Since 1925 Bay Cities on Lincoln has been the home of the Godmother, a definitive and decidedly not vegan Italian sub. It has amassed a cult-like following over the last century, and like any such institution there have been acolytes who have left with the principles most dear to them in order to find their own way.
Two such acolytes are Brittany and Terrence of B&T’s Deli, who set up shop up the street in early 2024. The bio on their website is a love letter to deli culture and Bay Cities is noted as a key influence – – in case you hadn’t surmised this from their signature Goddaughter sandwich. Their ethos is to keep things local, organic when possible, housemade, and of course plant-based. What this means in practice is that you won’t find any processed meat alternatives here. This is farm-to-wax paper fare.
As my wife and I arrive, the first thing that pops off the page is the collision of upscale beach boutique and old-world styles. A laurel green sign offset by bright white framing hangs in front to summon passers-by. The same palette continues inside, alongside a white subway tile backsplash and checkered flooring. I’m getting notes of 30’s Santa Monica and modern Santa Barbara, with a nod to mid-century Manhattan.
A single cooled case hosts an orderly arrangement of stacked deli containers filled with various side dishes, along with a few rows of craft sodas. This is not your bubbie’s deli, in the sense that you’re not paying by weight or being served with a forearm-sized spoon that stands erect in the potato salad between scoops. Nonetheless there’s clearly been a great deal of effort spent curating the space, and the staff bring plenty of warmth to complement it. I place our order with a gregarious and knowledgeable counter server, and we settle down at a sidewalk table with the Goddaughter, the Peter, and a side of tabouli.
The tabouli is a lovely grain salad made with quinoa here rather than bulgur. It’s unexpectedly chive and vinegar forward at first bite, and after the last bite ghosts of miso linger. Although it’s hardly traditional, there’s plenty of garlic and parsley to satisfy anyone who came looking for that profile. Regardless of which elements are emphasized a good tabouli is herbaceous, fluffy and refreshing. This one hits that mark confidently.
The Peter is styled like a chilled steak sandwich, on a sourdough roll laden with balsamic glazed onions, pickles, lettuce and chimichurri. The well-marinated seasonal mushrooms playing lead have an impressive tensile strength. This was problematic when I was still holding out hope to eat it civilly, but once I gave in and popped the whole mushroom in my mouth it was a rewarding bite. I’m not typically a fetishist for photorealistic renderings of omnivore fare but the chevre-like spread, and the king oyster mushroom strips doing their best impression of a skirt steak, were both nostalgic and a real treat.
The Goddaughter on the other hand makes no bones about being a veggie sandwich. The ciabatta, sourced locally from Jyaan Isaac, has some chew at the crust but is generally airy and light. The grinder salad is invigorating, a sunburst of crisp lettuce and bright pepperoncini. Roasted red peppers tether it with body and smokiness. While plenty of care is given to the mushrooms playing hero in the Peter, the slab of marinated eggplant in the Goddaughter is a masterpiece. Even holding my vegan hat at arm’s length, I would argue that this sandwich is a rung above the legend that inspired it. Only after going back inside and inquiring about the recipe to the marinade – – I had to shoot my shot – – did I discover that my server was in fact the owner. Brittany was quite nice about my prying for family secrets, but wouldn’t elaborate beyond “My grandmother would kill me.”
After placing your order at the counter, B&T’s asks you to pull a tab and wait for your number to be called. Some might see this as an overly twee commitment to the theme, or perhaps even a less personal approach. Others (like myself) would rather not have our names scraped at checkout from our digital profile, then cheerily called with the lilt of someone who has known us for a decade. As I see it, B&T’s Deli are bringing back the perfect antidote to this sort of performative personalization, betting on organic connection and trusting in the process. At a deli you’re just a number in the queue, until the day you become family.
Vegan food culture has some parallels to the turn-of-the-century immigrant culture that birthed the modern deli. We come to veganism from all over, we are all trying to find our bearings in an often hostile food landscape, and consequently we seek fellowship where we can. With outrageously good food and a tangible commitment to their values, B&T’s Deli seem well on their way to building a special community of their own.
