Tag Archives: Sandwiches Made For Me

Bánh Mì Thịt Nguội – Long Phung Sandwich & Food, Tully Rd, San Jose, CA

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Long Phung Sandwich & Food is square on the southeast side of San Jose, an area where if you pick a store at random you’re more likely to hear Vietnamese than not. These are the places one goes in search of a fine bánh mì, and it has been my experience that the people in these areas are all too happy to provide that fine sandwich. There are some perils to this, however, and the language barrier is one of them. In most establishments the various sandwiches on offer are clearly delineated in Vietnamese, but the English names are a little bit more hazy. My beloved thịt nướng is sometimes labeled as BBQ Pork, and sometimes as Grilled Pork. In the case of Long Phung, the sandwich was clearly marked as thịt nguội, but the only English description provided was “Pork.” I could inquire after more information, but often the language barrier comes up again. I ordered the pork and went on my way.

As it turns out, thịt nguội means cold cuts. I’m no great fan of cold cuts, and it was interesting to see how they translated to my favorite sandwich. The meat was flavorful and moist, some with the more tender texture of ham and some more firm, as you might see in a salami. As for what kind of bánh mì they made, it was about what you’d expect. The baguette and vegetables were passable but not the best I’ve ever had, and it didn’t seem to me that the meat really had the chewy tenderness I look for. I phrase that personally for a reason. This is a popular filling for a bánh mì. I’ll touch on this later this month, but the more bánh mìs I eat the more I come to accept that other people might value different things. In the final analysis, that’s about where this sandwich stacks up. It wasn’t bad, but it just wasn’t for me.

Revisited: Poor House Bistro, San Jose, CA

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San Jose’s Poor House Bistro was previously featured here, and today’s post doesn’t have a lot to add beyond the description of two more sandwiches. Not all sandwiches need be philosophical questions, I suppose. The sandwich featured above is the BBQ Shrimp Po’ Boy, which is billed as New Orleans sauteed shrimp in a “spicy” and tangy sauce. I’m not sure why “spicy” is in quotes, but sometimes descriptions of sandwiches can be a bit screwy. In this case, what the description really needed was “peppery,” as that’s the best way to describe the sauce. I prefer my BBQ smokey and a little bit sweet, with the heat playing in the background. That’s not what I found in this sandwich, as vinegar and hot pepper took the foreground. Some folks may find this to be exactly what they’re looking for, but it just wasn’t for me.

The Cochon de Lait Po’ Boy, on the other hand, is much more my speed. A pile of slow roasted pork with the standard cabbage, tomatoes, and pickles, this was delicious. It was also deceptively filling — that pork may not travel to the outer edges of the sandwich but there’s plenty of it. It’s rich and it’s juicy and by the last few bites of this sandwich I found myself more than sated. The cabbage provided a pleasing bit of crunch to counter things, and nothing in the sandwich provided a strong enough flavor to outweigh the pork, which had a decent portion of garlic to the flavor. All in all, this was a well balanced, delightfully savory sandwich, and anyone craving a po’ boy in the bay area could do a whole lot worse than this one.

Jerk Chicken – Four Cafe – Colorado Blvd, Los Angeles, CA

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A jerk chicken sandwich was one of the first sandwiches featured here at On Sandwiches, and in that post I stressed authenticity. This sandwich was good but clearly inauthentic, and what I mean by that is that the chicken wasn’t rubbed and smoked. It was spiced and grilled, and served with a smoky “jerk sauce” that attempted to bridge the resulting gap in flavor. It was a good sandwich, and the jerk sauce was really good (for jerk sauce.) But it left me with some larger questions.

How big is the world of sandwiches? Is there room enough for a sandwich that could be better and a sandwich that is better, both of them aiming for the same thing? Is it possible for one person, your humble enthusiast for example, to genuinely appreciate both sandwiches without being at least a little disingenuous on either end? Is there any value in “good, not great”? There is an argument for judging each sandwich on its own merits, but that has always seemed to me to be impossible. Where does a sandwich stand except among its contemporaries? How can I rank it but among what I have already known?

Here is my dilemma: I want to tell you this was a good sandwich. But in the past I have railed against those sandwich makers that I perceive as lacking in effort, and it seems inconsistent (to say the least) to say, of this particular sandwich but not of several others, “could have been better, but pretty good.” The challenge left to me is to carve out some ground to stand on, and I think I’m up for it. It comes down to reasonable expectations and degree of difficulty. Four Cafe is located along a major throughway, in a string of connected buildings, and they serve a variety of food. It isn’t reasonable to expect them to have a smoker for a single sandwich. It wouldn’t be impossible, and it would be spectacular if they did, but it’s hard to get too worked up when they don’t. Contrast something like that with an establishment using a processed avocado paste. Using fresh avocados is no Hurculean task, and so forgiveness for not doing so should be hard to come by.

