The ultimate guide to Tokyo’s sandwiches

Behind sliding doors of what was once a coin laundry, Sausage Park is a confounding moniker for a place that doesn’t serve sausage. What it does, however, are unique and picturesque sandwiches. Orders can take a while, but waiting is a good time to browse around the store for little figures hidden in plain sight.

If you don’t know what to get, you can’t go wrong with their ume shiso chicken sandwich, an unctuous combination of acid from the pickled plum, salt from the chicken, fat from buttered toast and herby freshness from the shiso. It’s simple but mighty; truly a one-of-a-kind sandwich.

Another worthy option is the mackerel sandwich with thin layers of vibrant colours from tomato, pickled red onion, lettuce and cilantro between a sweet, whole-grain toast. Open from breakfast to late lunchtime, Sausage Park is a neighbourhood gem supplying Umegaoka with distinctive flavour profiles.

Ocean Sandwich is a vaguely Hawaiian-themed shack in Taito integrating flavours of American BBQ into sandwich format. It’s a tight squeeze, jam-packed with surfer memorabilia, with a tiny kitchen serving up some ingenious creations.

The clear winner here is the beef brisket sandwich with a thick slab of tender meat, homemade BBQ sauce, and a ratio of lettuce and tomatoes that feels thoughtfully calculated. The owner wanted a hoagie roll, but unable to find the perfect one, he decided to bake the optimal sandwich bread himself – and it deserves an Oscar for best supporting role to the fillings inside.

I’d be remiss not to mention the buffalo chicken sandwich. Tangy buffalo sauce with decent heat coats a crackly fried chicken with a brush of blue cheese sauce. It’s a combination of flavours reminiscent of a beautiful basket of wings. Doesn’t get better than that, I’m afraid.

If you’ve ever wanted to eat your way across Italy and its various regional specialities in Tokyo, Panini Ichiban is the place to do so. Their menu items are named after cities and their respective zonal ingredients. For example, Milano: gorgonzola, salami, sliced apples, honey, arugula. Or how about Roma: guanciale, pecorino romano, zucchini, tomato, arugula, olive oil and black pepper. Which city you choose is up to you, but you genuinely cannot go wrong here.

The common denominator is the exquisite bread that’s best described as mochi-mochi, a Japanese onomatopoeia inspired by mochi, used to classify all things soft and irresistibly bouncy. Layers of ingredients unite in perfect harmony, no one flavour overpowering the other. We’re talking sandwiches you can contemplate and relish bite after bite.

Katsu sandos are one of Tokyo’s many tourist trap items and can be seen on menus for a disgraceful amount of money. That’s not the case at Grill Bon. They serve their sandwiches in three forms: prawn, beef or premium wagyu fillet. This is one of those moments where you go big or go home. Especially since, while still not cheap, ¥4,000 will get you a half size of their highest grade of cut.

The full-size sandwich is served in eight perfect bites of milk bread bits brushed with their homemade katsu sauce on top of a deep-fried wagyu steak. It’s important to note the layers here, because they’re truly peak. It’s soft, then crispy, then back to soft with meat that melts like butter – a triple threat. Tiny pickles and a packet of karashi mustard come along for the ride. 

While you’re at it, get a bottle of Diamond Guarana – kind of like a lighter cream soda or the ghost of apple cider. It’s crisp and light on the tongue and pairs incredibly well with the sandwich. A drink you can sip, a sandwich you can nibble, a meal that’ll have you savouring little by little. This lunch remains a core memory in my life.

Located in Miyasaka, nestled between a row of narrow eateries, is a tiny kitchen with a simple blackboard sign that reads ‘Easy’. The place is officially a hamburger joint, but for many the highlight here really is the maple butter fried chicken sandwich. Served on a silver plate, the gleaming fried chicken comes with a big square of butter melting off the sides, a few pickle slices on top, a big dollop of mayo and a side of fried potatoes.

It embodies perfect harmony between opposites. The pendulum swings sweet then savoury, crunchy then soft, but what remains through and through is richness. This is no sandwich for the weak-hearted, but textbook indulgence done right.

