Tag Archives: Sandwiches Made For Me

Breakfast Sandwich – Cafe Rosalena, The Alameda, San Jose, CA

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Scrambled eggs, cheddar cheese, and breakfast sausage on sourdough. That’s an easy recipe for a good sandwich, and a good breakfast sandwich is very good indeed. Or it would be, anyhow, with the slightest bit of effort. I was exceptionally hungry when I ate this sandwich, and I’d really like to be able to tell you it was grand, the key to satiety, a great start to the day. It wasn’t. Here’s the thing:

This sandwich was six dollars, and from the outside that seems almost reasonable. But looking inside revealed that my six dollars had bought me two rather large pieces of bread, but a single slice of cheese and a single sausage patty. There are ample eggs, but eggs are almost certainly the cheapest part and amping them up in an attempt to simulate value just throws off the whole balance of the sandwich. So the second half of my sandwich got a sliver of sausage, a corner of cheese, and not much else.

It’s up to each individual establishment to decide just what their product is worth, but whether or not the value offered is reasonable is my decision. If this had been served on smaller bread or an English muffin and been four dollars, I wouldn’t have an issue. I would have eaten it and been on my way, happy as a clam. But instead I confronted the above, two meager accouterments on an expansive of eggs. (The eggs were a bit flat and dry, compounding the sin.) So instead of enjoying a nice breakfast sandwich I just stared at the above, thought about my beloved (and cheap) two eggs on a roll, and was disappointed. And being disappointed by a breakfast sandwich is a remarkably poor way to start one’s day.

Torta Milanesa – Tacos Autlense, Story Rd, San Jose, CA

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We return to the torta milanesa, previously seen here, here, and first here. I’m still searching for the perfect milanesa, and I’ve given up looking at counter-with-menu-board style establishments. There might be a winner out there, but I think I’m much more likely to find a long line of places with pre-fried ingredients getting soggy, waiting for me to show up. Better to go to an establishment with table service, wait a little longer, and get something made to order. That was what I got at Tacos Autlense, and it made a big difference. The beef was pounded incredibly thin, and if this was for reasons of cost control I’m not complaining. The result was an unbelievably crisp milanesa, with a deep brown crust. That was the high point of the sandwich, although the rest of it wasn’t bad at all. There was table cream, but not nearly so much as I found at Taqueria Tlaquepaque. It was just the right amount, with the creamy tang contrasting the well seasoned crisp of the steak quite well. The sandwich, like the one from Mexico Bakery, was primarily flavored by pickled jalapeño. That’s not a flavor I’m tremendously fond of, and the the vinegary heat kept me from enjoying the sandwich as much as I could. This same same sandwich presented with a good red sauce would be quite the number, I think. So it wasn’t a perfect torta, but it was a clear step up from some of the others I’ve had.

It occurs to me that I might be dooming myself to this sort of scenario. What are the odds that I manage to find a string of taquerias that builds ever slowly to a transcendent experience? It seems much more likely that I simple build a catalog of tortas eaten, they fall into some jumble of rankings, and an endless pile of “Good, but not great.” piles up. There are larger questions here that this sandwich doesn’t come close to settling, but I suppose that’s the world of sandwiches sometimes.

Hot Cheesy Steak – Specialty’s Cafe & Bakery, S Market St, San Jose, CA

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I seem to be having a bit of bad luck with the execution of sandwiches lately, as this is another fine idea for a sandwich that suffered as presented. Roast Beef, provolone and cream cheese join fresh mushrooms, bell peppers, red onion, pepperoncini, stone ground mustard and mayo on toasted ciabatta bread. The first thing I noted when I got the sandwich was that the crust was pale and soft, which is a bit uncommon for places that make some note of their baking. Thick crust is used to signal artisan or fancy bread, and that was lacking here. As it turned out, that was a good thing. You can see the excess mayo on the sandwich there, the top half of the roll was sliding around even as I took the picture. Upon my first bite that mayo sent half of the ingredients shooting out of the rear of the sandwich. I hadn’t run across this level of filling creep in quite a while, and needless to say I wasn’t pleased to see it again. Peppers, mushrooms, onion, pepperoncini, roast beef, all of it went sliding this way and that. Had the crust actually been a bit stronger I shudder to think of what a chore this sandwich would have been.

