Miette Sandwicherie does everything the hard way—and that's the point

There's a moment right after an order comes through at Miette Sandwicherie that probably drives the staff a little crazy: Instead of just cutting the sandwich and wrapping it in paper like every other place, Thea Bryson insists that it's wrapped first, then cut through the paper. "You obviously first eat with your eyes," she explains, and that first reveal—the perfect cross-section, every ingredient in its place—matters.

It's a small detail, but it tells you everything about how Bryson thinks. Four years after starting Miette Boulangerie as a self-taught baker working out of her apartment, she's opened the sandwich shop a mere ten albeit long blocks down Notre-Dame Ouest in Saint-Henri. And while the new spot serves grab-and-go food that you can eat in five minutes, everything behind that speed is built on the same philosophy that takes her sourdough 36 hours from start to finish: do it the hard way, because it tastes better.

"I want to eat something that I feel good about but that's also indulgent and delicious."

"We don't really take the shortcuts," Bryson says. "All of our turkey and our chicken is brined for 24 to 48 hours and then we slow roast them so they stay really nice and moist. It takes a while to make the pickles, putting them all through the mandolin. Every touch point of the ingredients follows that same care and attention, even though ultimately the product ends up being delivered in a quick and efficient way."

That attention to detail is what separates Miette Sandwicherie from Montreal's well-established scene of sandwich options. While the city excels at Italian-style hoagies and traditional deli fare, Bryson saw an opening for something different—sandwiches that feel homemade without making you "feel like shit" after you eat 'em.

"I lived in California for a few years and I was seeing a whole new offering there where people were eating carbs, but in a really thoughtful, delicious, healthier way," she explains. "I want to eat something that I feel good about but that's also indulgent and delicious."

The menu reflects that philosophy. The house-cured beet gravlax gets two days of curing before landing on whole wheat bread with homemade crème fraîche and pickled shallots. The Miette Club—their number one seller—layers slow-roasted turkey with house-made aioli, pickles, and avocado on fresh sourdough. Even the vegan option goes the extra mile, featuring sunflower hummus with shredded beets and carrots, finished with their own chili crisp.

"Employees from the sandwich shop ask why do we do it this way, and I simply say it's because we want it to taste better," Bryson says. "There's a reason why we don't use cured meat or cold cuts—we want to work with whole roasts and we want to add something different than what Montreal has seen for a while."

Family business + DIY spirit + design

Walk into Miette Sandwicherie and you'll notice the design immediately—checkered painted floors, shiplap walls, and a warm, farmhouse feel that's worlds away from the clean, minimalist bakery. Both spaces were designed by Bryson's sister Celia, a trained interior designer who worked with Scott Yetman in Montreal and went to Parsons in New York before starting her own practice.

The inspiration for the space came from childhood trips to the East Coast—"these places that were like pharmacies / sandwich shops / places where you could get a milkshake"—and the execution involved a lot of DIY work. Bryson painted shelves from Facebook Marketplace, did much of the space work herself, and had local artist Dave Arnold paint the floors and create the gold window sinage.

But some things required calling in the experts. The stunning display case was built on-site by Brett Paulin, a Toronto-based carpenter and furniture designer who also did the woodwork at the bakery.

Baking in an apartment at 3 a.m.

It's easy to forget, looking at what's now two locations, that this all started with Bryson waking up at 3 a.m. in her apartment, baking 30 loaves in a home oven, then delivering them around the city in her dad's van. Before finding her own space, she was baking out of Léché Desserts, known more for donuts than artisanal sourdough.

"I was making bread just at home for a year when I lived in California, and it came at a time where I was feeling ready to leave my job," she remembers. "When I was making bread and happened to be pretty decent at it, it kind of felt like the right moment to take this back home. I felt like there was space in Montreal for more quality bread."

"I tentatively want to call it a success because the real test is always going to be: will a Montrealer want to go trudging through a pile of snow to go get a sandwich?"

Those scrappy early days taught her lessons that still guide both businesses. "Everything really has been a learning opportunity," she says. "I'm not one to wallow too much when shit hits the fan. You can be upset for 20 minutes, but then you got to find a solution."

That problem-solving mentality extends to her team. At the bakery, where a single loaf of sourdough touches three or four different hands over 36 hours, communication is everything. "We have Slack channels for different purposes," she explains. "Kitchens are inherently dependent on strong communication between everybody that's involved in that final product."

No shortcuts

Opening week at Miette Sandwicherie was busier than expected, helped by foot traffic from neighbouring Arthurs and the simultaneous opening of Margot next door. But Bryson isn't getting ahead of herself. "I tentatively want to call it a success because the real test is always going to be: will a Montrealer want to go trudging through a pile of snow to go get a sandwich?"

Still, there's confidence in her approach. "I know that lunch is a different concept than bread, but I had full confidence it would succeed," she says. "I hire good people who know a lot more than I do to fill those gaps."

"We want to be able to add something different than what Montreal has seen for a while."

The success validates something Bryson learned during her bakery's early struggles with pricing. Doing things the right way costs more and takes more time, but Montreal diners will pay for quality when they understand the process. "Now that we've established ourselves, the clients understand it and they respect it."

At Miette Sandwicherie, that means you'll pay a bit more for a sandwich, but you'll taste the difference in every element—from the 48-hour-brined chicken to the house-made pickles to that perfect first reveal when you unwrap it.

Bryson, then, has found her niche by simply refusing to take shortcuts: "I absolutely understand why other places don't do it," she admits. "It costs more money—that's kind of my fault, I do like to do things that can be a little bit pricier and take more time." But I think it's for the purpose of adding something new for clients."

"We want to be able to add something different than what Montreal has seen for a while."