Pancho Con Pancho at Mr. Dog

Lunch in Argentina. Fries by McCain.


Mendoza, Argentina is technically a desert.

It blooms with olives and cypress and grapes thanks to the ingenuity of the indians, who, hundreds of years ago, rerouted runoff from the snowcapped peaks of the Andes into channels that irrigate the region and babble down the flat, shaded streets of the city.

The streams provide a fresh, clean quality, one that can only be sullied by the eating of a gigantic hot dog.

The day of our visit to Mr. Dog, there were bees everywhere, buzzing greedily as they absorbed the sweet marinaded trash outside the restaurant. I slid tentatively up to the counter, Metallica blaring and an impatient stare awaiting my order. The "pancho" section of the menu displayed four options: Pancho simplé, Pancho *something*, Pancho *something else* and Pancho con Pancho. I was confused and flustered.

This was one of those moments I'll never get back, I remember thinking. Why had I come all this way, to Mendoza, if not to get the baddest pancho the city could offer? Surely I must go for the fourth and obviously most awesome choice, the Pancho con Pancho.

Combo? Sure, I'll take the combo. Si, Coke, gracias. Straight fries.

I had no idea what a Pancho con Pancho would be, but I did some quick thinking. "Pancho" must be a hot dog. I know "con" means "with". Ergo, Pancho con Pancho must mean a hot dog, topped with another hot dog!

I was wrong, in the most delightful way. Before my eyes appeared a 10-inch dog, covered thick with slabs of salty local ham, and graced with a half-inch of gooey melted cheese. Pancho con Pancho! Pork with pork!

Never before had I eaten so much salt. I left the dregs of my Coke for the bees, their buzzing thanks drowning out the rolling streams.

Calamari Steak Sandwich at Duarte's Tavern

Duarte's Tavern, Pescadero, CA



The Calamari Steak Sandwich


If you happen to search for "Pescadero, CA" in Google, you'll find that the first listing is for Duarte's Tavern.

There's a good reason for this.

Just east off the Pacific Coast ("Number 1") Highway, between San Francisco and Santa Cruz, population 670, Pescadero does not boom. It does not tremble with activity. It does, however, serve some of the best food in the U.S.A., at Duarte's Tavern.

My wife came across Duarte's in the book Roadfood, and by the description, the restaurant was well worth a stop. We were hungry and eager to tuck into a late lunch and the olallie berry pie we had read about.

Wood panelling everywhere. Cold, fizzy root beer. And artichokes. It was quickly apparent that we were in artichoke country.

I rarely ask wait staff for their opinion on items from the menu. With many summers spent in working in a restaurant, I understand the urge to rave about every item. (“The liver? Outstanding!”) But at Duarte’s, I needed some guidance if I was to take the leap into a calamari steak sandwich. The rave seemed genuine, and the waitress was spot on: it was tender and tasty. My favourite sandwich in a long time. Breaded and herbed up, on a French roll. And the olallie berry pie was like nothing I've had before.

The Scone Witch -- A Delicious Hex

The salmon sconewich: quite buttery


As a hungry wise person once said, "You can't make sandwiches on bread alone."

Okay, I may have paraphrased that. But I think the people at The Scone Witch (388 Albert Street, Ottawa) heard it the same way.

They serve up a wicked variety of sconewiches, which, as you might expect, feature tasty sandwich contents framed by a buttery scone. Although you may prefer to eat them with a knife and fork, most sconewiches classify as sandwiches, since this decision has more to do with looking refined than the degree of mess the sandwich creates --- a key tenet in the Complete, Unambiguous Sandwich Definition.

Pictured above is a poached salmon concoction. The scone was light and fresh, and, though small, rather filling. Served with a salad, it leaves you satisfied. Not excessively suffonsified.

The restaurant's location is a little odd, though well suited to its name. Set up in a house just west of the business district in downtown Ottawa, it's surrounded by parking lots. One might expect the interior to be dank and cave-like, fortunately it's clean with lots of natural light.

The Scone Witch is a real Ottawa treat. If you haven't tried it, do. I'll be back soon.

My rating: four broomsticks.

"Treats" Lives Up To Its Name

Not a sandwich, but still good.


This place is something.

I think the quality of your experience must depend on which location you visit. Certainly the outlet at Kent and Albert in downtown Ottawa is without equal. The chef, and he deserves all the title connotes, is exuberant and a skilled flavourer. I highly recommend checking out his domain.

On Fridays the featured dish is quesadilla. The service is great, the atmosphere lively.

You may be scolded if you don't finish your soup.

Crêpes West

Every time my fiancé and I cross into Pacific longitudes we make three stops: Café Crêpe, Cupcakes, and the best hotdog stand ever.

Cupcakes and the best hotdog stand ever do not relate to sandwiches, so we'll deal with them another time.

Crêpes are sandwiches—French sandwiches—with origins dating back to classical Roman times. They have a frame and a filling, and do not entirely hide the tasty innards, placing the crêpe well within the Complete, Unambiguous Sandwich Definition (unless, of course, they are filled with an uncut burger patty or something equally bizarre).

Sweet or savory, equally at home on a plate or palm-wrapped, crêpe s are versatile. The one pictured above, an easy favourite, hosts spinach and feta. The buttery softness of the shell warms and melts the cheese, gooing up each bite.