I can’t help but feel as if I am not approaching a particularly satisfying conclusion. I’ve avoided this topic for a while now, preferring just not to write about some sandwiches, rather than clog things up with endless “good, but not great.” But this was a good sandwich, and in the end, maybe good is good enough. I suppose I just have to ask you to trust me. Should you be in the neighborhood, Four Cafe is worth your time. The food is fresh, and it really is a good jerk sauce. There’s room in the world of sandwiches for the three-stars-out-of-five review. When unspectacular is still satisfactory, I’ll let you know. And when a middling effort produces damnable results, you’ll hear about that too.

Crab Cake Sandwich – Dogfish Head Ale House, West Diamond Ave, Gaithersburg, MD

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As the name leads you to believe, Dogfish Head Ale House is a brewpub centered around the Dogfish Head brand of beers. I enjoy libations and spirits as much as the next person, but as always my primary concern is the sandwiches. One might expect that any establishment that attempted both fine beer and fine food would fall short in at least one of those categories, likely the food. My experience, happily, has been quite the opposite. Cambridge Brewing Company in Massachusetts and Stout in New York City have always treated me well. So how did this Ale House stack up against some of my old favorites? Well, this wasn’t a bad sandwich, but you can see for yourself there just wasn’t much there. The crab cake was first rate, fresh tender crab and plenty of it. Beyond that, there wasn’t much going on. There was a leaf of lettuce and a slice of tomato on the plate, something which I find to be a bit of an annoyance.

An associate recently asked me why it was that I preferred to order a sandwich as-is, asking for no modifications and often not asking in advance whether a sandwich will come one way or the other. My answer was that I wanted to see the sandwich someone else is capable of, not the sandwich they’re capable of being coached to make. Standing behind a sneeze guard and hollering instructions to some poor sap in crinkling plastic gloves and a greasy visor is not my idea of a good time. You make the decisions, I say, I’m here for the results. So getting a plate that features an unadorned patty, lonesome on a bun, lettuce and tomato adjacent, well that just browns my avocado, so to speak. If you think the sandwich needs them, add them. If not, don’t. You handed me a menu when I walked in, not a ballot. I digress.

The sandwich did come with a house made tarter sauce that was quite good, and together with the quality crab this was a more than servicable sandwich. I’ve had some pretty fine crab cake sandwiches, so in eating this one I was a bit lost, thinking of onions, or roasted red peppers, or lightly dressed slaw, or pickled jimica, or thin spices of cucumber dressed in a spicy mustard, or anything else you might add to a crab cake sandwich to make it special. With those in mind, it was hard to get excited about this sandwich. It wasn’t bad, but it’s hard to love something that announces itself as an echo.

Salami & Provolone – Whole Foods

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On a recent Friday afternoon, I found my energy lacking as I attempted to transition between responsibilities and more personally rewarding pursuits. A pick-me-up was needed, and so naturally I went looking for a sandwich. Whole Foods happened to be conveniently located, and knowing that my esteemed colleague has found some good sandwiches there, I went to see what they had on offer. I found a sandwich of peppered salami, provolone cheese and pesto on “New York Rye,” which was then pressed in a standard sandwich press. It turned out to be just what I needed. The pesto was liberally applied to both the top and bottom slices of bread, giving that flavor the verve to stand up to the spice of the peppered salami. The meat to cheese ratio skewed heavily in the favor of meat, but better that than the alternative. (That’s my preference, of course, and if you prefer the other way that’s your business.) The press left things crisp and warm, and just like that I had started my weekend on the right note.

Torta Milanesa – Taqueria Tlaquepaque, Willow St, San Jose, CA

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I have to say, friends, that upon eating this sandwich I felt like quite the fool. Part of that is the fault of Taqueria Tlaquepaque, but I deserve a share of the blame as well. I’ve been on the hunt for the perfect torta milanesa for a while, something I first discussed here. In both of the sandwiches featured in that post, the main issue is that the cutlet, the meat of the sandwich, was not freshly fried. Fried food on a sandwich is pass/fail, it’s either crispy and delightful or soggy and off-putting. So when I saw that Taqueria Tlaquepaque’s sandwich featured a freshly fried, crisp-as-can-be center, I was delighted. Sadly, my delight faded within the first few bites of the sandwich.

This is where my feeling like a fool comes in. The torta isn’t a complicated sandwich. You need a particular type of bread, most often a bolillo or telera roll. You need some some meat, some avocado, lettuce, tomato and cheese and you’re all set. It can certainly be more complicated than that, but at its most basic level the sandwich is a simple matter. And so, having had two decent-but-not-great tortas, I had assumed that every establishment would be able to put together the basics and once I found some place that was curteous enough to make mine to order I would be all set. Taqueria Tlaquepaque quickly disabused me of that idea, as I set in to a sandwich that was positively dripping with crema Mexicana. Mexican table cream is a bit like sour cream, but a bit thinner in consistency and more mild in flavor. I know people who abhor it, but like most things I think when used responsibly it has its place on a sandwich. But nothing about this was responsible, as there was so much cream even the fresh fried goodness was hard to find. There was avocado in the sandwich, but I’m relying on the picture to tell me that because I certainly couldn’t taste it. This sandwich really could have been something, and I take no joy in relating to you this tale of absurd levels of condiment. I should have known to take each sandwich on its own merits, and to never expect anything without good reason. But my heart got ahead of me, and it was a lousy sandwich that pulled me back to earth.

