For many residents of Downey and the wider Southeast L.A. area, Uncle Henry's Deli, established in 1959, has long been something of a local secret. Sadly, the third-generation family-owned sandwich shop-cum-craft beer specialists have announced that their store was destroyed in a fire.
Although they announced their intention to rebuild the store almost immediately, this still comes as a temporary loss in a time when restaurants across Southern California are struggling to stay afloat.
For the last 15 years or so, along with a celebrated sandwich menu, Uncle Henry's was known for stocking a vast selection of craft beer on tap and in bottles, and was a key player in the early days of L.A.'s love affair with craft brews, similar to the now-closed Stuffed Sandwich in San Gabriel. It routinely had rare Flemish sours and lambics, and even Pliny the Elder and the incredibly elusive, seasonal Pliny the Younger could be found on tap.
As a one-time resident of NorCal, that was almost too good to be true to have Pliny freely flowing down here. It was also a beloved hangout spot for the community, hosting UFC fights on TV when few other places did. It was the kind of place where the owner, George, greeted almost everyone who walked through the door by name, and often knew exactly which of several dozen beers they wanted before they could even order.
However, I also want to discuss their incredible sandwiches. From small towns to big cities, the vast majority of American deli sandwiches seem to fall into one of two lineages: the Italian sub kind of deli and the kosher-style, pastrami-on-rye kind of deli.
Even newer, more innovative, or eclectic sandwich shops seem to branch off the evolutionary family tree from one of these two ancestors. But every once in a while, here or there, you'll find exceptions, even when just considering Los Angeles alone.
Of course, we have the obvious torta and banh mi specialists, many of whom are celebrated and renowned. But there's a certain kind of deli sandwich that, for lack of a better term, I might call the Traditional American deli-style.
Places that originate with guy-names like Bob or Hank, and offer a big, no-frills pile of meat on a roll, or even simple white bread. I'm thinking of Magee's at the Farmer’s Market and their performatively hand-carved turkey and corned beef; Philippe's and their roast beef-with-nothin' French dips; and in this case, Uncle Henry's Deli and their double-decker wonders.
Uncle Henry's is an ever-evolving shrine to meat. What started as a butcher shop eventually turned into a catering business, then a sandwich deli, transforming whenever the running business model ran out of juice.
In the economic downturn of '09, Uncle Henry's turned a new chapter by becoming one of the L.A. region's great craft beer destinations, highlighted by their Great Wall of Taps at the back of the deli.
But the old-time favorite is the sandwiches, specifically the Original, which for decades was one of only two on the menu. They do have Italian subs and pastrami now, in deference to prevailing tastes, but that Original is pure 1950s white bread Americana in the best sort of way.
It's a hefty thing, with ham, turkey, roast beef, cheddar, mozzarella, pickles, mustard, mayo, *deep breath* and potato salad distributed across three slices of white bread. It's simple but literally ham-fisted, in a strangely endearing way, like something your Midwestern uncle might make after a few too many beers.
Ah... now it all makes sense.
Here's hoping Uncle Henry's returns to our lives soon.
