11 Indiana Sandwiches Worth The Drive If You Can Find Them

Indiana doesn’t hand you its sandwich culture, you have to chase it. I wound up on back roads where tenderloins spill over buns like they’re daring you to finish, and in corner booths where reubens drip with enough juice to stain the menu.

Some finds felt like territory markers, the kind locals defend with pride, the kind you don’t forget once you’ve chewed through them. I queued beside factory workers on lunch break, slid into diners where the lights buzz low, and kept going until I knew the rumors were right.

Eleven sandwiches stood out, not because they were convenient, but because they turned detours into small victories. Indiana, I realized, tells its stories between slices of bread.

1. Nick’s Kitchen — Breaded Pork Tenderloin (Huntington)

The diner hums with chatter and the clink of coffee cups, but the fryer’s hiss steals the soundtrack. Huntington locals know what’s coming.

Since 1908, Nick’s Kitchen has been home to Indiana’s breaded pork tenderloin. Nick Freienstein started with a street cart, then built a restaurant where this sandwich became canon.

Tip: order it plain first. The golden crust snaps under your teeth, revealing tender pork so satisfying it doesn’t need a single condiment.

2. Workingman’s Friend — Double Cheeseburger (Indianapolis)

A flash of sizzling beef and onions carries through the air before the patties even hit your plate. The vibe is dive bar grit with loyalists at every stool.

This family-run spot opened in 1918 and still feels like a time capsule. Their smashed double cheeseburger is layered with melted cheese and a crisp edge that regulars swear by.

I claimed a bar seat once and watched them work the grill. That burger, greasy and glorious, tasted like it had a century of practice behind it.

3. Aristocrat Pub — Breaded Pork Tenderloin (Indianapolis)

The lighting is low, booths tucked beneath brick arches, giving it a pub warmth that feels steady and lived-in.

Their breaded pork tenderloin arrives broad and golden, stretching beyond its bun, a crunch echoing through every bite. It’s one of Indy’s lesser-hyped but deeply loved takes on the classic.

Pair it with a local draft. The bitterness of the beer balances the rich crust, and it’s how regulars pace themselves through the heft of the sandwich.

4. Mug-N-Bun Drive-In — Pork Tenderloin (Speedway)

Neon lights glow against chrome trays, and the smell of frying pork mixes with sweet root beer in the evening air. The vibe feels straight out of a drive-in movie.

Founded in 1960, Mug-n-Bun still serves carhops carrying trays piled with tenderloins, onion rings, and frosty mugs. The pork is pounded thin, breaded, and fried until audibly crisp.

Avoid race week. Locals know crowds swell near the Speedway, but off-season evenings let you enjoy the sandwich with a little more calm.

5. South Side Soda Shop — Philly Cheesesteak (Goshen)

Steam rises from the griddle in ribbons, carrying the smell of steak and peppers before the sandwich even reaches your table. The room feels nostalgic, walls lined with memorabilia.

This 1950s-era soda shop specializes in diner classics, but their Philly cheesesteak stands tall: thin-sliced beef, onions, peppers, and gooey cheese layered into a soft roll.

I tried one on a snowy afternoon, cheese running over the edge of the bread. It was messy, rich, and exactly what I wanted winter food to be.

6. Shapiro’s Delicatessen — Pastrami Reuben (Indianapolis)

Glass cases display knishes, kugel, and cheesecakes, but the smell of smoked meat dominates the room. The deli feels both bustling and reverent.

Since 1905, Shapiro’s has been Indianapolis’s Jewish deli institution. Their pastrami Reuben layers thick-cut pastrami, sauerkraut, Swiss, and Russian dressing on rye, grilled until warm and melty.

Get in line early for lunch. The Reubens stack fast, and watching the counter staff slice pastrami fresh makes the wait part of the ritual.

7. Lumpy’s Café — Breaded Tenderloin (Cambridge City)

The space is cozy, almost too small for the buzz it creates, with chatter bouncing off walls that hold decades of photos.

Lumpy’s has become a pilgrimage site for tenderloin fans. Their breaded pork version is oversized, crisped just right, and stacked onto a bun that can’t quite contain it.

Bring cash and patience. The café gets crowded quickly, but the tenderloin always arrives fresh from the fryer, hot enough to make you wait before biting.

8. The Mug — Pork Tenderloin (Greenfield)

The sound of sizzling oil blends with chatter from families packed into booths, while the parking lot outside hums with pickups and minivans.

This farm-to-curb stop sources pork locally and serves sandwiches that are both hearty and carefully made. Their pork tenderloin is breaded golden, keeping its crunch under toppings and sauces.

Grab a shake with it. Locals pair the creamy sweetness with the salty sandwich, a ritual that makes the heavy portion easier to conquer.

9. Subito — Cold Italian on House-Baked Ciabatta (Indianapolis)

The smell of warm bread greets you before the counter does, carrying a sour tang of fresh ciabatta into the room. Inside, it feels like a tucked-away European café.

Subito bakes its ciabatta daily and stuffs it with cured meats, provolone, olive oil, and peppers for their signature Italian. Each sandwich feels handcrafted, no shortcuts.

I picked up a sandwich to-go and ate it in the car. The bread crackled at the bite, and the olive oil dripped down my hand, I didn’t care.

10. Zaharakos — GOM Sandwich (Columbus)

Walking in feels like stepping into a turn-of-the-century soda fountain: stained glass, marble counters, and the sound of an old pipe organ in the background.

Zaharakos has been serving since 1900, and its GOM Sandwich, grilled onion, muenster cheese, and green olive spread, remains its eccentric trademark. It’s salty, tangy, and proudly retro.

Pair the sandwich with a house-made soda. The fizz cuts through the richness and ties the whole old-fashioned experience together.

11. Banh Mi Barista — Banh Mi (Fort Wayne)

Cilantro, pickled carrots, and grilled pork scent the air before the sandwich even hits your hands. The shop buzzes softly, a mix of chatter and clinking glasses.

Banh Mi Barista builds Vietnamese sandwiches with fresh baguettes, balancing crisp crust, airy crumb, and savory-sweet fillings. Options range from classic pork to tofu, all brightened with jalapeños.

I ordered a pork banh mi here, the bread still warm, the vegetables still snapping fresh. It was light, bold, and proof that Indiana knows global flavor.