. When I sit down for a sandwich, I’m not looking for an adventure. I’m looking to be sated, not entertained, and “wacky” is the last adjective I’m looking to use. But I don’t let a name prejudice me against a sandwich. Serve me the Baron’s Bad-Ass Bodacious BLT, if it’s done right I’ll be happy to enjoy it. So it wasn’t the name that left me disappointed at Joe Davola’s, but the sandwich. It seems good in concept, baked turkey, apricot aioli, swiss cheese, lettuce, and tomato. But someone had a tremendously heavy hand with the apricot aioli, and the whole sandwich was lost. I’ve had tasty jam sandwiches, but never with swiss cheese and tomato. The Disgruntled Grilled Pork Tenderloin at Davola’s (with cranberry-apple compote and caramelized onions) is a fine sandwich, leading me to conclude that the one I had that day was a simple swing and a miss, rather than an indictment of the entire establishment. The Mad Maple Baked Turkey lived up to the name, but it a rather unfortunate way.

Chicken Mama Mia – Crosby Connection, Bleeker St, New York, NY

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The Chicken Mama Mia sandwich at Crosby Connection, New York City
Click for grainy close-up

When I first encountered the Crosby Sandwich Connection a few years ago, they were operating out of what appeared to be a large closet on Crosby Street. I mean that literally, the man who works the counter stood in a doorway while someone behind him put the sandwiches together, I’d be surprised if the place had a footprint of event sixty square feet. The cramped quarters didn’t put the squeeze on their sandwich making abilities, though, and during my time in New York they quickly became my first choice for lunch. Since then they’ve been at a few addresses, but now appear settled at 45 Bleeker, in the lobby of the Bleeker Street Theater. Location, of course, is always secondary to the sandwich, and Crosby Connection makes a fine sandwich. The Chicken Mama Mia is sliced chicken breast, fresh mozzarella, tomato basil sauce and ricotta cheese. The ricotta is really want makes things work, providing a slightly salty, creamy counternote to the sweetness of the tomato sauce. You’ll need a couple napkins, things slide around a bit, but it’s well worth the mess. Crosby Connection has about a dozen sandwiches on their menu, and I’d say they’re all worth your time.

#38 – Press 195, Bell Boulevard, Bayside, NY

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The #38 at Press 195, in Bayside, NY
(Click for a grainy closeup)

Everything you need to know is right in the name. 195 is the street number of the original Brooklyn location, but it’s the other bit that interests me. Press is so named due to the centerpiece and vast majority of the menu being pressed sandwiches. Indeed, sandwiches get top billing with the restaurant;the bar offerings follow second. Press has a fine beer list, and in terms of non-sandwich items their Belgian fries really are outstanding, but personally I wouldn’t give a tenth of a fig if the sandwiches weren’t good. Well friends, I am happy to say that they are more than good. Press has forty hot sandwiches on offer, plus another half-dozen cold ones. The cold come on toasted Italian bread, while the hot come on an outstanding ciabatta bread. It’s got a wonderful crunch to it and yields perfectly to whatever it holds. With forty sandwiches some are bound to be better than others, but I’ve never had one that disappoints. The #38 was no exception. Grilled steak, avocado, sweet onion jam and fresh mozzarella all with a roasted pepper dressing all came together wonderfully. They have a light hand with the dressing, the onion jam doesn’t get lost, the whole thing is just a great sandwich. I’ve had a number of sandwiches recently about which I have nothing even remotely profound to say, so I won’t try. I’d simply like to present them here, share them with you, and together we can appreciate the finer parts of the sandwich world.

Southern Fried Chicken Sandwich – Flanagan’s Ale House, Baxter Ave Louisville, KY

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Recently I was discussing sandwiches with a fellow enthusiast, and the conversation turned to what might be the worst possible sandwich. We both flexed our imaginations and plumbed the depths of our worst nightmares, coming up with a number of horrors. He suggested that the worst possible sandwich was some unholy combination involving white bread, bologna, individually wrapped slices of cheese (or possibly cheeze) and, if you can believe it, ranch dressing, ketchup, and yellow mustard. My position, though, was that when considering the worst sandwich while it might be fun to consider the worst possible sandwich, what is truly ghastly is to consider the worst sandwich that actually exists. While I’m not sure exactly what that sandwich is, I know that a strong argument can be made that it is currently sitting under a heat lamp.

