Speaking of nostalgia: To market some new reality show, there’ll be a functioning automat in Grand Central today and tomorrow. Obviously I was a little young to fully appreciate automats, but I liked the retro one that was open on St. Mark’s Place a few years ago. Fried food open late for real cheap with limited human interaction; hard to top that at the end of a long night out.
I ate a McDonald’s cheeseburger here in Port St. Lucie and noted that it had mustard on it, as McDonald’s cheeseburgers seem to everywhere besides New York.
Curious, I searched Google and found only this post from Serious Eats, noting the same issue and asking commenters to describe the toppings on McDonald’s burgers in their region. Just about everyone from outside New York who responded said their burgers included mustard.
I asked Twitter, and @MaryL1973 suggested I contact McDonald’s. So I sent an email to everyone in the chain’s U.S. media-relations department asking why it was that New York-area McDonald’s don’t have mustard, where the dividing line is, and if there are any other regional variations on standard burger toppings.
About a half-hour later I received a statement from Jennifer Nagy, the McDonald’s Marketing Manager for the New York Metro region. It reads:
Approximately 85 percent of McDonald’s restaurants are owned and operated by independent businesspeople. As independent owners, McDonald’s franchise owners have the authority to make certain operating decisions as they relate to their McDonald’s restaurant operations. Because of regional preference, mustard is not added to the hamburgers in the New York Tri-State area, but customers are able to request mustard when ordering their favorite McDonald’s hamburger.
This reminds me of a Mitch Hedberg joke: “Every McDonald’s commercial ends the same way: Prices and participation may vary. I wanna open a McDonald’s and not participate in anything. I wanna be a stubborn McDonald’s owner. ‘Cheeseburgers? Nope! We got spaghetti, and blankets.'”
Anyway, there you have it: Individual franchise owners can make “certain operating decisions,” and apparently all the individual owners in the New York area have opted to serve their burgers without mustard standard. I suppose there’s some reasonable chance one guy or one group owns most of the New York-area McDonald’s and hates mustard, and that the few remaining McDonald’s not owned by that guy stopped serving mustard on burgers because too many New Yorkers complained. Something like that.
I suppose the big news here is that burgers without standard mustard are apparently a “regional preference.” I happen to like mustard on burgers (McDonald’s included), but probably not enough to request it at the drive-thru.
If you like driving — not driving to see stuff, just driving for the sake of driving — Florida is a nice place to be. Lots of flat, straight highways. I read about this sandwich in the excellent book Roadfood, so I took the hour-some trip down to West Palm Beach to enjoy it.
The sandwich: Media Noche from Havana Restaurant, West Palm Beach, FL
The construction: Roast pork, ham, swiss cheese, pickles and mustard on sweet bread — not like the brains or whatever, like bread that is sweet.
Important background information: It is the bread that distinguishes the Media Noche from the classic Cuban — a Cuban is served on Cuban bread, and I believe this bread is of Portuguese origin. Havana also serves a Cuban sandwich, and Cuban communities also enjoy Medianoche sandwiches. They are so named because they are popular in nightclubs around midnight. Havana Restaurant has a walk-up window that’s open 24 hours. I was there for an early dinner, around 5:30 p.m.
The pickles and mustard were both optional, but I took ’em both, because duh. I ordered it with a side of fried plantains, which will come into play later.
What it looks like:
How it tastes: Delectable. The pork was tender, the ham hammy, the cheese gooey and melted. The pickles and mustard added tons of vinegary goodness, and the bread was amazing — soft, sweet, eggy, kind of like Challah I suppose, but longer. And it withstood the pressures and greases of the meat, a very important quality for good sandwich bread.
But while the saltiness of the pork and ham and the various vinegar flavors played well together, I found myself wanting a little something more in the flavor department — not that it wasn’t really good as constructed, only that it could have been downright great with like one more taste or texture in there. The Swiss cheese got overpowered a bit by the pickles and pork and, since the pickles were a little soggy and the bread was so soft, it didn’t offer a great variety of textures.
So after my first half sandwich I started tinkering. I dashed on a little Tabasco since it was on the table. Didn’t do anything crazy — just tasted like this sandwich and also Tabasco, not like the Tabasco was doing anything to amplify the flavors in the sandwich.
Then I looked to my fried plantains. They came, I should note now, with something Havana calls “Mojo sauce,” which was basically olive oil with some herbs and an absolute ton of minced garlic — enough to make it almost spicy, but spicy of garlic. Amazing tasting, provided you’re over 1000 miles from your wife and not planning on making out with anyone. Actually, this would be amazing tasting even if you were planning on making out with someone, it just wouldn’t be advised.