Similar to the tragedy at On a Roll, what’s really terrible here is how simple this is to fix. Move either the roast beef or the mayo to the bottom and your problem is instantly solved. It’s the juxtaposition of the slick surface of the cold cuts against the slickness bread spread with mayo that’s at issue. There’d still be slippage if you piled the veggies on top, but nothing to the degree that you get with the roast beef. Specialty’s is a small chain, and I wonder how rigorous their preparation guidelines and recipes are. Is the roast beef on top mandatory? Did someone at this particular Specialty’s simply slip up? I pondered all of these questions as I chased sandwich ingredients around my plate, trying to pile them back on the roll for the next bite. I might remake this sandwich myself, just to see what it’s like with a bit more thought behind it. Alas, this particular experience was lost. I come to sandwiches to indulge, not to labor.

BBQ Pork – On A Roll, San Pedro Market, San Jose, CA

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There are two bits of context that are essential to understanding this sandwich. The first is that it cost $5, well above the average price for bánh mí in the south bay. Obviously prices are going to vary between neighborhoods, but $5 is steep even for downtown. The second thing you need to know is that my sandwich was the only order On A Roll was processing while I was there, and it still took them more time than is reasonable to make the sandwich. Having established those things, I would like to note what the sandwich did well. The BBQ pork was Xa Xíu, the kind of thing you find in pork fried rice, and it was sweet and moist. The Vietnamese mayo was also choice, a fine buttery example of the type. Both of those things were quite good. But sadly I cannot praise the sandwich as a whole, and here is why:

I draw your attention to the scant strings of carrot on the sandwich. What you see there is the full extent of it, there’s none buried under anything and of course I made no adjustments to the sandwich before photographing it. The daikon and jalapeño weren’t exactly plentiful, but I cannot get over that shortage of carrot. The bánh mí, as an archetype, is excuisitely balanced and included in that balance is a good deal of carrot. So why on earth would you leave it out? Carrots aren’t expensive, and even if they were, On a Roll is charging  almost double what many establishments charge. I know the profit margins in the food game are slim, but there’s got to be room in those margins for a bit more carrot. The only excuse I can think of is sloppy execution, as I’ve found at places doing booming business. But that hardly describes On a Roll, which means that as this sandwich was assembled, someone had the time to look down at it and decide whether or not this was a proper sandwich. It’s too bad, really, because On a Roll gets the hard part of the sandwich wrong. Lackluster execution is lackluster execution, though, and in this case there’s no excuse I can see for what went wrong.

Lunar Dip – Pluto’s Restaurant, Santana Row, San Jose, CA

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Pluto’s is one of those establishments with a make-your-own focus, presenting a long list of ingredients and suggesting you simply get whatever you like. They only have four sandwiches listed on the menu, one of them a weekly special. The Lunar Dip is their take on a French Dip, with grilled tri-tip in place of roast beef. The spice-rubbed beef is accompanied by horseradish mayo and provolone cheese, and it’s served on ciabatta bread with a small cup of jus.

First and foremost, I’d like to know how far one man has to wander to find an establishment willing to put more than a scattering of horseradish on a sandwich. Regular readers will recall that I have bemoaned a lack of horseradish several times, and Pluto’s appears to be another place committing that particular sin. I’m half inclined to think that this is just me, that I happen to really go wild for horseradish and I should stop holding against innocent eateries that the general public doesn’t share my predilection. But the other half of my inclination insists that the horseradish on this sandwich was genuinely scant. I’ve discussed before that while it rarely happens in real life, the platonic ideal of a sandwich includes a bit of each ingredient in every bite. Well, in this case the horseradish was absent from far more bites than for which it was present, and I struggle to accept that. “But that would be too much horseradish,” I can hear people saying. But most often what we are given is not horseradish itself but creamed horseradish or horseradish mayonnaise. And I put it to you that that is the perfect opportunity for any enterprise to tailor an even amount of horseradish, at any degree. The whole thing is wide open, and there’s really no excuse for failure.

But enough of that. Setting aside that one issue, this was a tasty sandwich. The ultimate question governing any sandwich experience is “Was it satisfying?” and I have to say that this sandwich was. The ciabatta roll had a good crust to it but not so sturdy that every bite sent the sandwich sliding all over the place. Provolone is mild and was present in a respectable amount, and the steak was well spiced and tender. The jus was warm, though not particularly flavorful in its own right. What’s more, the sandwich was a bargain. Given that it comes from Santana Row, a downtown-before-the-mall-killed-downtown upscale shopping development, a tri-tip sandwich for around six and half dollars is a good deal. Someday I’ll find a sandwich with all the horseradish my heart desires, but until that day, the Lunar Dip isn’t so bad.