Grilled Portobello – Sonoma Chicken Coop, Campbell, CA

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I’ve had a number of the sandwiches at Sonoma Chicken Coop, and until this number nothing was really worth talking about. They weren’t bad, just nothing special. When I put in my order, the girl behind the counter’s eyes lit up. “Ooh,” she said, “That one’s good.” I try not to put too much stock into things like this. Everyone has different standards, and I have a strong suspicion mine are higher than most. Further, people tend to have a bit of an inflated opinion about the place they work. Self-pride leaks into critical judgement, I suppose. Anyhow: The sandwich, a charbroiled roasted mushroom cap accompanied by roasted red peppers, feta cheese, and a little balsamic was very, very good. The tang of the feta cheese paired perfectly with the sweetness of the peppers, and the grilled mushroom has the strong, earthy flavor one only gets from a large hunk of mushroom. It’s a squat, simple sandwich, but it’s perfectly balanced and mighty tasty. The nice thing about a sandwich like this is that it seems remarkably easy to put together on your own. It’s nice when you can leave an establishment not just sated by a particular sandwich, but with your own go-to index one recipe richer.

Lemongrass Chicken – Green Bites Cafe, Bascom Ave, San Jose, CA

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Green Bites Cafe is located in space that used to house Zino’s, an establishment that, to put it mildly, left a lot to be desired. When I saw a new sign out front I wondered if the proprietors had simply elected to re-brand, hoping to fool your average sandwich enthusiast. I am pleased to report that is in no way the case, and Green Bites Cafe is a brand new establishment. On top of that, I’m even more pleased to report that they make a delightful sandwich. The Lemongrass Chicken is a lemongrass marinated chicken breast, with pickled jicama, carrots, herbs and a special sauce. Wheat bread was suggested, which was just fine by me. The lemongrass flavor is subtle, and the pickled jicama is a wonderful flavor and crunchy bit of texture. The secret sauce had a hoisin sauce sweetness to it, but not so sweet as to overwhelm everything else. The chicken could have been a bit less dry, but the only place I’ve ever seen that can serve a moist chicken breast all day long is the late Crosby Sandwich Connection, so I don’t hold it against most places. What really made the sandwich sing, though, was that everything was fresh, just delightfully fresh and bright and vibrant. It may seem like things only go one way in this world of ours, but Green Bites Cafe stands as proof that sometimes the old rubbish is swept away and something lovely grows in its place.

Grilled Gouda — Made At Home

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A couple of weeks ago, my closest associate suggested grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner, and of course I agreed at once. After preparing the ingredients, I learned that the sandwiches were intended to be grilled…on a grill. I was game, of course, but very intrigued as to the result of a grilled cheese sandwich prepared out-of-doors.

I am extremely pleased to say that the results were very pleasing indeed. The bread had ample crunch, the red onion had ample snap, the smoked Gouda was neither too mild nor too overpowering, and the fresh tomato added just a bit of sweetness and moisture to the affair. Of the two sandwiches I consumed, the crisper of the two was preferable. All in all, a worthwhile experience that I heartily recommend.

Turkey & Cheese Croissant — Student Bookstore, CSU Los Angeles

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Ah, the prepackaged sandwich. I stood in line at the student bookstore, holding this item, and for the life of me couldn’t understand why. Purchased on a whim, I knew, with certainty, that I was in for an absolutely dismal experience. Visions of my colleague’s recent nightmare raced through my head.

Here, however, is our lesson for the day with regard to sandwiches. The lesson of experience surpassing expectation. It does not happen often. All too often, the sandwich falls well short of its potential, or is precisely what you expect, which is its own specific kind of disappointment — the disappointment of mediocrity.

When I opened this sad little package, I was surprised by two things: the first was that the croissant was moist and flaky, rather than the dry and crumbly mess I anticipated. The second issue was the cheese. I had expected — nay, known — that there would be one horrifying square of freakishly orange cheese topping off the affair. Imagine my shock when I saw instead a large, oval slice of what appeared to be genuine provolone — or near enough, at any rate. This sandwich, as with my recent experience at Billy’s was packaged with a packet of mayonnaise, and a packet of mustard. This, of course, is the standard for boxed sandwiches.

The sandwich was not bad at all, much to my endless stupefaction. Certainly, this was far from a “good” sandwich, but when one’s expectation is set at a 1, sometimes a 4 or 5 is heaven on earth.