Renzo makes the case for a better sandwich shop in the Mile End

In a city that’s had more elevated sandwich counters than affordable rent listings lately, it takes a lot for a new one to register, but the freshly minted Renzo on the corner of Saint-Laurent and Fairmount? It sticks the landing.

The sign alone demands attention: hand-painted, bold, and legible from a block away. “Even if I’m not hungry, but I just read 'sandwich' from 500 metres away? Let’s go have a sandwich,” says co-founder and designer Guillaume Ménard of MRDK.

That’s sort of the point. Renzo was built to be noticed, but not in a shouty, look-at-me kind of way, but as something confident without being cocky, stylish without trying too hard, and nostalgic without slipping into cosplay.

It’s also the product of people who’ve done this before, and who came back to do it better.

Decidedly of Montreal

The idea for Renzo had been percolating for years. What started as a daydream about a better sandwich shop became a tightly tuned operation with a stacked cast: There's Justin Daoust, a marketing mind who left the hospitality world five years ago but found himself drawn back in, and whose agency Nouvelle Idée tackled the visual identity; Bastien Daoust-Beaudin handling operations; the all-things-country chef Jean-Michel Leblond (aka John Mike) handling the menu; the aforementioned Guillaume Ménard for Renzo's design; and Daniel Chartrand.

Each brought their own lane of expertise. Each became a co-owner. No dead weight. No consultants. Just a crew of people who gave a shit.

That local loyalty extends to the neighbourhood, too. Renzo plugs into the Mile End nicely, with Fairmount Bagel down the block, dep-style counters all around, and a high school across the street, it’s built to serve locals of all ages.

According to Justin, it may have the vibe, but Renzo should not be understood as a specifically Italian sandwich shop—despite the ingredients at play. Instead, it's meant to be seen as something decidedly of Montreal. “We use an Italian-style bread—an artisanal ciabatta—and the fillings pull from everywhere: Corned beef, cold cuts, Caesar chicken, fried jalapeño cabbage. We’re from Montreal. We like mixing things,” he says.

The corned beef sandwich might be the most personal item on the menu. “I went to Seattle and I found this sandwich… for me it was like biting into Montreal flavour, but in another place,” Justin says. It’s a tribute to family meals in New Brunswick, Jewish delis, and northeast American diners all rolled into one. That kind of triangulation of personal memory, place-based flavour, and smart remixing is Renzo’s whole M.O.

The menu board behind the counter is a full-width commitment to variety—fourteen sandwiches, all crisply numbered, with ingredient lists that read like annotated mixtapes of deli traditions. There’s mortadella and giardiniera on one line, gochujang eggplant and fried zucchini on another. The vibe is half Montreal-Italian corner store, half Northeast U.S. diner, with a splash of fast-casual precision. Every sandwich clocks in around $15.75, and options range from the throwback (Sub Classique, Turkey Club, Porchetta) to the inventive (Poulet Buffalo, Pan Bagnat, Tomates with balsamic vinaigrette). You can add cheese, protein, or vegetables for a few bucks more, and the sides—like pouding chômeur and key lime pie—keep things just indulgent enough. Even the phrasing feels thought through: “Wrapped & pressed!” is scrawled above the sandwich header like a mission statement.

But sandwiches are just the start: There are sides. There are desserts. There are boozy slushies (recipes like mango and spice, guava-jalapeno, and Spanish kalimotxo), and drinks curated with the same care as the menu. “We have amaro soda on tap,” says Bastien Daoust-Beaudin. “Friends of ours made our own Renzo pilsner. Even the soda fridge is intentional."

There’s also a little retail section, nodding to the old-school deli vibe, where you can grab a tin of sardines or a bag of chips. “We curated a nice selection of little tins and cans, different chips, private import wines… it was always about the good stuff," Bastien adds.

And while the retail helps that the space looks the part, it's not in the way you might expect.

Walking in the footsteps of giants

“The design is inspired by Wilensky’s, Schwartz’s… but also old butcher shops in Little Italy,” says designer and co-owner Guillaume Ménard. “Places from New York, Boston, Detroit—but always with a contemporary approach. We don’t want to be a pale copy of what was done 70 years ago.”

That means materials that age well. Nothing too trendy. “Just good old vintage-inspired design that hopefully will age in beauty,” says Ménard. “The tile on the floor is custom made for Renzo. You won’t find it anywhere else in the world."

And that subtle commitment to doing things right without being flashy, something which extends to how the place runs. Open seven days a week, 11 to 8, with no weird opening hours or chasing scarcity hype. “That’s part of being an institutional establishment… we’re always open, we’re always there. It’s like our home," says Guillaume.

That idea—of being always there—is no accident. From the beginning, the goal wasn’t to chase the food media cycle but to become part of the city's daily one. Nothing cheap, nothing gourmet, but just within reach. It’s the kind of logic that makes Renzo feel less like a pop-up and more like it’s been there the whole time.

But for all the detail and intentionality, Renzo just wants to be good, reliable, and worth sharing. “You can easily grab one sandwich for two people, take a drink, get a side… it’s not crazy expensive when you think about it,” Guillaume adds.

All told, Renzo isn’t the newest cool kid on the block, but it is the one that wants to stick around long enough to be the old reliable.