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(Sandwich) Indiana Pork Tenderloin Trail

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Places Visited: Steer-In Diner; The Aristocrats Pub; Metro Diner; Oasis Diner; The Mug
 
Last weekend, I took a day trip to Indiana to sample pork tenderloin sandwiches across five locations. There were two reasons for this. The first is that I really enjoy a good piece a fried pork; while I ate plenty of ramen in Japan, the second-most common item I ate when dining out was tonkatsu, Japan’s breaded pork cutlet. (For an example of good tonkatsu, see here) For some reason, properly-prepared tonkatsu barely exists in the US (that freezer-to-fryer “katsu” at your local Japanese restaurant doesn’t count) even though there’s no shortage of ingredients for it here in the US. George Itoh, partner at Ichigoh and exponent of Japanese training and expertise, opines that a successful tonkatsu shop in the US would need Japanese-trained chefs. Perhaps he’s right, but until that day comes, I wanted to see if Indiana’s breaded pork tenderloin could fill that void.
 
The second and more important reason is that breaded pork tenderloin sandwiches are an important Midwestern culinary tradition, thanks to the prominence of hog farming in the region and 19th century German immigrants who brought schnitzel recipes with them. While there are slight differences in preparation–Rick Garrett, the Indiana pork tenderloin reviewer, claims that Indiana favors slightly thicker-cut tenderloins than Iowa does–the basic recipe is the same: take a slice of pork loin, pound it out with a tenderizer, dip in buttermilk or egg, dredge, bread, fry, and serve on a bun.  Iowa and Indiana both have embraced the dish and used it to create food tourism campaigns in the form of the Iowa and Indiana tenderloin trails. 
 
Though the prospect of driving 10 hours to Iowa and eating ten tenderloin sandwiches over three days in order to win a t-shirt was tempting, Indiana was a lot closer to me, which meant that I could visit several places as part of a day trip and still be able to get back home to pack the leftovers into the fridge before slipping into a food coma. In selecting which places to visit, I used a number of best-of lists from USA Today, Indianapolis Star, and USA Today again as reference, focusing on those in the Indianapolis area.  That meant skipping out on Nick’s Kitchen, the supposed originator of the pork tenderloin sandwich, as Huntington was just too far out of the way.  Perhaps next time.  Onto the sandwiches!

Steer-In Diner

Steer-In Diner | Storefront

Steer-In has been around since 1960 and gained additional fame in the past decade as it was featured on Guy Fieri’s Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives show in 2011. The restaurant still has Fieri’s poster hanging over the kitchen entrance. Like every other sandwich on this list, Steer-In’s tenderloin sandwich has regularly featured on best-of lists. Each tenderloin is pounded fresh to order, marinated in buttermilk, and breaded with a mix of cornmeal and flour. The deep-fried version is the most popular, but a number of patrons order the grilled version because of diabetic restrictions.

Steer-In Diner | Pork Tenderloin Sandwich (Cross-Section)

The standout feature of the Steer-In’s tenderloin was the thickness of the meat. While the tenderloin itself was roughly a 7″ (17.5cm) oval that spilled past the brioche bun by a few bites on each side–relatively tame by pork tenderloin standards–the meat itself was thickest of any of the ones I had that day, roughly about 3/4 of an inch thick, very juicy and tender. The breading was done well, with no visible meat-breading separation, fried with not much extra oil logged in the breading, though without much flavor or seasoning in the breading. While the lack of seasoning in the breading would normally be a weakness–I generally like to add a bit of cayenne pepper and even garam masla to my fried chicken breading–it would become a comparative strength after eating some of the other tenderloins.

Steer-In Diner | Pork Tenderloin Sandwich (Overhead)

Toppings included shredded lettuce, tomato, and pickles, and comes with fries standard. However, for only a dollar more, one can get some beautiful onion rings that use the same batter/breading as the tenderloin. The caveat is that while that may have worked in isolation, when paired with the tenderloin it was almost distracting, sort of like similarity-driven cognitive dissonance. (Think of a blue-on-blue outfit) But it’s pretty enough that I’d probably get it again just to make sure.

Steer-In Diner | Visitor Map

Hanging by the door was a map-based guestbook showing how far patrons have come to visit Steer-In. Overall, I’m glad that this was my first-ever tenderloin sandwich: I liked it quite a bit, in large part due to the thicker cut of meat that Steer-In uses compared to other places.

Aristocrat Pub

Aristocrat Pub | Storefront
Aristocrat Pub | Pub Emblem

The second tenderloin sandwich comes from the Aristocrat Pub, located in the picturesque SoBro (South of Broad Ripple) neighborhood by the Butler University campus. It’s a large, wood-drenched space featuring a patio, a pub area, and a dining room to accommodate large contingents of fans after Butler basketball games.

