Pamela's Diner

I figured an establishment whose founders had been summoned to the White House to make pancakes for President Obama's Memorial Day breakfast would serve an outstanding club sandwich.

And the turkey on this club was certainly out of the ordinary: slabs of carved roast turkey breast, like Thanksgiving Day leftovers, not like deli turkey at all.

In the company of Presidential-quality pancakes, I expect a higher standard of club sandwich ingredients. The turkey was first-rate; the tomato was world-class, so why were they on a sandwich with processed American cheez fuud and Big-Mac-style lettuce?

And even though the pickle garnishes were adorable, they left the toast all mushy on top.

Eat'n Park (Edgewood)

It stands to reason that the same restaurant which offers such a tantalizing variety of Smiley Face Cookie colors would offer a chromatic banquet of frill picks on their club sandwich. Green! Blue! Yellow! Even an unusual orange one. Maybe they have a big vat of them back in the kitchen, frill picks to match every color of the Smiley Cookie palette.

And speaking of vats, this club sandwich comes with a petite vat of mayonnaise in the center of the plate. The diner can choose how little or how much mayo to put on the sandwich. It's all about empowering the customer, I guess.

I didn't feel empowered. I felt put-out. Would it really have been that much trouble for the chef to spread some mayo on the toast? Maybe it's not about customer empowerment at all, maybe it's just more cost-effective to have the customer finish preparing the sandwich.

Luckily, the carnival of frill picks jollied me right out of my disappointment in the mayo situation.
The sandwich was tasty: lots of salty bacon, thick piles of shaved turkey. The tomatoes were fresh and flavorful. The cheese was unnecessary, but it wasn't bad, and at least I didn't have to put it on the sandwich myself.

It was a good sandwich, though. By the end of the meal, I looked like this.

Kelly O's Diner

Does Kelly O's Diner have club sandwiches? They have an entire section of the menu devoted to clubs.

The turkey and bacon club was the traditional double-decker sandwich. Served with potato chips and a pickle, held together with frill picks, it was a good sandwich. It had thick slices of roast turkey and plenty of bacon. I was happy with it.

Until I tried the fried egg and bacon club. Yum! I'd ordered the wrong one. In my adherence to club sandwich orthodoxy, I'd missed a thrilling twist on the traditional club. The fried egg and bacon club was moist but not greasy, cheesy but not gooey, breakfastly aromatic, but neatly accessorized with lettuce and tomato for lunch.

The Pittsburgh Club Sandwich Tour may make future stops at Kelly O's Diner. There are still the Ham-n-Cheese club and the Bacon Cheeseburger Club left to try.

What's Cookin' at Casey's

Ooh, look. Turkey and ham! That's nice. Cole slaw in a pretty dish! That's nice. Colorful frill picks! That's nice.

Take a bite. Chew.

Ugh! What is that? Whatever it is, it is not nice.

It turned out to be a chunk of gristle in the ham. Large, extensive region of gristle. I had to remove most of the ham--and this sandwich did not stint on the ham--to be sure to be rid of the gristle. And then, even with my club all but de-hammed, I was still cautious about taking a bite. What if I got another mouthful of that foul, chewy cartilage or connective tissue or whatever it is gristle is made of?

Did you know, prior to being the Ace of Clubs, I was a vegetarian for many years? I was. I've been back to meat-eating habits for a long time now, but I spent most of my teens as a veggie. And you know why? Gristle. (Yeah, also animal rights and nutrition and wanting to fit in with the cool neo-pseudo-hippie veggie kids, but mostly gristle avoidance.)

Even though the non-gristly portion of the club at What's Cookin' at Casey's was perfectly satisfactory, the feeling of gristle between my teeth and the sight of my eviscerated sandwich on my plate was almost enough to make me run screaming back into The Enchanted Broccoli Forest.

Liberty Avenue Deli and Smoothies

Not a club.


The "Turkey club" at Liberty Avenue Deli and Smoothies is a yummy turkey sandwich with bacon. It is tasty; it is filling, but it is not a club.

It's a nice lunch, though. It comes on a ciabatta roll (not three pieces of toast, alas!) The roll would have been good, but it was mushily soaked through with mayonnaise. I detest a dry sandwich as much as the next guy, but there's really no need for that much mayo.


Especially because the turkey wasn't dry. It was great! There is lots of turkey on this sandwich, and it is fresh and flavorful. The bacon was good, too. Actually, I seldom meet a bacon I don't like, but this bacon was especially likable. It was smoky and salty, and even though there wasn't a ton of it on the sandwich, it was not overwhelmed by the generous portion of turkey.



Lettuce, check. Tomato, check. Onions, check.


Onions? No onions, please, not on a club. And especially not this club because I asked for them to be left off. But I got onions anyway. Oh well. Also a nice piece of Swiss cheese. Pickle included. Chips sold separately.

The Grant Bar Club

The Grant Bar Club is close to perfection. It is the traditional turkey club, served on three pieces of toast, cut in quarters, held together with frill picks.

It had the thickest layer of deli turkey I've seen on a club, but the turkey didn't overpower the rest of the sandwich. It was, instead, the foundation for a formidable (and delectable) tower of bliss. The lettuce was fresh. The tomatoes were ripe. The bacon--oh, the bacon!--the bacon was plentiful and chewey to just the right degree. And guess what...



There was an egg. A fried egg on the club sandwich! I know, it sounds like showing off. But it wasn't. The egg was just tucked in there, subtley flavorful, and not greasy at all. A bonus.



Have we found club sandwich perfection, a mere three stops in on the Club Sandwich Tour? Why even bother continuing the tour, now that we know where to find such an embodiment of the club sandwich ideal?



We may be pleasantly surprised. Who knows, there may be comprable (or, dare I hope, even better?) sandwiches as yet undiscovered.



Future club sandwiches will all be compared to the delicious, attractive, fresh, savory, Grant Bar Club.

Gullifty's Grilled Club

Know what's off-putting? A dry club sandwich -- sandpapery bread, dessicated chicken. There's nothing worse.

Oh, wait, yes there is.

The whole point of a sandwich is to have a meal that can be eaten without silverwear, while still leaving the hands clean and free to play cards. A greasy club misses the whole point. And the Gullifty's grilled club was so greasy, I went through three napkins the first three times I touched my sandwich. Finally, I gave up and ate it with my knife and fork.

The bread was thick and chewey-- not in a good way. And shredded lettuce is weird on a club.

It wasn't dry, though.