12 NYC Sandwiches Making Noise + 10 That Outshine Them
New York City might be the loudest place you’ll ever eat a sandwich. Between cars honking, subways roaring under sidewalks, and vendors shouting names, these sandwiches fight for attention.
Some are just noise: big, greasy, momentary. Others whisper legends. This list pairs twelve sandwiches that demand the spotlight with ten hidden stars that steal it away. We’ll travel from Katz’s rye to Red Hook heroes, from chopped cheese grit to Italian heroes dripping with oil.
Be ready for texture, for sauce, for rituals. And yes, someone will mention Grandma. Because someone always does.
22. Pastrami On Rye, Katz’s Delicatessen (Lower East Side)
Music of slicing: thick brisket dyed pink in smoke. Katz’s pastrami is piled high on seedless rye. Mustard, no fluff, just precision.
Since 1888 this deli has been operating as though every pastrami is a prayer. Meat carved at the counter, steamed before pressing between soft, buttered rye. Locals and tourists line up in the chilly air for this ritual.
Prices run steep, expect nearly $30 for a full sandwich. Ask for extra lean if you hate fat. Pro tip: use two hands and take small bites. Pastrami drips are badges of honor.
21. Nicky Special, Defonte’s (Red Hook, Brooklyn)
Roasted peppers blush, olives glint under fluorescent deli lights, eggplant crackles in cream. The Nicky Special arrives like an immigrant tale in sandwich form.
Defonte’s opened in 1922 by Italian immigrant Nick Defonte. Family still runs it. Its walls breathe history: photos, old invoices, longshoremen laughter. The Nicky Special has capocollo, salami, ham, creamy fried eggplant, provolone. Bread sturdy, slightly grilled.
Go during off-hours if you want peace. It’s overshadowed by classics but every bite writes your own ode. Portions are generous. Eat half now, half later if your heart allows.
20. Spicy Hogfather, Ends Meat (Industry City, Brooklyn)
Jalapeños pop like punctuation. The pork is rosy and rested, like it just woke up from a wood-smoke nap.
This house-made wonder has heat, fat, acid, and meat in such synchronized performance it feels choreographed. It’s mortadella, porchetta, provolone, and pickled vegetables tucked into a ciabatta pillow.
Ends Meat butchers their own animals. It’s not just a sandwich; it’s an ethos. Order early before it sells out or risk a day of mournful glances at the empty board.
19. The Bomb, Sal, Kris & Charlie’s Deli (Astoria, Queens)
This sandwich wears gym shorts. It bulked up on cold cuts, cheese, lettuce, onions, peppers, oil, vinegar, and an almost comic amount of ham.
Stacked like a cartoon gag but deadly serious in flavor, it’s a bodega-deli hybrid that somehow keeps every layer distinct. The roll holds strong. No drips, no breakage.
Astoria regulars swear it tastes better after 10 p.m. Maybe it’s the hunger. Maybe it’s magic. Maybe it’s both.
18. Big Mike, Mike’s Deli (Arthur Avenue, Bronx)
Big Mike doesn’t arrive quietly. The Bronx knows a star when it sees one, and this one struts with soppressata swagger.
There’s roast beef, mozzarella, hot peppers, and vinegar, all stacked inside a seeded roll that could stop a speeding bike messenger.
Owner David Greco is a showman. He’ll tell you stories while he wraps your sandwich and throws in a joke for free. Just bring cash and patience.
17. Italian Hero, Faicco’s Italian Specialties (West Village)
Fat capicola glistens like lacquered bacon. Arugula tries to add restraint, but this sandwich is not about restraint.
Faicco’s has been in the West Village for over a century, serving cured meats like they’re family photos. This one layers mortadella, prosciutto, provolone, and a vinegar-spiked pepper mix.
Tip: ask for it to be wrapped to-go and eat it while leaning against a brick wall. Feels right.
16. Roast Pork, Brancaccio’s Food Shop (Brooklyn)
The pork is pulled, seared, stacked, then bathed in its own memory. The bread squishes like a sigh.
This sandwich hides behind no gimmicks. It’s pork, provolone, broccoli rabe, and little else. You bite in and your shoulders relax.
Brian Brancaccio runs the show himself, often taking orders in a T-shirt that matches the mood: low-key excellence. Closed Sundays.
15. Court Street Grocers Specials, Brooklyn & Manhattan
They name their sandwiches like indie albums. The vibe is cool but not cold, precise but not precious.
Each location has its own oddball stars. Try the “Turkey + Kimchi” or the “Ham Jawn” if you’re feeling frisky. They know their balance: tang, salt, fat, crunch.
Regulars treat the counter like confession. Order fast, pay with a smirk, and eat somewhere quiet.
14. Classic Bánh Mì, Ba Xuyên (Sunset Park, Brooklyn)
The first crunch feels like a tiny earthquake. Carrots, cilantro, and mystery sauce spark under the crust.
This Vietnamese classic mixes cold cuts, pickled vegetables, liver pate, and jalapeño, all inside a hero that manages to be both chewy and airy.
Locals bring cash, say little, and leave happy. It’s been this way for years. Bring your own napkin.
13. Chopped Cheese, Harlem & Bronx Bodegas
This is the sandwich equivalent of a city block party: loud, local, full of attitude.
Ground beef, onions, and American cheese get chopped right on the grill, then shoved into a hero roll with lettuce, tomato, and whatever sauce feels right.
There’s no single best spot, the magic is in the variation. Ask the guy behind the counter. Trust his hands.
