“A fun tribute with a fantastic sandwich”: Derek’s, Berry Street, reviewed

Who wouldn’t want to call a hangout spot their own? Where getting a sandwich and coffee is only half of the visit and the rest of the food comes in familiar surroundings.

Apparently these now have a name, in that frosty and loveless modern language – “third places”. What a miserable way to describe something that brings us joy.

I know it’s January, but no gym will ever make you feel at home, no matter how much cucumber is in the water filter. Instead, I’d show you some love and buy a sandwich. Actually, let Derek try.

The Berry Street location is the third to open after their Crosby and Allerton Road sites, and is tucked away snugly in a unit the size of a vape shop, but thankfully without the confusing menu and sweet shop aromas.

The interior is decorated a bit like somewhere Christopher Moltisanti shuffles around with a Range Rover idling outside waiting for his gabagol. And Derek doesn’t know it. It’s a fun tribute in tiles and half-length net curtains, blaring 90s boring bedroom TV The Godfather II opposite portraits of Tony Soprano and Paulie Walnuts.

The atmosphere is created as “Radio Soprano” – ELO, Gerry Rafferty, Wings – the kind of soundtrack that Tony would happily sing along to on his way to break something; an alliance, a commitment, someone’s wrist in a snooker pocket. All you’re missing is a cigar and a sense of impending doom. Luckily, the menu makes me want to.

The menu changes regularly, which means there’s always potential for a new favorite sandwich somewhere in the line, plus they can always keep a few classics on the table. There was a chance to go all Italiana – Gabagol (€8.75), Mom’s meatballs (£9.75), temptation Rage (£9) – but I’ve been looking for the best reuben for a while now.

So I opted for the Reubenstein (£9); beef pastrami, swiss cheese, sauerkraut, dill pickles and Derek’s mustard dressing. Refreshingly devoid of personal nuance or insults — our “match to the classic” can usually take a long walk — this is The Great American Sandwich’s founding father for a reason, and Derek’s delivers.

Soft and juicy pastrami straight from the cutter and piled more than generously between two halves of a challahknot bagel, Swiss cheese melted so that it cools and sticks to your neighbor’s corners, sauerkraut and a generous amount of pickles to the right of the astringent, and a mustard dressing that completes this dream group of ingredients with a warming embrace . The job is never really done, but at least I can rest a little while knowing that Derek’s makes a damn good reuben.

Since it was on the sign, I thought I’d try coffee and went for a cappuccino. During the time I was sitting, ordering and eating, several people came in for takeaway coffees and Berry Street seems to be the perfect place for that; somewhere here and there, and something strong along the way will get you there. A good balance of bitterness and a well-frothed layer of what the waiter called “real milk”, it’s a solid everyday coffee, talking tight, that fills a thermos in a basin of earth-shaking espresso every morning.

After all, this latest, slightly duller Derek’s may not need to expand, as it seems to serve a different purpose to the Crosby and Allerton Road sites. The party could almost fit one Bobby Bacala and appetizer Vito Spatafore and then everyone else standing. It’s a swing and there’s a five-minute natter-type place where you can brake for a while, a very welcoming and nutritious sandwich place. Let’s just hope they never serve onion rings.

Derek’s, 44 Berry St, Liverpool L1 9DF

A final note; In January, there are numerous restaurant and bar deals to enjoy in the city and beyond. But now that we’ve all had a good time at the pub over Christmas, it’s worth remembering that they’re here all year round.

If you’re struggling to find a place where you can get away from home for an hour or so once or twice a week, even if it’s just to sit and sip a Diet Coke, find a pub you like and just pop in. They are called pubes. for a reason, the beauty of a shared space where pin-striped lawyers and last month’s trouser flaps are one and the same.

I came across The Vines and although the 1936 Pub Company taxidermy fetish can be a bit much at times, the buildings and rooms themselves are absolutely stunning. They are pub like some shared memory from the past that you are not sure exists. Well, they exist now and are only here to serve you. Serve them in return, because once they’re gone, they’ll probably never come back.