This Iowa Sandwich Counter Is Protected By Locals Who Swear Outsiders Don’t Deserve The First Bite
Pulling into the lot at B&B Grocery, Meat & Deli, located at 2001 SE 6th St, Des Moines, IA 50315, I notice the knowing looks between regulars lingering near the counter.
This place carries the kind of territorial pride that only decades of family recipes and perfectly stacked sandwiches can inspire.
Locals guard their favorite order like a secret handshake, eyeing newcomers with a mix of suspicion and reluctant acceptance.
Walk through that door and you enter a world where vintage charm meets serious sandwich craft, where the meat counter gleams with fresh cuts, and where every Killer sub lives up to its name.
I have watched customers debate toppings with the passion of sports fans, heard Johnny crack jokes that make the wait fly by, and tasted enough spicy grinders to understand why people drive across town just to grab lunch here.
The walls tell stories through old photos and family memorabilia, proof that some traditions refuse to fade even as the city grows around them.
Stepping up to order feels less like a transaction and more like joining a club you did not know you wanted to be part of.
A Family Legacy Built on Meat and Mischief
Walking into B&B feels like stepping into someone’s well-loved kitchen, except this kitchen has been feeding Des Moines for generations.
The walls display decades of family photos documenting kids growing up behind the counter, each generation learning the craft from the one before.
Johnny, the current owner, greets customers with the easy humor of someone who knows his sandwiches speak louder than any sales pitch.
He loves sharing stories about how his family built this place from the ground up, turning a simple grocery into a neighborhood institution.
Old-timers remember when they were kids coming in for penny candy, now bringing their own grandchildren for Killer subs.
The vintage vibe is not manufactured nostalgia but genuine history, preserved through family dedication and customer loyalty.
Every joke Johnny cracks and every tour he gives reinforces that this is not just business, it is personal.
The Killer Sandwich That Earned Its Name
Locals do not whisper about Zach’s Killer Italian; they brag about it with the confidence of people who know they have found something special.
This monster sandwich arrives stacked so high with meat that the first bite requires strategic planning and possibly a wider jaw.
Fresh-sliced Italian roast beef, salami, capicola, pepperoni, and a trio of cheeses layer together with peppers, lettuce, and Italian dressing to create a spicy kick that sneaks up on you halfway through.
The bread stays soft yet sturdy, somehow holding everything together without turning soggy even after the drive home.
I watched the counter staff build one during my visit, their hands moving with practiced efficiency as they loaded on ingredients with generous abandon.
People recommend getting it heated, which melts the cheese into gooey perfection and brings all the flavors together.
One bite explained why customers return week after week, ignoring every chain sandwich shop between their house and SE 6th Street.
The Meat Counter Where Freshness Rules
Behind the glass sits a meat counter that would make any home cook stop and stare, cases filled with cuts prepared daily by people who actually know their craft.
Regulars line up not just for sandwiches but to grab steaks, chops, and roasts they trust more than anything, wrapped in plastic at big grocery chains.
The staff will cut meat to your exact specifications, discussing thickness and marbling like they are helping you pick out something precious.
I overheard one customer asking for a specific cut for Sunday dinner, and the butcher knew exactly what she needed before she finished explaining.
This is old-school service where expertise matters more than speed, where someone actually cares if your pork chops turn out tender.
Visitors from out of town often wish they could pack a cooler and take some home, frustrated by the hour-plus drive that makes fresh meat impractical.
Quality like this deserves more than a quick sandwich stop.
Grinders That Pack Unexpected Heat
The first time someone bites into a B&B grinder expecting a mild deli sandwich, their eyes widen with pleasant surprise as the spice hits.
These are not timid sandwiches built for delicate palates but bold creations that announce themselves with every bite.
Staff recommend the grinder to newcomers, a test of sorts to see if you can handle what the regulars consider standard operating procedure.
The heat builds gradually, starting as a tingle and growing into a satisfying burn that never quite crosses into punishment.
I loved how the spice complemented rather than overwhelmed the meat: each ingredient still distinct despite the kick.
The filling can seem slightly skimpy compared to the Killer line, but the flavor concentration makes up for any perceived lack of volume.
Pairing it with chips and one of their fresh-baked cookies creates the perfect balance of spicy, salty, and sweet.
Pricing That Sparks Passionate Debate
Few topics generate more heated discussion among B&B customers than whether the prices match the quality; opinions split sharply between devoted fans and disappointed visitors.
Some walk away thrilled after spending eleven dollars on a sandwich, chips, and a cookie, calling it fair value for locally-made food.
Others feel blindsided when their online research does not match the register total, frustrated by what they see as misleading information.
The Dad’s Killer Sandwich apparently jumped from six dollars online to nearly thirteen in-store, a difference that left at least one customer fuming.
I noticed drinks cost extra, which surprised people expecting combo meal pricing like the chains offer.
Supporters argue you are paying for fresh-cut meat, family recipes, and personal service that big corporations cannot replicate.
Critics counter that thirty dollars for three items without beverages crosses a line, especially when gas station subs cost a fraction of the price.
The Sloppy Mike That Defies Expectations
Ordering something called a Killer Sloppy Mike requires either bravery or insider knowledge, but regulars swear this messy masterpiece justifies the risk.
The name promises chaos, and the sandwich delivers, though somehow the construction holds together better than physics would suggest possible.
Getting it heated transforms the ingredients into a melted, savory combination that demands multiple napkins and zero concern for dignity.
I watched someone tackle one during lunch rush, their face a picture of concentration and pure joy as they navigated each dripping bite.
The seasoning hits different than standard sloppy joes, carrying a depth that suggests hours of simmering and recipe tweaking across generations.
This is comfort food that makes no apologies for its messy nature, embracing the chaos as part of the experience.
First-timers often order it on a whim based on staff recommendations, then become the ones recommending it to the next wave of curious customers.
Atmosphere Where Vintage Meets Genuine Warmth
The moment you cross the threshold, you notice this place refuses to pretend it is something modern or trendy, wearing its history proudly on every wall.
Old photographs chronicle the family’s journey, showing how faces aged and fashions changed while the commitment to quality remained constant.
A few small tables offer dine-in seating for people who want to eat immediately rather than driving back to work or home.
The layout is simple and functional, meat counter on one side, sandwich ordering on the other, no wasted space or unnecessary decoration.
Staff members greet regulars by name, asking about families and remembering previous orders with the ease of genuine familiarity.
Newcomers receive the same friendly treatment, though perhaps with a bit more explanation and a touch of that protective local pride.
The whole place hums with the comfortable rhythm of people who have worked together long enough to communicate in shorthand and shared glances.
The Unspoken Rules Every Regular Knows
Every neighborhood institution develops its own culture, and B&B operates according to traditions that regulars understand instinctively, but newcomers must learn through observation.
Arriving during peak lunch rush means accepting a wait, but nobody complains because they know the sandwiches get built fresh to order.
Asking for recommendations gets you genuine guidance rather than rehearsed sales pitches, staff steering you toward what actually tastes good rather than what costs most.
The locals have their usual orders down to a science, rattling off specifications while barely glancing at the menu board.
I noticed people treating the place with a kind of reverent possessiveness, proud to share it but also slightly territorial about maintaining its character.
Taking photos of the vintage decor is fine, but the real focus should stay on the food and the people behind it.
Understanding these unwritten rules helps outsiders transition from tolerated visitors to accepted members of the B&B community.