I’ve been covering Orlando’s food scene for over a decade, and I’ve never made a discovery that I want to protect.
But that’s what I actually thought for maybe a minute as I sat in the silence of D’Amico & Sons’ vast patio, watching squirrels root in the leaves, listening to Christmas music, sipping coffee, and luxuriating in a comforting breakfast sandwich that might have come from my old neighborhood bodega in Rego Park, Queens, or the giant midtown deli I stopped at on my last trip home.
Because on this Sunday morning, there was no line here. Not yet, anyway.
After I finished breakfast and introduced myself, co-owner and operator Philippe D’Amico told me that the space in front of the counter usually starts piling up around 10 a.m. But at this moment, I am amazed that one of the last pieces, perhaps the last, of my “favorite home food puzzle” has fallen into place.
It permeates everything.
To my right is a man at a table having his own egg sandwich and coffee. His blue-silver hair is combed straight back. He wears black shorts, a black shirt, black sunglasses, and a thick gold bracelet.
I think this guy understands that. Central Casting could not have sent me a better Paisan. I thought about checking again to see if he was from New York, but we both decided to stay calm. I smiled when I saw him drive away in a huge black Cadillac SUV.
He may have been from Jersey, but he was legit. And I’m legal. And we’re here because this egg sandwich is legit.
So is a recent find at a food truck stationed in downtown Tampa called Bacon, Egg & Cheese. Since its discovery, it has been a delicious treat from time to time. I love that the menu says “BECSPK all one word,” but the sandwiches are $10.
I’m happy to pay, just in case. But D’Amico’s is $6.99. It’s actually a little better since it’s closer to home.
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I was recently scouring several places around town in hopes of synchronicity, and the sandwich had scrambled eggs. To me, this is an instant disqualification unless you ask for it. In the 30 years I spent growing up in New York and working at my father’s breakfast and lunch joint, that was a rare occurrence.
Antonino D’Amico is similarly perplexed.
“That’s not the right way,” he says. “I mean, if you want to order it that way, be my guest. But the only way to do that is really too easy. When you bite into it, a little bit of the yolk comes out, and when you fold the halves apart from each other, the American cheese oozes out, almost like pulling the cheese.”
And Kaiser roll. It’s mandatory. It’s the only way. D’Amico’s comes from a New York bakery called Malone’s, and while they don’t have the common poppy seeds, they’re just as perfect. They also offer bagel sandwiches, but I don’t know why.
“Many people don’t know what a Kaiser roll is,” explains Philippe D’Amico. “That’s why we need to offer plain bagels, sesame seeds and everything else.”
I don’t even ask where you got it. I don’t care. I don’t even think it matters in the context of an egg sandwich.
The brothers laugh and agree, but business is business. I fully respect this.
“But you know, most of our customers right now are trying to get on the Kaiser roll, and once they’re on the Kaiser roll, they don’t want to switch.”
When I was a kid, it was called an “egg sandwich.” There was no need to mention bacon or cheese. I didn’t even have to specify “on roll”.
When ordering, you might say “salt, pepper, and ketchup” all at once. Or “SPK” like the sign in Tampa. Or maybe the man behind the counter phrases it in the form of a question. It’s typical New York call and response.
You might ask, “Can I have an egg sandwich…?”
“Salt, pepper, ketchup?” You’d be fired immediately.
In my case, the answer is “No, thank you.”
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Sometimes I grab a packet and put it down late — I don’t trust others to put ketchup on their sandwiches — but this is a natural dance, a dance I grew up with, a dance that’s been repeated from Brooklyn to Long Island to Queens to the city. I’ve ordered it from corner bodegas and vast delis in midtown, and it’s always the same. everytime.
The eggs (always two, always fried) may be cooked slightly differently. The yolks can range from explosively delicious and runny, to the gorgeous oozing mess you only see when you separate the two halves (these sandwiches are always cut before wrapping, D’Amico’s knows that), to harder, but most of the time there’s at least a little bit of orange yolk that hasn’t completely set.
