WORDS and PHOTOS Katie Vega
Scott Street Deli has been high on the list of Montgomery experiences for decades. A favorite of lawyers, middle schoolers, and lifelong Montgomerians alike, everyone is attracted to the nostalgic feel and delicious sandwiches that come out of this place. We all love the nouveau-riche, swanky spots that are popping up around our city, but this humble hole is the perfect spot to grab lunch during our daily hustle in this mini concrete jungle. A former grocery store, the spot that holds the deli has been open for operation since the early 1900s. Oh, and you want to know a fun little fact? If you take a peek at the back wall, you’ll see hooks that once held the horses belonging to the old firehouse next door. That. Is. Cool.
Okay, now that we’ve got the brief history lesson out of the way, let’s get down to the nitty gritty—the thing people near and far come to see—the star of the show—the sandwich.
Scott Street’s sky high sandwiches are not for the faint of heart. Whether you order the Club, the Italian, or the Frencheletta, don’t go in expecting a run-of-the-mill, over-processed, only-enough-meat-for-a-toddler sandwich. And let me give you a little advice: make sure you go on a completely empty stomach, because trust me, you are going to want to eat it all, and all is a whole lot. The glue that holds the happy family of meats together is Scott Street’s homemade bread. You do have a choice to pick between regular loaf bread and homemade bread, but I think we all know what the obvious choice is. And don’t anticipate some fancy-shmancy bread. This is some big, hearty, American-made goodness. Could anything else handle the (what seems like) pounds of piled-high meat? I think not.
While the food is obviously the most important factor, the atmosphere is also a force to be reckoned with. It’s everything you would hope an old store would be. Small, simple, and somehow amazingly beautiful—all at the same time. If the hardwood floors could talk, they would take you back to the time when eating local was the only way to eat. There was no Publix, Fresh Market, or Walmart. Just your neighborhood grocery store. Wouldn’t you love to shop in a small place, with people you know all around you, and everything you were buying was grown a mile up the road?
That’s the memory I imagine when I walk into the deli. It takes me back to the good ole days—the ones that I and others in Gen X never got to experience. So if you’re looking for that experience, step inside the red door to heaven. You’ll be greeted with every ounce of friendliness. Oh, and grab a sandwich while you’re in there. Don’t think about asking “for here”—these two words don’t exist. But if you’re interested in sticking close to the source, feel free to grab a spot outside on the brick wall under the magnolia tree. You’re welcome.