‘A fun homage with a fantastic sandwich’: Derek’s, Berry Street, reviewed

Who wouldn’t want a hangout spot to call their own? Where picking up a sandwich and a coffee is only half the visit, and the rest of the nourishment comes from being in familiar surroundings.

Apparently these now have a name, in that frosty and loveless modern parlance - ‘third places’. What a miserable way to describe something that gives us pleasure. 

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 yourself some love and get a sandwich. In fact, give Derek’s a go.

The Berry Street spot is the third to open after their sites in Crosby and Allerton Road, and is snugly tucked into a unit the size of a vape shop, but fortunately without the confusing menu and sweet shop aroma. 

The interior is decked out a bit like somewhere Christopher Moltisanti would shuffle around, Range Rover idling outside, awaiting his gabagool. And don’t Derek’s know it. It’s a fun homage in tiles and half-size net curtains, a poky 90s bedroom telly playing The Godfather II across from portraits of Tony Soprano and Paulie Walnuts.  

Atmosphere comes courtesy of what you might call ‘Radio Soprano’ - ELO, Gerry Rafferty, Wings - the sort of soundtrack that Tony would sunnily sing along to en route to break something; a union, a commitment, someone’s wrist in a snooker pocket. All you’re missing is a cigar and a sense of impending doom. Thankfully the menu makes me hopeful.

The offering changes regularly, meaning there’s always the potential for a new favourite sandwich somewhere down the line, and besides they can always keep a few classics on the board. There was the option to go for the full Italiana - Gabagool (£8.75), Mama’s Meatballs (£9.75), the temptation of Furio (£9) - but I’ve been on a quest for the best reuben for some time now.

So I went for the Reubenstein (£9); beef pastrami, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, dill pickles and Derek’s mustard sauce. Refreshingly free of any personal touches or infringements - ‘our take on a classic’ can usually take a long walk - this is a founding father of The Great American Sandwich for a reason, and Derek’s delivers. 

Tender and juicy pastrami straight off the slicer and piled more than generously between two halves of challah knot bagel, Swiss cheese melted to the point that it cools and clings round the corners of any neighbour, sauerkraut and plentiful pickles on the right side of astringent, and a mustard sauce that rounds off this dream team of ingredients with a warming embrace. Really the quest never ends, but at least I can rest for a while in the knowledge that Derek’s does a bloody good reuben.

Seeing as it’s on the sign I thought I’d try a coffee, and went for a cappuccino. In the time I sat, ordered and ate several people came in for takeaway coffees and Berry Street seems the perfect spot for it; somewhere between here and there, with something strong along the way to get you there. A good balance of bitterness and with a well-frothed layer of what the server called ‘proper milk’, it’s a solid every day coffee, speaking as a tight git who fills a thermos with a vat of earth-shaking espresso every morning.

Ultimately this latest, slightly dinkier Derek’s doesn’t necessarily need to expand out, it seems to serve a purpose different to that of the Crosby and Allerton Road sites. You could just about fit one Bobby Bacala and a pre-diet Vito Spatafore on the banquette and after that everyone else is standing. It’s a swing by and have a five minute natter type place, somewhere to briefly put the brakes on, a very inviting and nourishing sandwich spot. Let’s just hope they never serve onion rings. 

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

A final note; what with it being January there’s a raft of restaurant and bar deals to be enjoyed in the city and beyond. But now that we’ve all enjoyed ourselves in the pub over Christmas, it’s worth remembering they’re here all year. 

If you’re struggling for somewhere to make your home from home for an hour or so once or twice a week, even to just sit and sip a Diet Coke, find a pub you like and just pop in. They’re called public houses for a reason, the beauty of a shared space where pinstriped barristers and geezers in last month’s trousers are one and the same.

I popped into The Vines, and while the taxidermy fetish of the 1936 Pub Company can be a little much sometimes, the buildings and rooms themselves are nothing short of stunning. They’re the pub as in some shared memory of the past that you’re not sure ever existed. Well they exist now, and are only here to serve you. Serve them in return, because once they’re gone they’re unlikely to ever come back.