The muffuletta is the John Goodman of sandwiches. It’s big. It’s colorful. And, like Goodman, it’s from New Orleans.
It was invented by a Sicilian immigrant to the Big Easy – Salvatore Lupo – who started Central Grocery, a small Italian deli in the heart of the French Quarter. Lupo created this particular sandwich to feed Sicilian farmers who sold their produce at the nearby Farmer's Market. Truck farmers, they were called.
It’s made from a large, flat round of Sicilian muffuletta bread with sesame seeds on top and stuffed with olive salad, several layers of porky deli meats like salami, ham, and mortadella, and provolone cheese. But while the bread is where the sandwich gets its name, the whole thing turns on the olive salad, which is made from green and black olives, pickled veggies, garlic, celery, capers, oregano and pepper. You’ll find olives in a lot of Sicilian dishes, by the way, as it’s one of the most important agricultural products in Sicily.
This tangy, briny, salty olive concoction is balanced by the creamy provolone, fatty meats, and the sweet-tart of pickled vegetables. It’s typically pressed and heated to crust the bread and warm the ingredients to blend the flavors. Not a subtle food item, but if it’s well-balanced, it can be absolutely delicious.
Unfortunately, the delis I’ve been to routinely fuck up the muffuletta. They basically make an Italian combo on regular focaccia, or even (gasp) a sourdough roll, with a simple olive tapenade and WAY too much deli meat. The sandwich is overly salty and all you taste is olive and meat - which are both incredibly salty. In fact, as I write this a thoroughly disappointing Muffaletta from San Francisco’s famous Lucca Deli on Chestnut is digesting in my belly. God, I hate ordering wrong.
But Sandy’s nails their signature sandwich (thank goodness), and in so doing demonstrates what a muffuletta can be - should be. They use just the right amount of mortadella, soppressata, prosciutto, provolone, and olives - and the olive salad itself is well-made and well-balanced. Importantly, it’s on the traditional sesame seed focaccia round and the deli meats, I notice, have more subtle flavors than other sandwich joints use on their version. The Duke’s Mayo (“It’s got Twang!” is their slogan) plays a very important role in lowering the flavor punch of the meat and olives. Tangy, briny, creamy, meaty and a little bit of sweet-tart. It’s a masterpiece.
Sandy’s on Haight
Located in a tiny 600-square foot hole in the wall in the heart of the Height (1457 Haight), Sandy's was named after owner Peterson Harter's father. Harter and partner Moni Frailing were among the many workers who lost their restaurant jobs during the pandemic. So they started slinging muffulettas at pop-ups around SF. Eventually, in early 2023, they landed a permanent spot at the former location of Panini Cafe.
Since they have a small space, they offer a small menu featuring regular muffulettas and a vegetarian version along with “herby” slaw. They plan to add an andouille melt and a pickled egg salad sandwich to join the list soon, along with a turkey or vegetarian sandwich and seasonal salad. Their brown butter chocolate chip cookie is a show stealer. Pow. Harter, who trained at the Culinary Institute of America, says that the frenetic kookiness of the Haight reminds him of New Orleans.
He’s working the register when I come in and, when I finally reach the front of the line, I ask him how it’s going.
“Oh man. I’m exhausted,” he says, then adds, “But hey, I get to make sandwiches. So that’s fun. Never thought I’d be making sandwiches for a living, but hey, I’m doing it.”
I put my order in and wait at one of the three tables next to an older fellow, clearly a local. I asked him how he liked his muffuletta.
“I’ll be back,” he replies. “I’m not going to wait in that line again, but I’ll definitely be back.”
When he finally finished his sandwich a few minutes later, he turned to me and said, “Actually, I may wait in that line again. That sandwich really grew on me.”
There was a significant line out the door. Not like the line at OK Deli in Oakland during opening weekend (which I wrote about here). But you definitely have to want a muffuletta. Bad.
Harter is a gregarious guy and that’ll serve him well. “Hey, thanks for being here. Really appreciate you coming in,” he says to patron after patron. That’s the kind of gratitude that makes people feel all warm and fuzzy. And how you make people feel as a business owner is what they tend to remember.
These guys have a good start and should get a good run out of this.
On The Side
Speaking of Lucca Deli in San Francisco, I’ve been to that joint three times now with the intention of writing about it in the past two years. This classic Italian-style delicatessen has been sitting in this prime retail spot for almost 100 years. It should be blowing my mind. But every time I go I have a bad experience. Crappy service. Below-average food. Long wait times. Save yourself.
And while we’re on the subject of deli meats… they are… not good for you. At all. Loads of saturated fats. Nitrates. Nitrites. Sulfites. amines, nitrosamines, and enough salt to pickle a hog. I recommend delicatessens that prepare their own meats. Roast their own turkeys, brine their own pastrami, cook their own pulled pork, and so on.
Global market intelligence outfit SkyQuest projects that the “Chilled and Deli Food market will grow rapidly $310.3 billion by 2030.” They don’t say what the market is today, but their theory is that consumers are too busy (probably driving their kids to soccer, then baseball, then lacrosse, then football, then tennis) to make meals. Therefore, they need ready-to-eat foods instead. But they do want "all-natural, 100% natural," and "organic" pre-made food.