Maybe this is somehow cheating, but I threw a couple of the fried plantains atop the Media Noche and spooned on a little of the Mojo sauce. And holy hell, did this sandwich sing.
The plaintains, fried crispy like potato chips but hearty enough to stay extremely crunchy while holding the oil, added the texture I longed for. And the Mojo sauce, though it added oil to an already-greasy sandwich, gave the whole thing this outstanding kick, a burst of pungent garlicky awesome to counter the vinegar and follow all that pork. Outrageous.
What it’s worth: Oh yeah, that’s the other thing. The Media Noche cost $5.89. I sat down, had a glass of sangria* and the plantains, so the whole thing wound up costing me $20 with tip, but you’re not obligated to do any of those things at the pick-up window.
How it rates: I feel obligated to rate the sandwich as constructed — adding anything more than condiments to a sandwich makes it a new sandwich, and the fried plantains count as more than a condiment. So this puppy gets a still-respectable 84 out of 100.
One of my No. 1 all-time good-weather songs:
*- Why is it that I feel so much more comfortable eating a meal and having a drink alone in a restaurant in tropical locales?
If you’re unfamiliar, Taco In a Helmet is Digital Domain Park’s most legendary concession — and that’s saying something, because this place has a Tiki bar, funnel cake, decent-looking pizza and char-grilled hot dogs, hamburgers and pretzels. I’ll probably sample most of those things in the coming weeks, but only Taco In a Helmet merits a TedQuarters video exclusive.
If I seem distracted during the open, it’s because some friendly fellows just off camera were alternately chanting “TED! TED! TED!” and “TACO! TACO! TACO!” So that was awesome. Other distractions include: forthcoming Taco In a Helmet.
I just realized it’s the weekend and I haven’t had any notable sandwiches, but I’ll try to eat something impressive by tomorrow for Sandwich of the Week. I’ve got my eye on a bit of a road trip for a decent Cuban because I don’t think anyone’s that eager to read my write-up of the Captain Morgan Caribbean Conga-Line Chicken Sandwich from T.G.I. Friday’s. If you don’t see it here by tomorrow night, just wait longer.
Thanks to everyone who tipped me off on this one. From the Daily News:
That’s the Carnegie Deli’s creation of salami, corned beef, pastrami, bacon, lettuce, tomato and Russian dressing on something like six pieces of rye, if you’re playing at home. Presumably, these elements somehow capture the essence of Carmelo Anthony. And credit the Carnegie Deli: Last night I caught a highlight of ‘Melo nailing a pretty 18-foot fadeaway, and it really made me think of pastrami.
Since you’ve asked: I probably won’t eat that sandwich. I understand it’s all the rage right now and it represents the rare intersection of sandwiches and sports (outside of this blog, of course), but that’s not really an edible sandwich you see above. That’s like six vaguely edible sandwiches. And sure, you could go in with three friends and ask for extra rye and deconstruct the sandwich so you all get reasonable portions of all the ingredients. I get that. But that’s like cheating on behalf of the place you’re paying $22 for a sandwich.
Look: I appreciate the Carnegie Deli for all it has done for lunchmeats and celebrities through the years, but there’s no art to piling up all the meats in the house sky high and naming it after the city’s newest famous sports hero. That’s gimmickry. Amateur hour.
I, for one, would like to eat a carefully constructed sandwich that evokes the understated elegance of Carlos Beltran at his best, or a burrito that embodies the transcendent dominance of Darrelle Revis.
Who will make me Revis: The Burrito? Not the heavy-handed vulgarians responsible for the Carmelo Anthony sandwich, that’s for sure.
Lots of Pippen love around here lately. And why not? The man can endorse a sandwich:
Brad passes along this link from Serious Eats, a slideshow of the 26 best sandwiches in the city under $6. A lot of intriguing-looking options here.
Man, I picked a bad time to realize I don’t really have any luggage in my house bigger than a large overnight bag. I’ll make do, but I’m going to have to be Joe Carry-on, and I hate being Joe Carry-on. But whatever, Sandwich of the Week.
The sandwich: Fried chicken sandwich with cheese from Georgia’s Eastside BBQ, 192 Orchard St. in Manhattan.
The construction: A fried chicken breast on a hamburger bun with a slice of melted American cheese. That’s all.
Important background information: This is the second straight Sandwich of the Week from a Lower East Side establishment, and the second straight from Grub Street’s 101 Best Sandwiches list. Last night I fashioned Bono shades for Twitter followers. Has TedQuarters gone all hipster doofus?
