Crown Candy Kitchen: Bacon, Lettuce, & Tomato
The seemingly sky-bound sandwich rests on a plate on a teensy table designed for a long-ago people of less, ah, avoirdupois proportions, which makes it seem even more mountainous. At Crown Candy, the L and T receive a polite nod. The B, however, rises up like a salty, smoky pork mesa where the top toast slice (white bread, you should not need to ask) perches precariously. A schmear of mayo works to hold things in place. It’s awesome. A Chihuahua chasing a Mack truck will have more success than a single soul trying to take on this behemoth, which is as much a land mass as it is a sandwich.
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Peacemaker Lobster & Crab Co.: Lobster Roll
Simplicity—a bun loaded with cold lobster chunks and a dash of mayo—conceals a tribute to sandwich excellence. There’s the perfect balance of sweet knuckle and claw meat and the more densely textured tail meat. The toasted, split, flat-sided buns are buttered just lightly enough to add a bit of richness and a delicate crunch. The restraint in the mayo component, with no more than what’s needed to hold the meaty chunks together and add a creamy fattiness. Most importantly, a generous portion of lobster spills over. Peacemaker sets the bar wicked high, as far Midwest as Down East can be.
Protzel’s Deli: Reuben
Why doesn’t St. Louis have a bigger spread of delis? There have been some grand ones: Kopperman’s, Pumpernickels, Kohn’s… Still, the scarcity is puzzling. So when the yen for the whole deli experience hits, we head to Protzel’s, which is short on frills but long on the ineluctable tastes and textures of the glorious Reuben. Along with a spill of Russian dressing, corned beef (never pastrami, though you can get a combo version here), kraut, and Swiss, all of it piled in layers thicker and warmer than a comforter between toasted slices of dark Jewish rye, all the triple culinary equivalent of Bach Trio Sonatas and equally deserving of adulation.
Banh Mi Shop: Banh Mi
Most local banh mi places depend on Le Bonne Bouchee for their baguettes and for good reason: Just as with virtually all other sandwiches, the bread makes all the difference. The Banh Mi Shop, however, bakes its own bread, so it’s impossibly fresh. That filigree of crust shatters like Limoges crystal on a marble floor, with the interior so light it tastes like baked air. And while variations are offered on bahn mi here, go with the Saigon version, stuffed with authenticity in the form of sliced porkroll, a kind of headcheese called thit nguoi, ham, pate, tangy pickled daikon and carrots, mild aioli, cilantro, and cucumber.
The Gramophone: French Dip
Let’s be completely honest: Lion’s Choice roast beef sandwiches, with those steaming little cups of jus, are pretty hard to beat; they are to St. Louis what Philippe’s is to L.A. That said, sometimes you want a little more style and substance, and you can find it in all of its juicy glory at The Gramophone. The beef folds what looks like a whole Sunday roast, finely sliced, into a garlic buttered baguette with a hefty mug o’ broth. The bread’s sturdy enough that the dip doesn’t make it soggy. The beef’s slow-roasted, fragrant, and as tender as a Hallmark card. The scatter of pepperoncini and pickles add much to the fun. That said, tell them to leave off the Provel cheese. Provolone on a French dip? Fine. Provel? Let them get away with that, and they’ll try something even more outrageous. Like putting it on pizza.
Broadway Oyster Bar: Oyster Poor Boy
Tackling an oyster poor boy at Broadway Oyster Bar provides perhaps as authentic of a dining experience as you can get outside the Crescent City. Plump, juicy oysters explode with flavor when you bite through that crunchy, deep-fried crust, which is still dangerously hot. Shredded lettuce, tomato slices, and onions are piled on so lustily, you’re going to have to work for that bite. Add a side of fries and a cool one, and you’re more than ready to let the good times roll.
Blues City Deli: Muffaletta
Speaking of New Orleans—which one should do whenever discussing iconic edibles—the muffaletta is another one of those sandwiches that cause you to wake up in the middle of the night and think, “You know, it’s only about a 12-hour drive down there. And I’m decidedly puckish.” It’s understandable. While the interior of the muffaletta is composed of meats, cheese, and an olive salad that are all readily available, it’s again the bread that makes the sandwich. Save yourself the trip, though. Blues City Deli uses Vitale’s Bakery bread for its amazing muffaletta, with a thick, spongy, focaccia-like bun that’s studded with seeds. It holds everything together, including that fragrant, glossy olive salad. Ham, mortadella, Genoa salami, and Provolone make for a splendid two-napkin, two-person meal. (Note: At Viviano’s in Chesterfield, Grace can customize a fine muffaletta with Fazio’s bread where, upon request, she’ll halve the meat portion and double the olive salad.)
The Clover and The Bee: Philly Cheese Steak
While we have a problem taking seriously any meal that includes something called Cheez-Whiz, there’s no denying that the Philly Cheesesteak is a classic sandwich. Its devotees demand quality beef: ribeye, shaved as thin as a hasty excuse. A fat hoagie provides enough body to hold up under the meat, and a glossy rich gravy is ladled on like a tsunami of beefy goodness, with a big snarl of caramelized onions that’s so reduced, their sweetness is nearly candy-like. The Clover’s take is spot-on, with local Mama Lil’s hot peppers as the perfect complement. What’s more, Clover offers a choice of cheese toppings: Provolone, American, or Whiz-riffic.
Jovick Brothers Deli: Italian Sub
While the definition of “Italian sub” is decidedly open-ended, the essential basics include the meats and cheeses, which must be Italian. Oil and vinegar also ought to make an appearance. Aside from that, the riffs are endless. When it comes to the classic, however, we’ll go with Jovick Brothers’ version: genoa salami, mortadella, mozzarella, and capicola, with lettuce, tomatoes, onion, oil, and vinegar. It’s perhaps the closest rendition of the grinders of New England, and it tastes like summer at the beach.
Havana’s Cuisine: Cuban
Havana’s Cuisine easily wins the prize for painstaking authenticity in a sandwich. The bread is imported from Tampa’s La Segunda Bakery. The roast pork is marinated in garlic and bitter orange juice for hours until it’s reduced to the essence of porkiness. Ham, pickles, mustard, and a lava flow of melted Swiss are all packed into the bread, and then it’s apparently run over by a truck—or possibly just pressed and grilled. Either way, the results are incredible: a mouthful of Cuban and Florida cuisine. The bread’s crust has the perfect toasty crunch. Those pickles—long-sliced, so they’re in every bite—add an acidic piquancy. The Cubano here is a stunning success. Add a side of black bean soup and plantain chips, and you’re only a guayabera shirt from creating your own Little Havana in St. Louis.
