Hot Sauce Williams

7815 Carnegie Ave
Cleveland, OH 44103
(216) 391-2230

By D. John Horseradish

SMOTHERED! American Heritage defines this as “to suffocate (another)”. This seems more relevant to ex-girlfriends than it does any samich I’ve eaten recently. UrbanDictionary’s version finds it “to be drunk; less than wasted, more than shitfaced.” Again, this applies more so to any weekend since starting my education at this illustrious institution than a samich I’ve devoured since writing reviews for this little read and highly promoted (by me…look how awesome my review is!) pamphlet. In no way do these negative denotations (UbanDictionary aside) apply to a Hot Sauce Williams pork shoulder samich. This samich was beyond smothered; it is brilliantly horrendous.

I entered this restaurant lost. I was unsure about the pastel interior and the plastic tablecloths reminding me of post-church discussions on whether the Vikings, Twins, or North Stars (touchy subject– moving a hockey team from Minnesota to Dallas, OUTRAGEOUS!) would win that particular week. All in all, first impressions left me unsure of this dining establishment.

I ordered a pork shoulder samich combo, which includes fries and a side. I asked for macaroni and cheese. They did not have any. As I felt my expectations plummet a cover lifted from a vat of cheesy scalloped potatoes, prompting a grin rivaling John Belushi’s while observing Mary Louise Weller topless in Animal House. Next came the fries and a piece of bread topped with a sizeable mound of chopped pork, both drenched in barbecue sauce. At the end a scoop of coleslaw completed the combo, and I was conspicuously speechless. (editor’s note: he was.)

Returning to my seat, examining my meal, it looked hot! Not hot like spicy or temperature hot, but sexy hot. Hot like Natalie Portman in lingerie, a 1950 Porsche 550, or me with an Arctic White Fender Telecaster with a mint green pickboard. Believe me, it tasted as sexy as it looked. As I exited I felt the need for a sugar rush, so I stopped for Hot Sauce Williams’ own purple punch. This drink was delicious, kept me awake through class, and single-handedly rotted 3 of my teeth. Resplendent!

I entered Hot Sauce Williams unsure of its potential. I departed convinced! I learned that to be smothered by Hot Sauce Williams is a wonderful and memorable occasion. No longer shall past girlfriends and awful hangovers negatively command the use of smothered.

Brennan’s Colony

2299 Lee Rd
Cleveland, OH 44118
(216) 371-1010

Bite: Not among the five best sandwiches in Cleveland.

by Beau Cadiyo

I’m reading The Game, by Neil Strauss. It’s about this normal – actually, fairly unattractive - guy who becomes a pick-up artist and sexes all sorts of different women. Frank Ramacciotti recommended it to me. I’m at the point now where he loves getting laid and pulling threesomes all the time but you can tell it’s starting to wear on him.

That’s the sort of mood I was in when we went to Brennan’s Colony: Ed and I even had an argument about who was going to review it. There comes a point in every professional sandwich reviewer’s career where one wants to hang up one’s pen, or computer, and just not eat a sandwich and pick it apart, judging every layer of filling and bread. Brennan’s Colony did little to get me out of that funk.

The first and last time I’d been here was when Ed stood me up for a night of drinking last fall. I’d had a few scotches at the bar by myself and watched a football game while two men, in town for their 25th high school reunion, reminisced next to me at the bar. During the daytime it looks older, more shabby, but also much more like a real pub than any other bar I’ve been in on this side of the pond. The wood is worn, but well-cared for. There are the obligatory Irish alcohol advertisements on the walls. The people are friendly, and flat-screen televisions beam from every angle.

I got there first and settled in a booth, which I immediately realized was too small to be really comfortable for us – it was barely two people wide, and if any of us had been bigger we wouldn’t have fit. The Mozzarella Styx (spelled like the river) arrived; they were delicious, but I found that the sauce was extremely acidic, almost as if someone had poured vinegar in it. My Buffalo Chicken Sandwich was, at first bite, good, with a spicy sauce, fresh tomato slices and a good bun. However, by the third bite I realized that the chicken was dry and tough, almost as if it had been cooked as another meal and then reheated with Buffalo sauce. It had to be torn to be eaten, ripped, the fibers of chicken muscle holding together and shredding rather than being severed neatly. My fries were served in a large wicker basket lined with tin foil because they were overcooked and soggy. Like the chicken, they were mediocre bordering on disappointing.

