- Determining the rules of the road
- Italian sandwiches inspire a degree of allegiance usually reserved for sports teams and spouses
- Some say Los Angeles is a taco town, but you could just as easily call it a torta town
- Certain sandwiches have become so overrated, they are now underrated
- Sandwiches offer a stunning snapshot of our city’s culinary state-of-play
Some people treat New Year’s Resolutions as opportunities to run a half-marathon or brush up on Spanish. I, on the other hand, dedicated my 2023 to reviewing and ranking the 100 most epic sandwiches in the Greater Los Angeles Area.
I had accomplished similar feats in 2021 and 2022 with Los Angeles pizzerias and taquerias, respectively, and shared results on my social media accounts, and now on my podcast, The LA Food Podcast. Sandwiches, however, were an entirely unique proposition.
If you’ve ever sat down and tried to identify the dishes that are absolutely essential to Los Angeles, chances are that sandwiches made multiple appearances on that list.
When I moved to Los Angeles in 2009, sandwiches such as The Godmother from Bay Cities Italian Deli in Santa Monica and Philippe’s French Dip near Union Station were the first recommendations locals would offer me as a hungry-but-broke 18-year-old. Even on the ritzier side of the equation, it’s not uncommon to spot celebrities chowing down on the tuna melt at Croft Alley in Beverly Hills, or the Spicy Sushi Sandwich from Erewhon Market across the region.
More than any other food, sandwiches offer an almost uncanny glimpse into certain rhythms and quirks of our city, culinary and beyond. So, with more than 100 sandwiches under my belt and in my belly, here are four lessons I learned about our city and its relationship to foods between bread.
But first…
Determining the rules of the road
As I traversed the city for everything from French Dips to katsu sandos, it quickly became apparent that my goal would require some guardrails. First, I had to define what constitutes a sandwich. I decided to adopt a broad definition anchored in the nomenclature used on restaurant menus. Simply put, if a restaurant referred to an item as a “sandwich,” it was fair game. The only exceptions to this rule were wraps, burgers and hot dogs.
Secondly, ranking these sandwiches called for a meticulously thought-out rubric. Mine consisted of five overall categories, the first three of which judged the basics of sandwich-making and made up 75% of the overall score: Bread, Fillings and Construction.
The final two categories, which accounted for the remaining 25% of a sandwich’s score, measured the intangible factors that render a Los Angeles sandwich iconic. The Experience category assessed factors such as ambiance, historic significance, and overall influence on Los Angeles’ culinary scene, while the Personal Satisfaction category was determined by asking myself how long I would happily wait in line to have the sandwich again. The longer the wait time, the higher the score.
The five categories added up to yield a score out of 100%, which one could easily compare to the grades earned in school. For example, the Banh Mi Dac Biet from My Dung Sandwich Shop in Chinatown earned a very respectable 86% (B or B+ territory), carried by its masterful construction and astonishing value, while the previously mentioned sandwich, The Godmother, earned a 92% (A or A-) on the merits of its superb bread and the extra points afforded by the timeless experience that is ripping off a ticket and waiting for your sandwich amid the seemingly endless selection of imported sodas and snacks.
Now for those lessons…
Italian sandwiches inspire a degree of allegiance usually reserved for sports teams and spouses
Prior to 2023, I had no idea what an “Italian” sandwich was. This may be due to the fact that I myself hail from Italy, and in Italy we have no such thing as an “Italian” sandwich. In Italy, you’ll find all kinds of cold cuts and cheeses served between all kinds of breads, but if you approach an Italian lunch counter with a request for an “Italian sandwich,” you’d better be prepared for some quizzical looks.
In Los Angeles, almost every neighborhood boasts a bustling deli whose signature sandwich is an “Italian sandwich," consisting of something that looks like a torpedo roll, three or four deli meats, provolone cheese, something pickled, some variation on a vinegar-based dressing, and an assortment of crunchy, fresh vegetables. Some delis even add mustard and mayonnaise, but this is a controversial choice that some patrons consider an affront.
One thing that became clear over the course of my sandwich journey is that Angelenos aren’t just passionate about Italian sandwiches, they are incorrigibly fanatical about their local deli’s Italian sandwich. Were I to compile a dossier of the direct messages I received imploring me to review an Italian sandwich that the plaintiff swore would be the best Italian sandwich to ever grace my taste buds, it would serve as a pretty convincing pitch for Netflix’s next cult-inspired documentary.
Of all the Italian sandwiches I tried on my journey, and there were many excellent ones, including the timeless classic at Claro’s Italian Markets in the San Gabriel Valley and the gourmet number at pop-up Delco Rose Hoagies.
But the Italian sandwich I won’t soon forget is Mickey’s Combo at Mickey’s Deli in Hermosa Beach. Served on a glossy, golden roll that struck the perfect balance between crusty and plush, this sandwich’s construction was impeccable, with the well-balanced combination of salami, prosciutto cotto and mortadella forming a magisterial spiral around ripe tomatoes, thinly sliced red onions and some punchy yellow pepperoncini peppers.
It also didn’t hurt that you’re chowing down on the sandwich mere steps away from the beach, with the ocean breeze billowing through your hair and your only care in the world being whether that stain of Italian dressing on your shirt will come out in the wash. The score: 92% according to the rubric.
Some say Los Angeles is a taco town, but you could just as easily call it a torta town
I once had a lengthy conversation with a friend about the differences between Mexican food in the Bay Area versus Los Angeles. He hypothesized that it comes down to San Francisco being a “burrito town,” and Los Angeles a “taco town.” While I was immediately taken with his brilliant characterization and have been pawning it off as my own for years, my sandwich journey has made me rethink my stance. It strikes me that for almost every excellent, mind-blowing, hyper-regional taco in Los Angeles, there is a torta equivalent.
