Anne Fishbein

Cemita de Milanesa at Cemitas Poblanos Elviritas #1

Leading up to this year's Best of L.A. issue (due out Oct. 4), we'll be counting down, in no particular order, 100 of our favorite dishes.

No. 99: Cemita de Milanesa at Cemitas Poblanos Elviritas #1.

There are sandwiches, and then there are sandwiches. The towering Mexican creation known as the cemita, a burly cousin of the torta and specialty of the state of Puebla, is set firmly in the latter camp -- in fact, it has about as much in common with your standard coldcut as a two-door Fiat has with an Abrams tank. It might just be one of the most formidable things ever stuck between two pieces of bread.

There is simply no room for filler here. A grilled sesame-studded roll, hard-shelled on the exterior but soft as brioche inside, is stacked with oily sheets of breaded fried beef, a heap of stringy quesillo, a smattering of sliced avocado, raw white onion, smoky chipotle peppers or pickled jalapenos, and a few leaves of a pungent herb called papalo, which smells like a mixture of mint, pepper and laundry detergent. For a dollar or two more, they'll even slip in a piece of Poblano head cheese if that's your kind of thing; the aspic dissolves under the heat of the sizzling meat and forms a spreadable, offal-based condiment of sorts that pushes the richness to atmospheric levels.

More >>

Drew Tewksbury

Previous year's competitor

Tomorrow marks the 10th annual Grilled Cheese Invitational, held this year at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. Undoubtedly there are a few devotees out there who can attest to sandwich superiority, having frequented the event over the last decade. Competitor registration is closed and it's too late to be a judge, but for those of us stumbling upon the occasion for the first time, here's a look at what's between the bread.

More >>

So much can happen between two slices of bread. Practical, portable, difficult to define and nearly impossible to mess up entirely, the sandwich offers a broad canvas for the harried parent or the creative chef. John Montagu (aka the 4th Earl of Sandwich) could never have dreamed of the baroque monuments that would be inspired by his modest request for meat served between sliced bread. A staple of pop culture (think Dagwood Bumstead or Shaggy from Scooby-Doo), the sandwich is a touchstone for cuisines and neighborhoods of all kinds. Herewith, a Los Angeles sandwich primer.

More >>

Why should you have to choose between meatballs and sausages on your sub? Or, for that matter, between roast beef and pastrami? Thankfully, at Eastside Market Italian Deli, you don't.

Though it has been around for 73 years in the same beige and brown corner building, the deli is a hidden gem tucked in the hillside neighborhood just above Chinatown, once a thriving Italian enclave. Current owner Johnny Angiuli came to Los Angeles in 1956 from Adelphia, Italy, at the age of 12. In 1975, lean years for the neighborhood, he invented the hot roast beef and pastrami sandwich. Known to regulars simply as the #7, it is the most popular menu on the sandwich -- and rightfully so.

More >>

When is a banh mi not a banh mi? That is not a trick question, by the way. When it has no charcuterie? When it lacks pickled vegetables? Must it be served on a baguette? The ever-blurring boundary between all other sandwiches and the banh mi -- or what's passing for one these days -- undoubtedly will offend purists. For agnostic sandwich devotees, the mashup of cultural influences and newfangled fillings is a boon.

At Mendocino Farms, the budding fast-casual sandwich concept with a localish ethic and a haute cuisine aesthetic (so haute it has expanded into "sandwich atelier" and mixology bar Blue Cow), the most popular sandwich is the banh mi. Yet it's a banh mi that veers so far from the archetypal Franco-Vietnamese sandwich, it's served on a ciabatta.

More >>

Of all the regional American sandwich specialties, an authentic Philly cheesesteak may be the hardest to find in Los Angeles. Boos Philly Cheesesteaks is one of the few sub shops where sriracha is offered as a condiment -- a happy California touch, to be sure -- but everywhere else, Boos is righteously traditional.

The bread? Soft, fluffy rolls shipped from Philadelphia mainstay Amoroso's. The meat? Peppery, salty slices of Dietz & Watson beef. The cheese? Whiz, of course, oozing in molten perfection from between the thin curling tongues of grilled meat and onions.

More >>

Guzzle & Nosh

A trio of doughnuts at Cafe Dulce: bacon, green tea and maple macadamia.

Cafe Dulce gets plenty of attention for its pourover LAMILL coffee but rarely does a place with such refined and precious caffeine offerings (we're big fans of the cold-brewed ice coffee), deign to try its hand at something as pedestrian as a doughnut. Located in the center of Japanese Village Plaza in Little Tokyo, Cafe Dulce boasts hot dogs encased in cheese-encrusted rolls of dough, maple-glazed donuts studded with generous macadamia chunks and a bacon doughnut that is, unlike so many others, more hope than hype. It also does a credible Korean cheesesteak.

More >>

Deep-frying improbable edibles is hardly new. County fair concessions maven Chicken Charlie has fried up Oreos, Twinkies, frog legs, White Castle burgers, SPAM, zucchini, Pop Tarts, brownies, ribs and Kool-Aid balls -- and that's only the beginning The combo of crisp batter and gooey center speaks to some primal aspect of desire. Savvy American chefs understand. They've been riding the gentrified comfort food trend, and they know the way to diners' hearts is often greased with vat of hot oil.

At Studio City's Black Market Liquor Bar, a charming eatery that does double duty as semi-sophisticated cocktail bar and a friendly gastropub, the most interesting items on chef Antonia Lofaso's menu are fried. Crisp collard greens, fried cauliflower with a honey-yogurt sauce, housemade dill potato chips. Our favorite, is the deep-fried Fluffernutter sandwich.

More >>

[Our 30 Sandwiches in 30 Days series was big -- but not big enough to encompass the multitude of L.A.'s sandwiches. As promised, our weekly sandwich pick extends the odyssey.]

Son of a Gun is, for the most part, a seafood restaurant, one where Animal duo Jon Shook and Vinny Dotolo give reign to their less aggressively meaty side. The join only began serving lunch last week, but already the place is mobbed by 1 p.m. Even for lunch, you'll want reservations.

More >>

Rachael Narins

Vegan Po Boy Sandwich at simplethings

We like the general idea of a Po' Boy Sandwich; typically interpreted as fried seafood on a French roll. But we crave an egalitarian, LA-ified version -- one with more antioxidants and less calories that's still top-notch delicious. The Vegan Po' Boy at simplethings sandwich & pie shop is just that.

More >>