Sweet, savory, and spicy; it’s my new favorite Thai toast.
In the Little Bangkok of Elmhurst, Queens, Thai toast is often an elaborate affair laden with fruit, ice cream, and syrup. I’ve long wondered whether there was a more savory version, one that hewed to more conventional Thai flavors. Turns out there is. It exists in the form of a chili jam and pork floss sandwich being served at Pata Cafe.
Sweet, spicy, salty and porky—it’s my kind of sandwich. It made for a perfect dessert after a rather epic Indian-Chinese meal. Pata Cafe is big among the local schoolchildren most of whom order French fries and hot dogs. If Pata Cafe was around when I was a kid you can bet I’d be ordering this savory-sweet-spicy sandwich. As far as this farang’s concerned, it’s a real after-school special.
Pata Cafe, 56-14 Van Horn St., Elmhurst, 347-469-7142
The Chick’n Shack is a worthy alternative to Shake Shack’s hamburgers.
“Really? That’s like going to Peter Luger and getting the salmon,” my pal Robbie told me when I said I was excited to try the chicken sandwich at the newish Shake Shack in the Queens Center. Robbie is a big, big fan of their burgers. Not to say that I’m not, but I seem to be on a fried chicken sandwich kick of late.
As I waited on line a young couple in front of me bantered about the name of the sandwich “Chick’n Shack.” Soon it was time for me to fork over $6.29 for a cage-free buttermilk marinated fried chicken sandwich. As I waited for my sandwich I noticed somebody with a bottle of Louisiana brand hot sauce and immediately grabbed some to doctor up my bird. Shortly thereafter the Shake Shack pager began to vibrate and I picked up my order. (more…)
The Arch Electric dwarfs Ben’s overstuffed pastrami sandwich.
“Does anybody ever order these?” I asked the waitress at my local deli as I pointed to the list of novelty sandwiches with names like Dr. Ruth Westheimer (brisket of beef, turkey, lettuce, tomato, and Russian dressing) and the New York Newsday (salami, tongue, corned beef, and cole slaw). “Sure, all the time,” she said. By local deli I refer not to a bodega trafficking in bacon and cheese sandwiches but Ben’s Best, a bona fide Jewish deli with a 70-year history lovingly maintained by Jay Parker and his crew.
“Okay, I’ll have the Arch Electric,” I said ordering a $20.95 behemoth consisting of Chinese mustard, rolled beef, corned beef, sweet red pepper, cole slaw, and Russian dressing (Tums available on request).” In my 15 years of eating at Ben’s Best my go to order has been a pastrami on rye, so I was curious to switch it up a bit with this sandwich named for an L.I.C. based electrical contractor. Corned beef and rolled beef were a definite change of deli pace, Chinese hot mustard not so much, though I can’t say I’d ever had it in a Jewish deli. (more…)
The bánh mì, a study in textures—cool pickled veggies, crunchy bread, and caramelized pork—and flavors—savory roast meats and charcuterie, and perhaps pate; hot peppers; and Asian mayo—is one of my all-time favorite sandwiches. So much so that a lifetime ago when I was a line cook at Jimmy’s No. 43 in the East Village, I took it upon myself to add it to the menu while the chef was on vacation. We had charcuterie, pickles, pork, fish sauce, and chilies in house, so I figured why not run it as a special. Chef was not pleased with my addition of what I called the Banh-Jimmy to his menu. (more…)
A gutbusting Waffle House sandwich born of a hunger for IG likes.
I spend more time than most—and less than some—thinking about sandwiches and Instgram. The same can be said for my pal Rev Ciancio who was kind enough to pen this guest column inspired by that most American of establishments, The Waffle House.
The lunches at my grade school … sucked, for lack of a better word. They sucked. Our hot pizza was merely a no-name version of a square piece of Ellio’s. The meatloaf was a dense piece of hardened automobile sponge covered in a warm “gravy” that had the consistency of Slimer’s ectoplasm from Ghostbusters. Even the French Fries were terrible. They were toasted styrofoam covered in the same salt they use to clear snow covered roads in states that end in “ota.”