Aristocrat Pub | Pork Tenderloin (Overhead)
Aristocrat’s rendition frequently appears in articles on Indiana tenderloin because of its size, largely because it is pounded and tenderized very thinly. Mine was (relatively) small by Aristocrat standards–I’ve seen pictures where the entire tenderloin takes up the entire plate–but it was the largest of the five I had that day.  The meat are cut on the premises, pounded (very thin) and fried to order using egg wash  and Drakes Fry Mix. Some commentary on Drakes: after being to at least two different locations that uses Drakes Fry Mix–Oasis does too–I find it off-putting.  It fries crisply, but it’s very salty and there’s a fairly strong chemical-y smell and flavor, one which I usually associate with white pepper.
Aristocrat Pub | Pork Tenderloin Sandwich (Overhead)

The meat itself was also disappointing. It’s hard for me to report my tasting notes when the meat was pounded so finely to the point of being less than a quarter of an inch (.6cm) thick. That created a inevitably “tender” cut of meat, but it was so thin that I had to take three separate bites just to even get a sense if it was moist. (It was not)

Aristocrat Pub | Pork Tenderloin Sandwich (Cross-Section)

I wanted to like Aristocrat: it’s in a lovely neighborhood and it was fun eating in such a well-appointed space by myself so early in the morning. But the tenderloin was pounded too thinly and widely to retain much meat-eating sensation, and the Drakes fry mix was very off-putting both in terms of taste and smell.

Metro Diner (Clearwater Crossing)

Metro Diner | Big Bern Pork Tenderloin Sandwich
According to purists, Metro Diner’s Big Bern Pork Tenderloin does not count as a tenderloin sandwich because a true tenderloin sandwich should have little in the way of garnishes: lettuce and tomato at the most. The Big Bern exists on the far end of that spectrum: it features provel cheese, cooked spinach, carmelized onions, bacons, fried jalapenos, and a tomato-garlic aioli on top of grilled slices of Italian bread. But it’s highly regarded by Indianapolis Star’s Liz Biro, and as someone who enjoys vegetables in his sandwiches, I wanted to check it out.
Metro Diner | Big Bern Pork Tenderloin Sandwich (Cross-Section)

The Big Bern is made by dipping the pounded tenderloin in egg wash and breading it with seasoned flour. However, the pounding in sandwich did not appear to be uniform: one end of the tenderloin was about 1/4 inches thick, but the other end was double, about 1/2 inches thick. The meat was otherwise decent, not spectacular: a little moist, but not notably flavorful or juicy. Breading was crisp, but had more oil logged in there than other sandwiches. That said, what saved this sandwich is its combination of toppings that added depth to the sandwich, with the substantial slices of Italian loaf being of sufficient thickness and size to hold the sandwich together. While Indiana fried tenderloin sandwiches are “supposed” to have acres of fried pork extending beyond the bun, using crusty bread of sufficient size and thickness in proportion to the meat and toppings still makes for a superior sandwich. The toppings and bread was what elevated this sandwich in my final rankings, though I would strongly recommend ordering this without the bacon in the sandwich, as I think its flavor overpowers the rest of it at times.

Oasis Diner

Oasis Diner | Storefront
My fourth tenderloin sandwich took me to the Oasis Diner in Plainfield, about 20 minutes west of Indianapolis. There’s a more thorough account on the history of the Oasis Diner here, but it originally opened in 1954 until closing in 2008 when its original owner shut it down due to his declining health. Fortunately, it was revived again a few years later when the current ownership under Doug Huff and Don Rector bought and moved the original down the road and restored it to look like it had in decades past. The interior has been outfitted to recreate the feel of a 1960s diner, complete with cake stands filled with cinnamon buns and an entire wall filled with Indiana license plates. 
Oasis Diner | Pork Tenderloin (Overhead)

Oasis’s pork tenderloin comes in a number of iterations: one that I wanted to order was its Indiana platter, where the fried tenderloin is served under a large dollop of sausage gravy with eggs and home fries. But for the sake of analytical rigor I opted for the standard breaded tenderloin sandwich. Their tenderloin is cut in-house and pounded fresh to order to create a thickness of 1/3 inch (about 1cm). It’s then dipped in buttermilk, breaded and seasoned with a mix of flour, Drakes fry mix, and Lawry’s Seasoning Salt.

Oasis Diner | Pork Tenderloin Sandwich

Once again, the presence of Drakes hurt the exterior flavor of the tenderloin, which I found to be salty and having off-putting chemical and white pepper notes similar to what I had at Aristocrat, though fortunately this time it didn’t feel as strong. The meat itself was moist and tender, but the flavor was almost overpowered by the garlicky intensity of the garlic mayo, which was so strong that I thought it had horseradish at first. Overall, this is a decent tenderloin sandwich, but the presence of Drakes–and to a lesser extent, the garlic mayo–detract from the sandwich.

