Veal Sandwich
The order. Breaded, sauced, on a bun that holds up to it.
Bakery · Mimico
The Royal York institution people queue outside before 8am
There are bakeries, and there are neighbourhood institutions that happen to bake. SanRemo is firmly the second. On a Saturday morning the line runs out the door and nobody in it looks even slightly surprised, because everyone knows what they came for and roughly how long it takes.
The veal sandwich is the headline and deserves to be — breaded properly, sauced generously, on a bun engineered for the job. But the bakery case is where the real range shows: cornetti, cannoli, biscotti, focaccia sold in slabs, and a savoury counter that could feed a family for a week.
Honest notes: the queue is real, parking is genuinely difficult, and there is nowhere comfortable to sit. Treat it as a place you collect food from rather than eat at, and it is close to unbeatable.
The order. Breaded, sauced, on a bun that holds up to it.
Italian, not French — softer, sweeter, and better with the espresso.
Sold by the slab. Buy more than you think you need.
Get the veal sandwich, a bag of cornetti and a slab of focaccia. Go early.