If you wanted a decent lunch you either had to sneak out—which wasn’t an option until you or a friend turned 16 and was blessed with a Chevy Nova that could squeeze in a six-pack of high-schoolers — or you had to bring your own. The latter was a pretty good option. Maybe you had PB&J on white bread. If you were really lucky, you got salami and mozzarella with yellow mustard on split-top wheat. (Those were great days.) Your sandwich usually came with a hand-packed Ziploc bag of Doritos, Chex Mix or some generic potato chips, and a piece fruit or carrot sticks. If your Mom/Dad/Caregiver really liked you, you were blessed with the social currency of cookies. (more…)
Before all these recent accolades, in fact before Harry & Ida’s even existed, the Pop’s Pastrami Sandwich received the highest accolade of all being named “The World’s Greatest Sandwich.” The honor came from the creators of video series Make Me A Sandwich— Rob Serrini and Jeremy Spector—who upon tasting Horowitz’s creation declare their quest to find the world’s greatest sandwich over. (more…)
I’ve been a little off my sandwich game of late as I’ve been engaged in a rather monumental hamburger project for FoodieHub. That hasn’t stopped me from thinking about sandwiches though. Last night I discovered a beauty on Instagram, the kimchi reuben from Misery Loves Co. in Winooski Vermont. (more…)
Somehow I managed to miss National Grilled Cheese Sandwich Day. Truth be told sometimes I wish every day could be grilled cheese sandwich day. Made with sliced Kraft American singles and copious amounts of butter, the humble grilled cheese, along with hamburgers, formed the backbone of my childhood cooking repertoire.
This recipe from Patrick Drake of The 60 Second Chef is a tad more involved than my childhood efforts. For one thing it involves sweating down red onion into a lovely looking jam. No American cheese in the World’s Best Grilled Cheese either, Drake uses a combination of parmesan and mozzarella. “Why they call it a grilled cheese sandwich when it’s actually fried is a complete mystery to me,” Drake muses as he assembles this beauty of a sandwich. By the way if you’re into cheese, be sure to check out The Great Northeast Cheese Fest on Dec. 5 at Flushing Town Hall.
Hardboiled eggs, ground beed, and pickled red cabbage meet in the rikitaqui.
Based on the name—rikitaqui—and the menu picture I thought the Dominican sandwich I was eager to try at the newly opened Empanadas Monumental in Woodside was going to be an epic gutbomb. It turned out to be something far more subtle.
The $5.50 sandwich consists of a schmear of seasoned ground beef topped with a pleasant red cabbage slaw tomato and hard boiled eggs. There’s also some salsa roja, a red sauce that calls to mind Russian dressing, in there. The sandwich took well to the extra hot hot sauce.
All in all it was a pleasant sandwich, just not as monumental as my expectations of it. The empanadas, which come in more than a dozen varieties, including lasagna and Philly cheese steak look pretty epic though. Next time I visit, I’ll have try one along with another rikitaqui of course.
Yesterday afternoon I was doing some virtual trail running in the gym when the above commercial for Wendy’s BBQ Pulled Pork Sandwich came on. Even with the sound down I got the joke. When asked to divulge the recipe for his “secret sauce” the presumably Southern pitmaster and his assistant refuse to give up the goods laughing off the request.
The subsequent glamour shots of “our hickory smoked pulled pork” and a BBQ poutine of sorts looked so good that I couldn’t get them out of my head. I envisioned Wendy’s very own sauce bespattered, real deal pitmaster whipping up this pulled pork, a veritable Ed Mitchell of fast food. As a certified Kansas City Barbeque Society judge who’s been around BBQ pits and smokers of various and sundry sizes and configurations, including a stainless steel number whose firebox resembles a miniature bank vault, I know this is nonsense. But Wendy’s and its ad agency are selling a fantasy, one that I clearly bought into as evidenced by my choice of a late night dinner. (more…)