The Mug (Greenfield)

The Mug | Storefront

The final pork tenderloin of this trip was located at The Mug, located 25 minutes to the east of Indianapolis in the town of Greenfield. Started by software entrepreneur Chris Baggott, who shifted his attentions to sustainable farming after the company he co-founded was sold to Salesforce in 2013, The Mug’s founding principles are based in sustainable, drug-free, and humanely-raised livestock and poultry. As Baggott explained to me after overhearing me asking a staff member about The Mug’s tenderloin preparation methods–a pretty serendipitous meeting–he had created Tyner Pond Farm to raise livestock the right way, but soon realized that while there was plenty of demand for specific cuts of steak and chops, he had to find responsible ways to use the remaining cuts of beef and pork. Hence the inspiration behind The Mug and a number of his other restaurants, such as Griggsby’s Station, his gastropub or his ClusterTruck food-delivery service operating in a number of cities in the Midwest.

The Mug | Pork Tenderloin Sandwich (Overhead)
As for The Mug’s pork tenderloin, the meat had the most flavor of any of the ones I tried that day. The loin is seasoned with garlic and paprika before it’s breaded in flour–though Indianapolis Monthly claims cornmeal–and then fried in lard, which Baggott argues distinguishes it from other tenderloin sandwiches. This mode of preparation, along with the high quality of the meat, imparts pronounced porky flavors with each bite. The loin is moderately thick at slightly under 1/2″, well-fried with breading that, while it doesn’t have too much in the way of flavor, neither does it have the off-putting notes of Drakes and/or too much salt.
The Mug | Pork Tenderloin Sandwich (Cross-Section)
Like all the non-metro pork tenderloin sandwiches I’ve had, The Mug’s version comes standard with lettuce, tomato, and red onion. There’s also an option to have it served “Mug Style,” which consists topping the tenderloin with some jalapenos and roughly-chopped cabbage. I think this was a real missed opportunity for two reasons: first, a dollar for four pieces of jalapeno and some shredded of cabbage doesn’t seem like a good deal; second, the roughly chopped cabbage kept falling out of the sandwich. A better solution would be to shred the cabbage into thin strands so that they will entangle with each other and stay in place in the sandwich. To take it one step further, such strands of cabbage could be combined with some thinly-sliced japlapeno to create a lightly vinegared slaw. Along with maybe switching to a brioche-type bun, these are the two changes I would make to make the sandwich equal to the terrific pork tenderloin.
 
Final Ratings and Thoughts:
Rankings (Tenderloin-Only)
The Mug
Steer-In
Oasis Diner
Metro Diner 

Aristocrat Pub

Rankings (Sandwich)
The Mug
Metro Diner
Steer-In Diner
Oasis Diner
Aristocrat Pub
 
Reflecting on this trip a few days afterwards, I think there are two angles from which to examine the Indiana pork tenderloin: intellectual and gastronomic. Intellectually, it was a rewarding trip because I got to experience an important Indiana cultural/culinary tradition from a cross-sectional approach via five different restaurants. In the process, I got a chance to visit Indiana, which I surprisingly haven’t done so now, which was pretty cool.
 
However, from a gastronomic perspective, my feelings are much more mixed. If I actually lived in Indiana, I’m not sure how often I would actually order a pork tenderloin sandwich. It’s not just because pork tenderloins don’t measure up to a proper Japanese tonkatsu meal–it’s admittedly an unfair comparison given their different price points and methods of preparation–but also because the sandwiches themselves have aspects that need update and improvement, particularly the meat and the breading. On the whole, I found the meat to be pounded too thin, which robs the cutlets of moisture as well as the satisfaction of biting into something substantial. That in turn increases the proportion of breading with each bite, yet the breading in the five sandwiches I had ranged from “salty and off-putting” (those that used Drakes Fry Mix) to “inoffensive at best.” At a time when fried chicken is experiencing a renaissance in part due to the infusion of flavors into the chicken and breading, I’m not sure why Indiana’s pork tenderloins are seemingly standing still.
 
Overall, I struggle to think of any real outstanding, compelling aspects of the pork tenderloin sandwiches I had; the only ones I can list are the thickness and juiciness of the meat from Steer-In; the flavor and seasoning of the meat from The Mug; the sandwich toppings and bread used at Metro Diner.  It’s possible that one day someone will construct an awesome pork tenderloin with these qualities and also radically improving the breading. (Please contact me!) But until then, I would chalk up the Indiana pork tenderloin sandwich as an important state culinary cultural icon that is more tasty than particularly memorable. 

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