NY Steak Sandwich – Mini Gourmet, Bascom Ave, San Jose, CA

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I have a soft spot for this style of steak sandwich, the non-sliced, non-minced, just-a-plain-old-steak-on-a-roll steak sandwich. I’ve featured one here before, and while this one came with a bit more than that one, it was still fairly plain. A NY strip steak, lettuce, tomato, red onion, and mayonnaise. The steak was well cooked, tender and juicy. Sadly, that’s about as much good as I can say about this sandwich. I can deal with a plain steak sandwich. The steak may have been well cooked, but it was bland as the dickens, and I’m not asking for much. I’m not asking for mushrooms sauteed in a burgundy sauce, I’m not asking for a roasted garlic herb butter, I’m not asking for whole grain mustard, and apple compote. You want to serve me a steak on a bun, that’s fine. But for crying out loud, throw a little salt and pepper in there. It’s a stunning mistake, really. How on earth does this happen? Is this not a professional establishment? Don’t they cook things regularly, and know what makes things good? Never mind all that, are they not human beings? Do they not eat, do they not taste? What excuse could there possibly be here? The Roman Empire has long since gone to its grave; these days there’s plenty to go around. Spare some for my steak, please. As for the rest of it, the lettuce was iceberg, the tomatoes standard hothouse mush, and the red onion sadly sparse. I take no issue with plain, have no grudge against simple. Lackadaisical, though, careless, well that’s another matter entirely.

Dungeness Crab Salad Sandwich – Billy’s Boston Chowder House, E Main St, Los Gatos, CA

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When one has strong opinions about any given subject, it is all too easy to settle in to a position where one’s own thoughts and philosophies are the only correct ones. We know that what we think is right, and therefore if someone else thinks something different, well, they must be wrong. After all, if they were right then they would think what we think. The world, of course, is much bigger than can fit in even the most inflated head, and all of the issues that we have settled in our own head have been settled countless times by countless others, all to equally satisfying conclusions. All of that is to say that this wasn’t the crab salad sandwich that I would have made, but it was still very good. I would have preferred larger, meaty chunks of crab, and this was smoother in consistency, the crab present as finely chopped floss. Not my first choice, but there was plenty of it, it had a fresh, bright flavor, and I can deal with it. The avocado was a nice touch, and the lettuce and tomato unobjectionable. I would have liked a bit more lemon as well, as a squirt of fresh lemon juice really took the sandwich up a level, but with a scant slice available I could only treat half the sandwich. The choice of bread reflected someone giving things some thought: a hard crusted loaf would send a soft filling like crab salad sliding all over the place, you’d be scooping it off your plate rather than enjoying it as a proper sandwich. But that mistake was well avoided here, as a soft roll paired perfectly with the interior of the sandwich.

I’ve had a couple not-so-great sandwiches lately. It would be all too easy to grow discouraged, retreat into myself, stay home, make myself a crab salad sandwich, and putter on powered by self-satisfaction. But I’d be missing things I didn’t even know I was missing, robbed of unknown unknowns without ever knowing it. The next time I finish a sandwich with a frown on my face, I will I think of this sandwich. I’ll think of this one, and I’ll know that I’ve simply got to keep going, that someone out there is putting together a sandwich I’d never even consider, that it’s waiting for me, that I’m going to find it, and it is going to be delicious.

Slummin’ It – Wendy’s Spicy Guacamole Chicken Club

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Some installments of Slummin’ It take place almost by accident. For example, I might find myself at a rest stop at 3am and have no option but Burger King. Others grow naturally, emerging where late night revelry meets enthusiasm for a greasy burger. This installment I knew had to happen as soon as I saw an advertisement for the sandwich. After all, it’s not every day that one of the major players in fast food tries their hand at guacamole. Going in, I figured I had this sandwich pegged. I was ready to come back here and holler about a crime against avocados, about know-nothing eggheads overstepping their homogenized, corporate world. But honestly, the sandwich could have been a lot worse. The guacamole is loose and smooth, a far cry from the many kinds of guacamole we all know and love, but in the grand scheme of processed avocado product, it was one of the better ones I’ve come across. It had a bright, strong avocado flavor, and while the texture wasn’t ideal it isn’t like I haven’t run across smooth guacamole at plenty of taquerias. The sandwich includes both cheese and mayonnaise, which, given the avocado, really aren’t necessary. That said, they don’t interfere too much, and all you can really taste is the chicken, the avocado, and the bacon.