12. Steak Pizzaiola, Defonte’s (Red Hook, Brooklyn)
Tomato gravy clings to thin-sliced steak like a scandal. The roll sops up every ounce.
This isn’t your average steak sandwich. It’s Sunday dinner in a hoagie, with peppers, garlic, and tenderness that borders on emotional manipulation.
Defonte’s knows drama. It’s why people drive across boroughs. Bring napkins and strong opinions.
11. Chicken Parm Hero, Parm (Little Italy & multiple locations)
Red sauce freckles the wax paper. Mozzarella stretches like morning yoga.
Parm’s version is restrained in portion but rich in drama. Crisp chicken cutlets, just enough sauce, and a seeded roll that holds tight without hogging the spotlight.
Best eaten warm, near a stoop, pretending you’re in a movie. Avoid the rush hour lines if you can.
10. Pho #1, Sunny & Annie’s Deli (East Village)
Quiet summer light leaks through the doorway. A hum of refrigerators. Nothing screams but everything tastes like revelation.
Roast beef, cilantro, basil, and hoisin sauce stuffed into a baguette designed to hold up. Crisp on the outside, soft in the center.
They’ve been around long enough that neighborhood regulars nod when you walk in. Come midday. Expect lines. Fold it in half. Eat fast. You’ll dream about the herbs later.
9. Uncle Jimmy, Regina’s Grocery (Lower East Side)
Bread warms like gentle gossip. Prosciutto leans salty as soft mozzarella melts into the roll with sweet tomato chiming in.
Cured meats carry history here. Sicilian roots, family legacy. Regina’s shelves sag with old photos and old recipes that still punch.
Order Uncle Jimmy with lettuce, oil, vinegar. Pick a stool or stand at the counter. Use a paper napkin that feels thin, because this sandwich doesn’t care about finesse.
8. Zucchini Parm, No. 7 Sub (Midtown)
Crunch of breaded zucchini echoes against fluorescent tiles. Marinara scent loops the air like a pied piper for vegetarians.
No. 7 Sub does its zucchini parm with thickness: slices breaded then lightly fried, layered with sauce, mozzarella, basil. Balance is weird and perfect.
Walking by around dinner time? You’ll see people clutch it, foil‑wrapped like treasure. Bring cash. Skip modifications. The simplicity sings.
7. Porchetta Sandwich, Porchetta NYC (East Village)
Garlic and rosemary drift from the counter. Chef’s hands slash pork skin. Crackling cartilage sings fire‑songs to your palate.
Pork is slow roasted, crusted, then sliced thick. It’s juicy, fatty, and herb‑infused. The roll is crusty outside, tender inside.
Owner says porchetta takes hours so patience is part of the price. Go early. Eat sitting down. Sometimes sauce drips that you chase with bread.
6. Roast Beef With Mozzarella & Gravy, Roll-N-Roaster (Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn)
Steam rises from gravy boats. The smell of buttered rolls loafs through air. Mozzarella stretches like elastic.
Roast beef slices soak in rich gravy, mozzarella melting into beef folds. Roll attacks both sides. The bite is messy but honest.
Evening rush is real. Trip may require subway then bus. Bring extra napkins. Expect food to blur your shirt and heart.
5. Italian Sub, Sergimmo Salumeria (Hell’s Kitchen, Midtown West)
Bright lights shine off cured meat linings. Sharp salami, soft mortadella, provolone echo like instruments in a dark room.
Sergimmo stacks capicola, genoa, mortadella, pepperoni, mozzarella, oil and vinegar. Vegetables crisp: lettuce, tomato, onion. The oil slicks across paper.
If you want classic then this is it. Ask for it “pressed lightly.” Half for now, half later. There’s nothing wrong with hoarding.
4. The Frankie, Pisillo Italian Panini (Financial District)
Panini grill noise before presentation. Crusty halves meet hi‑heat, press‑marks darkening bread.
Italian cold cuts and veggies pressed with mozzarella and roasted peppers. Bread crunches first. Center softens into molten layer of isn’t‑that‑perfect.
Lunch hour chews fast here. Lines, footsteps, city rhythm. Order online if you hate waiting. Eat standing if you love flavor.
3. Falafel Sandwich, Mamoun’s Falafel (Greenwich Village)
Chickpeas crackle. Tahini drips. Pita bows like a cradle. Every bite smells of garlic and sesame.
Falafel balls are fried golden, nestled with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and tahini sauce. Soft, crunchy, herbal. Pita slightly charred.
Student crowd, artsy locals, tourists all collide here before midnight. Food comes fast. Standing room only near Majesty’s Corner. Folding it is part of the practice.
2. Roast Beef, Fresh Mozzarella & Peppers, Lioni Italian Heroes (Bensonhurst, Brooklyn)
Peppers glint under deli lights. Tomatoes sweat sweetness. Beef slices gush juice that soaks paper.
Lioni layers beef, fresh mozzarella, roasted peppers in hero roll that seals edges to trap warmth. Notes of garlic and oil knit flavors tight.
Neighborhood keeps this place alive. Weekend crowds stretch to the sidewalk. Order one, bring a friend to split. Silence is common. Satisfied moans more so.
1. Turkey Club, Eisenberg’s Sandwich Shop (Flatiron, Manhattan)
Clink of metal tray. Retro signs overhead. Toasted bread glows faintly in lamplight. A turkey club arrives like Sunday nostalgia.
Turkey, bacon, lettuce, tomato stacked. Bread toasted. Mayo spreads faint sheen. Crisp edges and soft center. Layers know their roles.
Order before noon to dodge chaos. They don’t rush buttering. Eat it half, then half. Conversation waits while you chew.