As discerning sandwich consumers, I think we sometimes forget they exist. I think we get so lost in our own world that we forget that millions of times every day, for millions of people, a sandwich is ordered by number and comes wrapped in paper. Let me give you a specific example: I once found myself in a Jack in the Box near a cattle ranch in Coalinga, California. As is fitting in such a location, I was…I was in a bad way. And so I found myself sitting at a table, suffering the competing waves of screeching children being shouted down, staring at what the teenager behind the counter had called a Fish Sandwich.

The Fish Sandwich. A bun, roughly comparable to cotton in both taste and texture. A lonely leaf of iceberg lettuce. An inappropriate amount of mayonnaise. And finally, in the starring role, a piece of fish so thin you’d think it had been taken from an honest fillet with a woodworker’s plane. With a ratio of breading to fish of at least 3:1, this little pile just wasn’t worthy of the title sandwich.

But what does all of that have to do with the above? The Jack in the Box Chicken Sandwich might be the lowest of the low, but the high-end of that scale isn’t far off. Many people enjoy a particular brand of fast food sandwich, and I don’t mean to begrudge them that enjoyment. Chick-Fil-A, for example, has inspired fanaticism in fans of their simple chicken sandwiches. But even the best fast food sandwiches can barely be considered pedestrian. Take a moment to consider the above, and you see how easily such a thing is bested with a little effort. There’s nothing fancy about the fried chicken sandwich from Flangan’s Ale House. A chicken breast, breaded and freshly fried. A bit of lettuce, tomato, and onion, and the signature touch of pickles. Nothing fancy, but all of it well executed. And that, my friends, is the ultimate indictment of Jack and his ilk. You can forgive someone who aims high and falls short. It is easy to imagine someone without the means to do their best. But to see someone with such means and opportunity aim so low is truly despicable. The margin between simply being the best of a bad lot and being legitimately good is not so wide, and it is a shame more large-scale establishments do not try harder at crossing. Thankfully, we have establishments like Flanagan’s Ale House. There I found a fine sandwich, freshly fried, well seasoned, and tasty as could be.

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.

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.

Turkey & Avocado – Zino’s Deli, Bascom Ave, San Jose, CA

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Last week, when discussing the California Fresh from Le Boulanger, I called the paltry amount of avocado a “serious flaw.” If that was a serious flaw, I don’t know what to call what I got from Zino’s. Judging by the sign in the parking lot, this was previously a Quizno’s. When I saw this, I thought to myself, “Well that’s interesting. An establishment that’s broken away from the larger chain.” After eating there, I have come to realize it is less likely that they broke away and more that they were jettisoned. I ordered my sandwich, and as is customary at this type of eatery, moved down the counter to the toppings. It was there that I stood and watched something unfold that was nothing less than horrifying. The man standing in front of me picked up a plastic bag filled with some manner of green substance, halfway between a cream and a paste, and he squeezed the bag so as to collect this substance near the corner of the bag that had been snipped off. Surely this was not the avocado? The menu board had pictures of avocados on it! My attention shifted as I saw my sandwich come out of the conveyor toaster. There was a layer of cheese on it, with that sheen that sandwich shop toasted cheese always has. I can’t say the cheese was a surprise, the sandwich industry as a whole is very fond of cheese, but on top of the cheese were black olives. Olives, like a great many food items, have their place on a sandwich. But no one had asked me if I wanted olives. Further, I was standing in front of the toppings. Where had the olives come from? Why would they be stored separate from the other items? Things were going bad with some speed, and soon enough my greatest fears were confirmed. The man at the topping station took my sandwich, squeezed his bag, and laid a zig-zag stripe of green mystery down. He looked up at me and asked me what else I wanted. Shell-shocked, I believe I muttered something along the lines of “red onions, I guess…bell peppers…lettuce and tomato, sure.”

As my sandwich was being wrapped up, I considered walking out. Everything I know about sandwiches was telling me that I was in for it. I am a sandwich enthusiast, I am not a professional and I do not share the obligations of a professional. Still, the sandwich was now prepared and ready to be eaten, and how could I come before you and condemn it if I was unwilling to eat it?

This was a lousy sandwich. There was entirely much mayonnaise on both sides of the bread, and again, I was not consulted on that. If I were I might have suggested a substitution of mustard, but apparently Zino’s knows better. The so-called avocado was dreadfully bland, the cheese was unnecessary, the bread hardly even worth considering. I can usually find at least some element of any sandwich that I enjoy, but there was nothing here. This was just a lousy sandwich.