The best sandwich in the City, from Porterford to Dilieto
There is no better testament to how seriously the Square Mile takes its lunch than the queues snaking out of sandwich shop doors. Workers happily wait, shuffle and press to get their fix of bread and spread, meal deals be damned. Here is a list of City PM’s favourite sandwiches in the City, from wraps and subs to banh mis and baguettes.
Basil’s, New London St
Basil’s is organised chaos packed inside a tiny shop near Fenwick Street. Customers rattle off their orders with the self-reflexive ease of getting a round in. Their variations on the chicken escalope is the highlight of an eclectic menu: chewy light ciabatta, fat-crumbed breading with mayo pooling in the corners. Add cheese, add salami, add peppers, add whatever. Tweak it, rote learn it and join the throng as a Basil’s regular. Oh, there’s also a communal bowl of free garlic bread while you wait. What’s not to love?
Porterford Butchers, Watling St
You can’t make a City sandwich list without including Porterford Butchers, the spot with the meatiest sangers and chunkiest queues. Porterford’s offerings are straight down the bone – they don’t mess around with salads or pickles or toppings, this is a meat two bread kind of place. Despite recent price hikes, this is still one of the best value sandwiches in the City. The lamb baguette, Philly cheesesteak and salt beef are standouts, but don’t sleep on the fat-slicked hash browns.
Yalla Beirut Lebanese, Great Tower St
This is a bit of a wildcard entry because it’s a pretty standard Lebanese spot. However, in a City where Porterford rules supreme, it’s the perfect antidote to the meat onslaught. It’s also very good value (depending on what they charge you, because it seems to be different every time I go). The lamb kafta wrap is (sometimes) £6.50 and really it’s more of a pickle and salad wrap with lamb giving it structure, like a mince spine. It’s sharp, fresh, crunchy and sour, but not inflated with the dreaded overuse of iceberg lettuce. Make sure to ask for extra pickled chillies. Paired with an ayran and eaten in the nearby suntrap skeleton of St Dunstan in the East, this is one of the most underrated lunches in the Square Mile.
Dilieto, Fleet St
Another City titan, Dilieto specialises in Brit-inflected Italian baps, stuffed with at least one, or all, of the following: pesto, mozzarella, sundried tomatoes and rocket. The shop was owned by the Dilieto family for three generations, but is now run by four Spanish siblings. The operation is well-oiled, but be prepared to queue because this is probably one of the most generously priced sandwiches in the City with a loyal following.
Dom’s Subs, Ludgate Circus
Dom’s Subs is a cheeky-laddy stab at American sandwich culture, where handheld food rules supreme. The thought behind their subs marks it out as far more interesting than so many of the trad sandwich spots in the City. It’s a little slice of east London in east London, complete with merch and zany-named subs for people who call sandwiches sandos or sammies. It’s on the more expensive side, but the sandwiches are substantial and the ingredients excellent. The Grapow Sub is especially good: spicy chicken mince and pickles elevated by toasted rice powder – but be warned, it’s also one of the most structurally unsound things I’ve ever eaten. Eat it at your desk ortolan-style, not while walking.
Banh Mi Keu Deli City, London Wall
Any banh mi offering is going to have the advantage of offering bahn mi, the platonic ideal of a sandwich. I don’t think any sandwich nails flavour and texture like it, and the City branch of Vietnamese chain Keu does a very decent version. Price wise, this is the most expensive sandwich on the list, but it’s also the tastiest, so make of that what you will. The bahn, or baguette itself, is deep golden and errs on the side of crunchy rather than crispy. The fillings of pork belly, pork sausage, herbs and pickled carrot and daikon are very good, brought together under a unifying lick of maggi. But no doubt the stand out thing about this sandwich, and why it’s probably the tastiest in the City, is the dark, earthy pate that cements it together with an almost fecund bitterness. So yes, it’s expensive but it tastes really good. I suppose value is in the eye of the beholder.
Pilpel, various City locations
There are a couple branches of this falafel chain scattered across the Square Mile, but all are reliably good (which is saying something, because falafel places often aren’t). The falafel pitta and sabich (aubergine and boiled egg) are generous and come layered with salad, pickles and rich tahini sauce. It’s decent value, coming in under £8, and you often get free falafel while you wait. It’s also the healthiest option on the list, so one to go for when you can’t stomach another canteen style big box sesame broccoli-sweet potato-salmon salad.
Cafe de Livio, Smithfield St
Hands down the friendliest establishment in the City. Run by husband and wife duo Mary and Landy for 15 years, the welcome is so warm here that the food is almost secondary. The menu is a classic offering with an Italian accent, and they do very solid chicken escalope. In the morning, butchers from Smithfield sit over bacon and eggs, before the office worker lunch rush. Out of all the sandwich shops on this list, I return to de Livio most. It feels somehow outside of the City, away from anonymous hustle and bustle. Come for the chat and eat your sandwich in the shadow of the sleeping market.
Honourable mention: Sandwich Sandwich, various locations
This is an honourable mention because although I don’t love this place, I can already hear the outrage of not including it. If Birleys and Dilieto and Porterford are the City grandees, Sandwich Sandwich is the sexy new disruptor. It’s hyped, it’s big, it’s from Bristol, it’s cross section pornography. The whole vibe is a bit Willy Wonka, from the branding to the gelato-style towers of spreads and fillings. The menu is like a Wonkafied meal deal offering: southern fried chicken, coronation chicken, hoisin pork. The sandwiches are hefty and cleverly cemented together by Boursin-style cream cheese that provides structure and requisite height for hyped Insta snaps. Not to be puritanical, but if I had the choice, I would just get a half. By the time you finish, the cream cheese has magically become aggressively claggy and the red onion cloyingly sweet.