Hardly. But crowds and general inconvenience aside, I’ve got no beef with the Lower East Side. It has plenty of reasonably priced tasty eateries and a wide variety of entertainment options. I live in the suburbs so I don’t often get there, but by sheer randomness I wound up in the neighborhood on three straight nights a couple weeks ago, the third of which culminated in this sandwich.
I figure I owe it to you, the TedQuarters reader, to scout out all the Tri-State area’s best sandwiches, and though it does seem now like the Grub Street roster is a bit biased toward trendier spots, it’s without question a good general guide for sandwich suggestions. And when it is corroborated by trusted Twitterers, and when there’s fried chicken in play, well then, you know, duh.
What it looks like:
How it tastes: Very good.
The first thing we all need to agree on is that it’s enormously difficult to keep a fried boneless white-meat chicken breast properly moist. And Georgia’s succeeds. So does Chic-Fil-A. Many, many delis around the city do not. (For what it’s worth, I’ve never really understood why so many people seem to think white meat is the superior chicken meat, and why some are willing to actually pay extra for white-meat fried chicken. Dark meat is more moist and flavorful. If I ran a deli — and if I had any business sense I probably should because my sandwiches would be dope — my standard chicken-cutlet sandwich would be made from dark meat. Blow your mind bro.)
Anyway all that said this thing is juicy on the inside and nice and crispy on the outside. The Grub Street description called it “assertively seasoned” though, and I didn’t taste anything too assertive besides salt. Salt is tasty, mind you, and fried-chicken batter doesn’t need to light up the palate to be delicious, but if there were a bevy of secret herbs and spices in there they weren’t really speaking up. I added some of the hot sauce that was on the table, which was reasonably assertive.
The hamburger bun was a hamburger bun. Nothing to complain about, but nothing to write home about either — even if technically my parents will likely read this. It was fresh enough to be soft and not nearly big enough to hold the massive chicken breast, but then no one was really asking it to. No one was pretending this sandwich was about anything but that giant, excellent, juicy, crispy, salty piece of fried chicken (which also had a piece of melted American cheese on it, which was nice).
I get that the idea of this sandwich is to showcase that chicken breast — sort of taking the Chic-Fil-A concept to the next level. But I found myself wanting just a little something more to round this thing out, either in terms of flavor or moisture or texture, something more than a piece of American cheese. And I understand that I’ve been burned before by gilding lilies, specifically in terms of simple fried-chicken sandwiches. But I’m going with my gut here; this could have used some chipotle mayo or something.
There’s nothing in the bylaws of the Sandwich Hall of Fame that says something this simple can’t make it in, but this chicken breast on its own simply was not quite good enough to crack that threshold. Very good, but not historically good.
What it’s worth: $9 and it came with potato chips.
How it rates: 82 out of 100.
I just had a hell of a chili dog from a place called Lubins N’ Links in nearby Tarrytown, and it struck me that though this region of Westchester may not offer the variety of fine-dining options I had in Brooklyn, it might just be the chili-cheese dog capital of the free world. For no good reason at all except all the obvious ones, I made these Google directions spanning the width of Westchester and six local purveyors of decent-to-excellent chili-cheese dogs*. I’m not sure what I’ll do with it, but I feel like now that I’ve made the map, you know, I kind of owe it to myself to make a day of it sometime.
*- The first stop on the map, Walter’s in Mamaroneck, does not serve chili-cheese dogs, or even cheese dogs. They just serve awesome, awesome hot dogs. It’s a worthy warm-up for the rest of the trek.
The second stop is Hubba, favorite of Tim Teufel and one-time Sandwich of the Week. The third stop is the only one I cannot actually vouch for myself, The Little Spot in North White Plains. I pass it all the time and it looks like a place that might serve some pretty awesome chili-cheese dogs, but I have heard mixed reviews. Fourth comes So Dam Hot in Valhalla, my go-to local takeout wings place, then Charchael’s in Thornwood, a former food truck that dropped anchor a fairway wood from my home. Finally, Chili-dog Run finishes up at Lubins N’ Links.
At Walter’s, Hubba, Charchael’s, So Dam Hot and, if you pay a little extra, The Little Spot, the dogs are split and grilled, which seems to be a Westchester thing. And it’s a good thing, because it makes them snappy and awesome. They don’t cook them that way at Lubins N’ Links, but they make up for it with a ridiculous array of delicious toppings.
Who will be the first brave soul to endeavor Chili-dog Run in its entirety? Perhaps me. I don’t know. I don’t know if I have that type of gastrointestinal fortitude.