Looking at what I’m writing right now, I really do feel like I should be taking a more negative tack. But to do so would be dishonest, because the sandwich wasn’t that bad. I should be clear: It was a fast food sandwich with sub-par processed guacamole, needless cheese and mayo, and a limp, tasteless bun. This is never going to compare with any sandwich made with even a single ounce of effort or thought. But in the wasteland that is fast food chicken sandwiches, I think this sandwich ranks pretty high. Ultimately, I think processed sub-par guacamole is still a far sight better than a standard gloppy ranch dressing, and this sandwich reflects that disparity in quality. That’s the power of an avocado for you, I guess, that even run through some unimaginable factory, treated with all manner of powders and chemicals, piped out, shipped across the country, doled out by some uncaring teenager in a paper hat, it’s still got enough gumption left to pull a mediocre chicken sandwich up to a tolerable level. I’ll understand if you’re hesitant to believe me on this one, but I can only report on what is. This is a tasty sandwich, far tastier than it had any right to be.

Mushrooms on Toast – Little Chef Counter, N San Pedro Sq, San Jose, CA

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Marinated portabella and cremini mushrooms in a mascarpone cream sauce, topped with arugula, on a crunchy bit of bread. That’s it. You don’t need much for a sandwich, but it’s tough to put together a genuinely simple one that’s also quite good. With the excellent experience I had the first time I stopped by Little Chef Counter, I decided to see if they were up to the task. I’ll cut to the quick: I was delighted by this sandwich, but I can easily see where others wouldn’t think quite so highly of it. I happen to really love mushrooms, and I’ve got a number of associates who are with me on that. Good mushrooms have a dense, earthy flavor that’s complex and subtle, with a sort of humble richness to it. The mushrooms were undoubtedly the star of this sandwich, and their flavor came shining through. The sauce was creamy and boosted the richness, and the arugula gave a contrasting bit of peppery bite. The bread was crunchy, but given that it was stuffed with creamy mushrooms and not much else, a little filling creep was inevitable. Still, it was manageable and well worth the effort.

If mushrooms aren’t your thing, then this isn’t the sandwich for you. There’s simply not much else going on; this sandwich is mushrooms for the sake of mushrooms. But if you feel they way I do about mushrooms, there’s everything here to love. Little Chef Counter is two for two as far as I’m concerned, and I look forward to seeing what they come up with in the future.

Pork Awesomeness™ – Rookies Sports Lodge, Meridian Ave, San Jose, CA

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Rookies is the kind of establishment that serves a sandwiched named the Pork Awesomeness™ (the ™ is theirs, naturally, not mine.) The Pork Awesomeness™, in turn, is the kind of sandwich you find at a place like Rookies. You’ve all been to such an establishment. The walls boast all manner of decoration and sports paraphernalia, the wall behind the bar is covered in currency that’s been decorated by patrons, the beer comes in mugs the size of a small boot. Though this is not my preferred type of establishment, I do not offer this description as an insult. No bar ends up like this by accident; it is a cultivated image, a cultivated atmosphere, above all else it is deliberate. And, of course, the way that this deliberate effort manifests in sandwiches is via excess. A fair number of sandwiches come with the top half of the bread to the side, but very few of them will leave you at a loss as to how the come together. But that’s what I found at Rookies, as a pile of meat tilted away from two thick slices of toast. Two breaded and fried pork cutlets, a few slices of ham, a few slices of bacon, and a fried egg. Pork upon pork upon pork, with an egg. 

I was able to put together something resembling a sandwich, and for all of that the eating wasn’t tremendously difficult. That said, it wasn’t tremendously rewarding either. This connects to the point I made in the previous post, about harmony. Rather than unwelcome levels of contrast, what this sandwich presents is too many items working far too close together. All the flavors are playing on the roughly the same level, and that’s not a recipe for success. The sandwich wasn’t terrible, but it was flat. Dense and chewy, rich in fat and gaining even further richness from the fried egg, for all of its excess and LOOK AT ME attitude it was dull. It’s as if a six-piece band formed, only everyone plays the bass guitar and nothing but the bass guitar. That might make an interesting concert, but it almost certainly won’t make a good one.