But the beauty of the crepe, as with all sandwiches, is its ability to contain. Wrapped in a crinkling waxy paper, there is little fear of mess. You can the check out the massive maples and Douglas firs of Stanley Park, the shops and runners on Robson Street, the fleeces and hiking shoes at Kitsilano, confident that you're not leaving any precious crêpe on the sidewalk.

What a great city.

Marcello's: Brown-Bagging It

Ask for the special sandwich sauce


Marcello's has a few locations in Ottawa, and they're all jampacked at lunch on weekdays as hungry government workers discuss how to appease stakeholder coalitions. There's always a steady line at the sandwich counter, which must do tidy business custom-making sandwiches on fresh slices of whatever-you-want.

They do well, I think, because they keep it simple. The sandwiches I order could just have easily been made at home. Roast beef, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, pepper and mustard on fresh rye bread. Nothing tough about that. Except, perhaps, the freshness of the bread, and, of course, the special sauce -- the ingredient that keeps me coming back.

At four bucks apiece, the price is fair. If you're looking for a standout sandwich, something original, you should go someplace else. But if you're looking to fill your brown bag with a tasty sandwich, Marcello's delivers.

Summertime Sandwiches at the Ugly Iguana

Unbalanced, from a meat placement perspective


As winter turns to spring, guys' minds turn from thoughts of shovelling snow to visions of three-dollar sandwiches that don't skimp on the cold cuts.

The Ugly Iguana is hopping in May. As soon as the sun's out and the snow's gone, people populate the patio and line up to take away the arguably famous, arguably meat-filled sandwiches.

The one pictured above was not mine. It was DSI-regular Jason's, and he was not pleased with:
a) The amount of meat, and
b) Its unthoughtful placement on the bun

We decided to snap a pic.

It seems summer's rising humidity levels are inversely proportional to the meat distribution (a little something for the economists) on Ugly Iguana sandwiches. As the summer passes the amount of meat on these sandwiches tends to decline. Someone suggested the cause was the rising price of roast beef. I don't often trade on that market so I can't claim to know the going rate for a bun-full, but I'd say this sandwich was not a long-term investment.

I don't even know what that last part meant, but the search for the greatest sandwich continues.

Blue Gardenia: Invisible No More

Ample meat, roasted


On Ottawa's Bank Street just up from Laurier there sits Blue Gardenia, a diner-type lunch place. I must have passed it a hundred times before even noticing it. But that's my problem, and a whole other blog topic.

Recently it came into focus, like a 3-D puzzle. Probably a trick of light, or my hunger instinct told my eyes to find me a sandwich place worthy of my appetite. Maybe I blinked at the right time.

The place was packed. I ordered the roast beef sandwich. Fries. Had to wait a little while, standing crowdedly near the till. The staff was nice, unobtrusively friendly. I couldn't really tell who was working and who was just searching for mustard.

The sandwich was solid. Not exceptional, but definitely satisfying. Meaty and warm. Salty, but not puckeringly so. Plus, my Pepsi was ice cold, and the fries were crispy and hot. The peripherals cannot be disregarded.

It wasn't the best sandwich in the galaxy, but I will return to the Blue Gardenia. If I can find it.

White Spot Doesn't Hit It

Disappointing


I was out on the West Coast recently, the Vancouver area. For lunch on one sunny, mountainous day, I hit the comfort food staple White Spot. Opinion about this place is magnetically bi-polar; there are those who swear by it, and those who swear at it.

I ordered a roast beef dip, harkening back to my lunches in Queen's University's Leonard Hall cafeteria, where the 'dip' was a daily treat/torture device. Given White Spot's reputation, and my previous tasty excursions there (try the burgers), I expected to be met with a sandwich far exceeding anything scarfed during those undergraduate days.

Wrong.

First of all, it was small. Mean-dog small. Secondly, it was small.

Plus, the roast beef was quite fatty, and the fries weren't that great, and my pop was flat, and the dipping sauce -- the 'au jus' -- was thin. And it wasn't cheap. I could have got the same sandwich at a mom and pop diner for two-thirds the price.

Still, that's better than the price of eating at Leonard Hall cafeteria: tuition, plus room and board.

** Been to White Spot? What did you think?

Quiznos vs. Subway

Today I lunched with DSI regular Steve at a nearby Quiznos Sub joint. I've had a coupon staring at my from my cubicle half-wall for some time, so I thought I would cash in on it today. Lately I don't make lunches on Monday mornings, allowing myself to extend the weekend with 10 more minutes of slumber.

I find Quiznos interesting. It has a great product: fresh bread, lightly toasted, juicy meats and tangy sauces. I respect the effort it has made to distinguish itself Subway, the restaurant chain with the most outlets in North America, according to QSR Magazine.

Quiznos is setting itself apart with good quality ingredients, more spacious interiors, smart customer service, and generally paying attention to the details. Today when Steve and I were finished eating, the manager came over and took our trays for us and asked how the meal was. I appreciate that.

Subway is no slouch either. They have fast service, low prices and the best cookies in the land. I just wish they were a little more attentive to their fountain pop consistency, and took a little more care when laying out the meat on my Subway Club.

There is no winner in this battle, partly because the two brands aren't trying to be the same. Different sandwich options, different price points, different experiences. Just depends how much cash you've got to burn, and whether you want cookies.