High on the hog
Pigging out at The Oinkster in Eagle Rock
By Erica Wayne 03/25/2010
I’ve been dying to try out The Oinkster in Eagle Rock. But, just as I eschewed Fat Boy eateries when I was a kid, thinking somehow that I’d be linked to the unattractive image as soon as I walked in the door, I’ve been avoiding The Oinkster (as well as Fatty’s, a few blocks east on Colorado Boulevard).
It is, of course, ironic that Fatty’s menu is completely vegetarian, with items like roasted roots and sautéed kale. And, quite frankly, the best thing at The Oinkster is the house-cured pastrami, which by itself isn’t a belly-buster. But still, my fragile (but generally positive) body image is severely strained whenever we eat at places with obesity stated or implied in their titles or menus. All you can eat? Not me!
So I occasionally slink into Fatty’s (where, unfortunately, I’m way more likely to order the three-cheese fondue with lots of French bread than kale). And, a couple of weeks ago, my hubby and I met a friend for lunch at The Oinkster to celebrate my birthday and see what the hype is about.
Now, The Oinkster isn’t just any ol’ sandwich shop. Although it inhabits the body of an old burger take-out restaurant, it’s got the heart of a gourmet. The mastermind behind it is Andre Guerrero, whose path I’ve been following ever since writing up his family’s Glendale restaurant (Café Le Monde) at the start of my own reviewing career.
You wouldn’t necessarily think that somebody recently named as Los Angeles’ top chef by the LA Times (primarily for his other “haute” restaurant affiliations) would enjoy spending his time slaving over a hot applewood fire, slow-cooking pulled pork, smoking pastrami and watching over a rotisserie full of revolving chickens. But perfecting a formula, be it for the Asian-fusion recipes for which he is justly known, or for home-made chipotle ketchup, seems to keep him satisfied.
So, The Oinkster makes Andre happy. And, judging from the crowded patio (plusses — a terrazzo-paved haven from the musical din inside, with surprisingly comfortable chairs; minuses — the tables are tippy, the benches are hard on the heiny and the tamed bamboo surround doesn’t do a thing to mute traffic noise or exhaust) and the long line snaking to the counter (plusses — cushiony banquettes around the perimeter; minuses — tables too close and music too loud for conversation, but your mouth will probably be full most of the time, so it’s a minor problem), the restaurant makes diners happy as well.
None of us tried the pulled pork sandwich ($6.99) although the menu description “brined with soy and honey, slowly roasted and smoked” made it sound scrumptious. Instead, we ordered a house-cured pastrami sandwich ($8.49); an Oinkster pastrami with, for a dollar more, gruyere cheese, caramelized onion and red cabbage slaw; and a classic cheeseburger (1/3 pound of Angus beef) with pickles, onions, tomato and lettuce, Thousand Island dressing and sharp cheddar ($5.50).
We sided these with thick Belgian fries ($2.25 — fried in beef fat). We could have had them “piggy” style ($4) with caramelized onions, cheddar cheese and more Thousand Island dressing — but we were hoarding those 15,000 extra calories for the hand-made milkshakes ($4.50) — two chocolate and one “ube” (a brilliant violet tuber that Filipino Guerrero probably has known since boyhood). Finally (for my birthday, remember?), we ordered one each of their three cupcakes: peanut butter and jelly, coconut and carrot (each $3.25)
And now, the verdict. One major failing with the sandwiches, in our collective opinion, is the bread. Our pastrami came on French rolls which, like the burger bun, came out of cellophaned packages and which fell apart from the meat juices. I would have thought Guerrero would select his breads with as much care as his meats. The burger was pretty standard. As for the pastrami, our friend (who got the “Oinkster”) complained that her cheese hadn’t melted and her onions and slaw were simply dotted on. My purist pastrami-only sandwich allowed me to taste the exquisite smoky meat with no conflicting tastes. Wow!
The fries were somewhat disappointing. By the time our order was delivered, mine were only lukewarm and their crispness was beginning to fade. However, the spicy chipotle ketchup, dusky whole-grain mustard and pungent, heavily vinegared Carolina BBQ sauce certainly brought some life back to the limp chips. And the milkshakes were first-rate with three votes for ube over chocolate, both for color and flavor.
Finally, it was cupcake time. Frankly, although I was really looking forward to this finale, I can’t recommend them. The carrot was probably the best, since the cake was moist. Our peanut butter and jelly had a nice dollop of raspberry jam in the center; but the cake itself, like the coconut, was too dry. All three frostings were largely butter, with some cream cheese mixed in the carrot topping, peanut butter in the PB&J and (unpleasant surprise) almost nothing — not even sugar — in the coconut.
What would bring us back? Well, that ube shake sings to me in my dreams. And the subtle smoke of the pastrami (nothing like the New York version you find in Jewish delis) is a haunting memory. The artisan beer list looks promising. And the price is certainly right. Now if only Andre could find it in his heart to robe his meats in worthy breads (how about ciabatta for the burgers and twice-baked rye for the beef?), I’d be a regular. (Not, of course, judging from the happy hordes, that he needs me.)
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