While this is partially a function of the tortilla and the bread of choice being mere vehicles for the ingredients that fill them, there’s more to the story. This may seem obvious, but certain tortas only work because bread is the vehicle. In fact, though essentially every type of taco could be replicated in torta form, not every type of torta could be remade as a taco.
A torta ahogada, for example, hinges on a roll robust enough to soak up salsa while remaining intact enough to stand up to a hearty serving of meat. A torta cubana (which is distinct from the Cubano sandwich of Cuban origins) simply would not work, architecturally speaking, in taco form, and don’t even get me started about the popular breakfast delicacy that is a guajolota (a torta stuffed with a tamal).
Once you accept Los Angeles as a torta town, and especially if you allow yourself some leniency with how you define a torta, you begin to see that they’re just as well represented as tacos, and that our city offers some truly stellar ones.
Some of my favorites were the ethereal cemitas at Cemitero Poblano in Boyle Heights, which supplies the bread for many of the other cemiteros around town, and the decadent pambazos from El Sazon de Mary, a take-out only operation in Virgil Village.
The torta that keeps me up at night, however, is the torta ahogada from Tortas Ahogadas Ameca in East Los Angeles. The key to this sandwich is the bread — Ameca uses a classic birote salado, a sourdough demi-baguette of sorts that’s got the perfect amount of crusty stiffness to soak up the sauce while still playing home to a heaping serving of refried beans and carnitas. It’s finished off with a pink nest of pickled onions, and your job is simply to decide whether you’re courageous enough to eat it with your hands. The score: 90% according to the rubric.
Certain sandwiches have become so overrated, they are now underrated
There’s a phenomenon in Los Angeles sports in which observers begin referring to a certain player as an “unsung hero,” only to then praise said player’s under-the-radar qualities to such an extreme degree that the player quickly goes from being underrated to overrated. We might call this “The Austin Reaves Effect,” for fans of the Los Angeles Lakers.
When it comes to sandwiches, I’ve noticed the opposite effect happening. Certain sandwiches have achieved such lofty heights of popularity, success and iconic status, that Angelenos begin writing them off as “overrated.”
For example, people following my journey on social media suggested I skip places such as Philippe's or Busy Bee Market in San Pedro, arguing that their reputations for outstanding sandwiches were rooted more in nostalgia than in deliciousness.
However, while eating at Brent’s Deli in Northridge, another eatery that certain voices told me not to bother with, it dawned on me that certain sandwiches might be experiencing a reverse Austin Reaves Effect.
The sandwich I tried at Brent’s was The 555, which features grilled RC Provisions pastrami generously stacked beneath the timeless combination of melted Swiss cheese and slightly sweet coleslaw. It’s sauced with a lovely one-two punch of mustard and Russian dressing, and served between the flaky, buttery crevasses of a perfect onion roll.
The only explanation for this sandwich not being the toast of the San Fernando Valley is that patrons have become jaded to its charms, so much so that the sandwich is now criminally underrated and underappreciated for how truly special it is — the reverse Austin Reaves Effect, if you will. The score: 91% according to the rubric.
Sandwiches offer a stunning snapshot of our city’s culinary state-of-play
Upon embarking on my sandwich journey, it was immediately clear that I’d be experiencing flavors from across the cultural spectrum. From the Korean egg drop breakfast sandwiches at places like Egg Tuck with locations in Koreatown, Hollywood and Westwood Village, to the Armenian basturma sandwiches at Sahag’s Basturma in Hollywood, sandwiches are perhaps the best food vehicle through which to experience the food of the world, rivaled only perhaps by rice-based dishes. In a county where there are at least 224 languages spoken, sandwiches act as an edible interpreter.
Sandwiches are also a great way to learn about the many policy and social issues that face Los Angeles’ restaurateurs these days. I personally learned a lot thanks to All Day Baby in Silver Lake, which I visited for their epic breakfast sandwich built on a house-made biscuit. Co-owner Lien Ta has not only been a pivotal part of founding Regarding Her Food, the Los Angeles-born organization dedicated to supporting women entrepreneurs in the food and beverage industry, but a leading voice advocating to make the city’s Al Fresco dining program permanent.
Finally, sandwiches are a reminder of the uniquely precarious times restaurants and those who make their living in them have had to endure in recent years. There are inspirational success stories, such as LaSorted’s in Silver Lake (visited for their excellent mortadella sandwich served on hand-crafted focaccia) or beloved breakfast sandwich pop-up Calabama, which both began as “pandemic pivots.” But there are also sobering reminders of the tough economic conditions that continue to plague restaurants, with certain sandwich shops I visited, including Korean fried chicken specialists Michin Dak, closing permanently since I reviewed their sandwiches.
One sandwich shop that captures what makes Los Angeles’ culinary scene great is Open Market in Koreatown. Founders Ralph Hsiao, Brian Lee, Yoonna Lee, and Andrew Marco have spoken about the restaurant’s dual mission to celebrate Los Angeles’ diverse tapestry of flavors, while creating a space for community to counteract the pandemic-wrought isolation many still feel the effects of.
Their Olympic sandwich features a dainty Clark Street Bakery baguette layered with grilled lemongrass chicken, pickled radishes, and a crispy layer of fried chicken skin for crunch. There’s a lovely smattering of herbs, a generous slathering of spicy serrano mayo and a sprinkling of Nam Jim to bring it all together. The score: 90% according to the rubric.
Next up for me in 2024? Noodles.
The author is a communication professional by day and spends nights and weekends searching the L.A. area for his next meal. His exploits can be tracked via his TikTok and Instagram and his weekly podcast, The L.A. Food Podcast, with his co-host, Father Sal.