We’ve been looking for the five best sandwiches in Cleveland, and from what D. told us before eating, Brennan’s Buffalo Chicken Sandwich may have been one of them. I’m sad to report that it is not. It has the appearance of being tasty but, in the end, is unfulfilling. We’ve eaten a number of sandwiches now – all we need is one more to recommend. If you want to set us up with one, email me.

LRB

I recently wrote a special dispatch for the London Review of Breakfasts about the Ohio primary. And breakfast. I used the totally ridiculous pseudonym "T.N. Toost." You can read it here.

Best,
Beau

Jimmy John’s

1827 Coventry Rd.
Cleveland Heights, OH 44118
216-371-7827
www.jimmyjohns.com

Bite: Alternative image, mainstream taste.

by Beau Cadiyo

What is a gourmet sandwich, or even just a really good one? Is it fresh meat and Italian provolone with vine-ripe tomatoes? Is it crusty bread, home-made, stone-ground bread and mustard made by virgins in France? Or is it simply bread and filler wrapped in wax paper? It’s something I’ve only just recently started to ask myself. I’ve had some great sandwiches and some amazingly shitty ones. But why do I feel like sandwiches can be judged? It’s a mystery to me.

I’d been intrigued by Jimmy John’s ever since it opened on Coventry. I’d heard of it before, and when we started this blog people kept telling me to go there. Then, Frank Elkins told me it was horrible, so I didn’t. There were the times I walked past it after a summer night at Panini’s, or thought about it when ordering food for events (they cater and have “crazy fast” service), but it somehow stayed in business without my patronage.
Until Tuesday. First, we were the only ones eating there around 6 p.m. It is Stepford in appearance; perfect, non-specific 1950s-styling, lots of red and white and darkened eating areas compared to the kitchen, and clean – uncomfortably, stiflingly clean. Carefully ordered mayonnaise jars were arranged in perfect rows, “Hellmans” facing cheerily forward. All this contrasted with the presentation of the menu and the image they seemed to be going for – a frat-boy style, a little edgy, a little wild.

I got #12, the Beach Club, with a soda and some jalapeno chips. The name “beach club” made it sound fun and vacation-like. There was no choice of bread, which I found odd; it turned out to be some sort of faux-baguette, crustless and chewy. There were a lot of sprouts, a lot of lettuce, a few tomatoes, and a layer of turkey and cheese folded together on the bottom. It tasted fresh, but lacked originality; the description was intriguing, but in the end it was just another standard sandwich. The chips were the same: ever so slightly spicy, but certainly nothing you couldn’t give your Scandinavian grandmother in Nebraska who has subsisted solely on butter and cabbage and sausage for the last 85 years. And who doesn’t have teeth.

In the end, Jimmy John’s took a lot of things that might have been interesting and sanitized them, took away that spice, that bite. Can they make a good sandwich? Sure – certainly better and fresher-tasting than Subway, for example. I’m not sure it’s gourmet, though. For a quick eat, Jimmy John’s will satisfy you. If you’re looking for something that is a bit more revolutionary in substance rather than in form, go elsewhere.

Toujours Fresh

11321 Euclid Avenue
Cleveland, OH 44106

By Edward Sandwichhands

Sometimes a restaurant is just crummy. Toujours Fresh is one of those crummy restaurants. The entire process of dining at Toujours Fresh was unnerving, unsatisfying, and disappointing.

Toujour has a very basic selection of sandwiches, smoothies, and ice cream. The restaurant boasts that it serves “All American” cuisine. When I think of American cuisine I think burgers and French fries. Toujours serves neither of these staples of Americana. Rather you have a selection of baked beans, green beans, corn, a variety of potato salads, and a bunch of other home style food that is neither well prepared nor particularly appealing.

I had a meatball sub with baked beans and green beans (I know, weird, right?). The meatball sub was soggy. I am aware that marinara sauce makes bread soggy, but this thing was seriously soggy. The meatballs and the sauce were fine; however Little Italy has nothing to worry about. The beans were acceptable, just like anything else you’ve ever had out of a can. I finished my meal because I’m not a wasteful person, but I didn’t enjoy it.

I tried to eat as fast as I could because I really didn’t enjoy being inside of Toujours Fresh. It was way too bright, there was no one else there, and the manager was kind of creepy. Additionally, I feel compelled to note that the walls were bare except for a poster on the subject of “teamwork.” I noticed that the manager asked every patron how their meal was. Everyone muttered something or other so that they could forget their meal and go about their busy day in peace. If only someone would tell Toujour that the food was lousy, maybe he would put some decent items on the menu or take more time in making sure that the items on the menu were actually worth purchasing.