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I guess you can ask for it, but from what I’ve seen, most people don’t specify. It’s like the ultimate toddler lesson. You get what you get, but don’t get upset.
And you always know what you’re getting.
Over time, I don’t know if it was just a natural evolution or an influx of “newly imported” New Yorkers, but it became bacon, eggs, and cheese. or BEC I’ve only heard it occasionally, but some people have combined this acronym into one word and pronounced it “Beck.”
I would never call it “BEC”. That’s not how I do it, but I don’t mind doing it. This sandwich is as sweet as anything you can call it by any other name, and more importantly, anything in my neighborhood.
The D’Amico brothers run this great market with their parents John (from New Jersey) and Maria (from Sicily), their sister Rosie, and brother-in-law Carlos. They immigrated to Orlando from New Jersey with their parents when they were young, but returning regularly to see relatives and the people who brought them there gives them insight into the sandwich and the Northeastern American and Italian experiences.
Philip D’Amico said people like that guy in Caddy and “people from New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, all the way up north” come here often, many of them driving more than an hour to eat and shop. (For Jersey and Pennsylvania transplants, there is also a Taylor ham/pork roll option on the breakfast menu.)
It’s a beautiful store with a huge selection of Italian imports and warm-and-serve foods, a deli counter for the heroes (some of you will be getting subs and hoagies), and Sicilian pizza squares and Pinsa Romana arancini.
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The pastry counter carries a full range of cookies, cakes and cannolis. There’s coffee. There’s gelato. Since it’s this time of year, panettone and torrone are lined up in huge, colorful bundles on the shelves. There are dried pasta and fresh frozen pasta. There is an olive bar. There’s wine.
The salami is appropriately hung, and while it may not be hanging from the low ceilings of Bensonhurst, the atmosphere is there. Ask Maria D’Amico about Cucidati and she’ll tell you the same thing. She says that although she doesn’t make kutchadati on-site, it reminds her of her grandmother.
The same goes for when you retort, “Salt, pepper, ketchup?” After ordering an egg sandwich.
There may be a waiting period. And now it will probably be longer. But I could never manage something that makes me this happy. In fact, now it’s more than just blowing it up on social media, it’s killing me. But anyway, as I type this, Damico is in the midst of a Thanksgiving crush.
I asked Antonino D’Amico if he was worried that certain material would bring in more customers or irritate regular customers.
“My wife was in Newark yesterday,” he told me. “She went to a place called DeLucia’s, which is rated the No. 1 pizzeria in New Jersey. She would wait an hour and a half after it opened just to get a pizza.”
The owners are grateful, he says. There is a sign on the door thanking customers but letting them know there will be a wait.
“No one can complain. It’s the best pizza.”
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Philippe D’Amico said the D’Amico & Sons kitchen already makes about 1,000 egg sandwiches a week, and although it can get busy, there are never any lines. When their orders arrive, people walk around, browse the shelves, and fill their carts.
“It’s a bit of a crazy house, but we have a good system and a good staff,” Antonino D’Amico said.
Sometimes I make 40 sandwiches at a time.
“For people who aren’t used to it, you might wonder, ‘Why are you screaming?’ But people from New York are just waiting there. We don’t arrange tickets or numbers. We want to keep that classic, fun atmosphere.”
And hurry, he says.
“When I walked in, I said, ‘It’s bacon, egg, and cheese wrapped.’
“Okay…next!”
Want to lend a hand? Find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram @amydroo or the OSFoodie Instagram account @orlando.foodie. Email: amthompson@orlandosentinel.com. For even more foodie fun, join our Let’s Eat, Orlando Facebook group.
If you go
D’Amico & Sons Italian Market & Bakery: 1170 Oviedo Mall Blvd. Oviedo, 407-542-0783; damicoandsonsmarket.com