Speaking of gastrointestinal fortitude: Sandwich of the Week will come tomorrow, and won’t be a chili dog. I’m scrambling to get my act in order as I prep to head down to Port St. Lucie on Tuesday.
Here’s another sandwich recommended by a reader like you. This particular sandwich has been endorsed many times over, but first by Carl. He actually emailed me about it back in May, before I was even writing about sandwiches on this site with any regularity.
Please, if you know of an exceptional or exceptionally interesting sandwich — especially if it’s easily accessible via subway from Midtown or by car from Westchester — let me know about it. You can email me at tberg@sny.tv or use the contact form above.
The sandwich: Spicy pork meatball hero with spicy red sauce and mozzarella, from The Meatball Shop, 84 Stanton St. in Manhattan.
The construction: Several (three?) spicy pork meatballs smashed and spread out onto a baguette with fresh mozzarella cheese. Then they toast the whole thing so the cheese is melted.
Important background information: As I’ve noted several times, my mother is Italian and I am fiercely loyal to her meatballs. Though I love meatballs in concept, I rarely order them from restaurants because I know they will not match the ones I grew up enjoying. Mom’s are a bit less bready than most, I’ve found, so they’re more coarse: delicious hunks of well-seasoned ground beef. And I guess she fries them at a hotter temperature than most people do, because they maintain a bit of a crispness on the outside that I rarely find in other meatballs. Superb, honestly. The showpiece of her very impressive array of culinary delights.
But the Meatball Shop is all the rage in the trendy Lower East Side, and though I’m not what you’d call trendy myself, I figure when trends overlap with sandwiches I should probably get on that. Plus a bunch of people whose opinions I respect told me I must eat this sandwich.
I trekked down there on Thursday and the place was packed. No open tables and people stacked about three deep at the bar. This is sort of pathetic, but since I was alone and starving I wound up ordering the sandwich to go, hopping in a cab to Grand Central and eating it in the dining concourse while waiting for my train back to the suburbs.
What it looks like:
How it tastes: Hell and yes.
Believe it or not, the thing that first jumps out at you on this sandwich is the baguette. As mentioned, it’s toasted so it’s got a great crispness on the outside, and it’s sturdy enough to withstand a 10-minute cab ride’s worth of grease accumulation from the meatballs and cheese. That’s impressive.
And the pork is excellent. Since the meatballs are smashed up the experience is more akin to eating a sloppy joe (the ground-meat kind, not the Jersey kind), only if the sloppy joe were made with loose sausage meat from a spicy Italian sausage. That’s about as best as I can describe the seasoning, I think — it’s a melange of flavors, though principally it is spicy in the red-peppery way that things can be spicy.
Next time I venture to the Meatball Shop, though — and this sandwich was good enough to guarantee there will be a next time — I might try something different than the spicy pork meatball and spicy sauce combination. The Meatball Shop’s sandwich offerings are fully customizable: pick a meatball, pick a sauce, pick a cheese.
And though the spicy pork with spicy sauce was recommended by the Grub Street sandwich list, among others, I wonder if the sandwich might be a little more interesting with one of the other sauces. I won’t dismiss it as a one-note sandwich because there were too many good flavors in the meat itself, but I found myself wondering which flavors were coming from the meat and which from the sauce, and it seemed like there was some overlap there.
And due to the spice and the powerful meat flavor, the mozzarella served more as a binding agent to hold the meatballs near the bread than an additional source of flavor. Not that I’m complaining — this thing was messy enough with the cheese and would likely have ruined my shirt without it. But I do think fresh mozzarella loses something when it’s fully melted. Don’t quote me on that because it’s a theory I’m going to have to revisit, but I feel like all my favorite sandwiches incorporating fresh mozzarella pile thick slices on top and don’t mess with them.
What it’s worth: Cost $9, and it was a lot of food. It was a good enough sandwich that I kept plowing through it even after I was stuffed, which happened about 2/3 of the way in. Cleaned the plate. Came with a small but pretty decent footnote of a salad, too.
How it rates: I struggled with this one. Again, a reminder that all these ratings are completely subjective and I might very well rate any sandwich differently if I ate it at a different time, in a different mood or whatever. It’s three days later and I’m still thinking about how great the meatball hero was, but at no point did it feel quite like a Hall of Famer. I’m going to give it an 88 out of 100, and remind you that this might be a Hall of Fame sandwich to anyone who didn’t grow up with a mother that makes unbelievable meatballs.
Tedquarters 