If you like Subway, you might like Toujours Fresh. The food is generic, predictable, and crummy. I guess it really is “All American” cuisine.

The Euclid Tavern

11625 Euclid Avenue
Cleveland, Ohio 44106
216.231.7066
www.euclid-tavern.com

By Edward Sandwichhands

The new Euclid Tavern is a piece of Cleveland history. Although it has been closed for the past several years, the new Tavern hosts a wide variety of food options ranging from pretzel-dogs to steamed clams. At first glance the Tavern looks like a beer joint where you might not expect to find a decent meal. However, even drunken fools desire good food.

The Euclid Tavern is a fantastic establishment. I was late to this sandwich review because I was extremely hungover from drinking at the Euclid Tavern the night before. I was relieved to find that the sandwich review had already begun as Beau, D, and Frank Griffin had ordered prior to my arrival. (Sandwiches run deeper than faith.) Their sandwiches arrived first. I thought that I was going to die while I had to sit there and watch them eat. Their smiling faces, large sandwiches, and quaint laughter were murder to my soul. It took all of the energy that I had to keep my head off of the table.

The waitress clearly sensed my whiskey-laden desperation when she took my order. (This also happened at Big Lots! once.) My chicken parmesan sandwich arrived less than eight minutes after I had ordered it. It was an absolutely enormous chicken breast lightly breaded and seasoned with Italian herbs, served on thick toasted Italian bread. It was much larger and better than I had expected and well worth the price. I’ve had quite a few good sandwiches in my time, but this is the only one that might have saved my life. Although I felt a million times better after the sandwich, the waitress kept telling me I should have a beer to make myself feel better. She was right and I admire that kind of spirit, but I told her that I needed to, “get myself even.”

The Tavern is a one of a kind establishment. It is one of the oldest bars in Cleveland; the same building has been used as a bar since the early 1900’s. After a hiatus, the bar is now re-opened and doing better than ever. They sport two separate bars, a full menu, and weekly live music. However, you’ve probably never been there because you hang out at Panini’s with your friend who beats his wife.

Lola

2058 E 4th St
Cleveland, OH 44115
(216) 621-5652
www.lolabistro.com

Bite: Believe the hype.

by Beau Cadiyo

On the way over, D. said things that made me nervous. This was the Iron Chef’s restaurant. Friends of D’s once spent $150 per couple at Lola. It was the best restaurant in Cleveland. We’d need reservations, and there was next-to-no chance we’d get a table without one. I started to feel like a doughboy, hearing rumors of how the Krauts raped babies and ate women.
Realities: yes, it is the Iron Chef’s restaurant, and he walked around and talked to people. It was not too expensive – sandwiches were $9 each or $11 for a combination. We were seated promptly. And it may very well be the best restaurant in Cleveland.
It didn’t feel like a lunch place: it was dark, tribal music was playing, everyone was dressed up. We were competing for the youngest people in the room, next to the stunners one table over, and we were definitely underdressed. Despite this, they treated us like we were kings. Amy, the waitress, was attentive without being overbearing, somehow always being in sight when we needed something and otherwise disappearing.
The meal was served quickly. Normally I get nervous when people are behind me, but the staff must have been trained to make it comfortable. When I asked for ketchup, the waiter nodded, but seemed a bit off-put. He brought us small bowls, smaller than at Heck’s Café. When I bit into the Lola Burger, I understood why: Lola food needs no augmentation like ketchup, salt or pepper (which was also conspicuously absent from our table), and anything more than the bowl may have tempted us to pour on the ketchup and ruin the food. The meat was tender and perfectly cooked; the single slice of bacon added just a hint of flavor to the rest; the pickles and special sauce were hidden underneath the patty, surprising the diner; the aged cheddar melted just enough so that the carefully arranged onions on top sunk in ever so slightly, ever so elegantly, ever so perfectly, all inside an oversized English muffin with a side of rosemary-seasoned fries. It was a meal I never wanted to end. Then, when it was over and my plate had been comfortably cleared, I wouldn’t have wanted anything else but the iced tea that the waiter offered me after I’d paid the bill. It was an unnecessary gesture – after all, they weren’t going to get anything else by serving me more iced tea. But that didn’t matter – it was gracious, classy and memorable.