Out of the many shipping container-looking shops that line the streets underneath the Gakugei Daigaku train station, Tutu serves schiacciata sandwiches that would make any nonna in Tuscany proud. The shop is basically a counter where you order, with limited outdoor seating, so it’s optimal for either small parties or takeaway. 

The house-baked focaccia is the perfect vessel: crispy exterior with an airy interior that somehow tears apart with each bite without jagged edges piercing the roof of your mouth. What’s more, this focaccia doesn’t hog the mouthfeel, which creates an ideal ratio of bread to filling.

Standout orders were the mortadella and the Classico. In the former, buttery, savoury ribbons of mortadella are paired with a nutty and velvety pistachio sauce, ricotta cheese and a squeeze of lemon for brightness – simplicity at its best.

The Classico, Tutu’s signature sarnie, confirms the old adage: simple is best. Milky mozzarella, freshly sliced prosciutto, a drizzle of zesty salt-and-lemon sauce plus some aromatic olive oil, and you have a well-rounded bite fit for (a late) breakfast, lunch or dinner. Tutu stays true to the blueprint.

This little shack brings the humble Argentine choripán to Yoyogi Uehara with chorizo they case and dry-age in house and flame-grill to order. There’s just one sandwich you can get with varying degrees of toppings, so you might as well go for the special, which gets you lettuce, tomato, green onion, mayonnaise, chimichurri sauce, mustard and grilled onions.

The lunch set comes with a side of fried potatoes, empanadas or a side salad. To drink we recommend you try mate tea, the country’s drink of choice that’s gotten many cameos with Argentine footballers such as Lionel Messi and Diego Maradona.

Nestled between crusty soft French bread, the chorizo has grill marks on the outside but is tender with a bite and ever so slightly medium rare. The gradients of different acids at play are notable: with the mustard, tomato and chimichurri, it all makes for a satisfying, addicting and curious amalgamation of flavours.

Our unexpected favourite was the empanada, a crispy and doughy crust encasing a pool of umami-rich cheese you don’t come across too often in Japan. If you dine in, your clothes might get a little smoky – but it’s a small price to pay for this one-of-a-kind choripán.

Abu Essam in Kagurazaka is the spot to enjoy Arabic home cooking that just happens to also be a masterclass in spices and seasoning. Kofta, in its simplest form, is a meatball mixed with spices, with origins tracing back to Persia – and the kofta sandwich at Abu Essam is a masterpiece.

With its charred exterior, you expect a tough bite. Instead, the kofta is incredibly tender; a nice contrast to the crunchy baguette. And the immaculately seasoned minced meat oozes with juice, like liquid gold on your tongue. The simple fillings of tomato, onions and lettuce neither overwhelm nor take away from the star of the show. Pair that with their refreshingly tart and minty lemon mint drink for a spectacular one-two combo.

As its name states, Sidewalk Coffee Stand is a tiny corner café off the Meguro River in Nakameguro, with coffees and baked goods – and four sandwiches, which are optimal for collabing with a friend. Occasionally new sandwiches or seasonal specials arise. Our favourite here was the DTC sandwich; not to be confused with direct-to-consumer, the abbreviation stands for (sun-)dried tomatoes and chicken.

It offers a beautiful balance of freshness from the basil, stretchy mozzarella and umami-dense tomato sauce, all between crispy sourdough bread generously buttered on each side. There’s no real place to eat inside, so this is a take-it-to-the-park kind of sandwich.

The bánh mì ('bread' in Vietnamese, as it were) sandwich is no longer a rarity in Tokyo, but the ones at Ebisu's Bánh Mì Bakery are different. These baguettes are made right in the store by bakers trained at a long-established bakery in the northern Vietnamese city of Vĩnh Yên.

Even the fillings are carefully chosen based on research from the old country, starting from Vietnamese ham and pâté, fried fish, pork, beef, shrimp and vegetarian options. Press the baguette lightly in your hands and crunch off the fresh taste of Vietnam.