Bay Boy’s sandwiches center on an SF staple new to KC: Dutch-crunch bread

I can keep my cool during a lot of bullshit — getting a parking ticket, for instance, or accidentally splashing coffee on my white T-shirt. But when I dropped my salami sandwich from Bay Boy Specialty Sandwiches, the toppings spewing from the plastic to-go container like delectable projectiles before splattering on the hot pavement, I admit that I got a little emotional.

I gathered what I was able to salvage and headed back inside Johnny Jo’s Pizzeria (1209 West 47th Street), where Bay Boy serves its San Francisco–inspired sandwiches on Monday afternoons. Co-owners and lifelong friends Julian Garcia and Jake Wilson — also known, according to their business cards, as “bread-meister” and “meat lord,” respectively — were sympathetic. They graciously replaced the toppings and advised me to be extra careful on my way out.

This time, I made it to the car, but in my rattled, hungry state, I forgot to pick up the pickles, tomatoes, and lettuce from the parking lot, where they continued to sit, sweltering in the sun, long after I realized my error. Oh, well, I told myself — no one will notice an errant smattering of condiments in such an unexpected place, right?

Once I got my lunch safely home and dug in, my humiliation was a distant memory. Simply called the Bay Boy, the sandwich was packed with hard salami, house-made garlic and hot-pepper sauces, mayo, mustard, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, red onions and cheese. The flavors added up to a savory, tangy medley.

I also understood why Garcia, a San Francisco native who moved to Kansas City with his family as a child, had grown nostalgic for Dutch-crunch bread, a Bay Area favorite. Each roll is coated with rice paste prior to baking, giving the crust its unique crackled appearance, as well as a crispy outer shell that complements an impressively soft center. This bread is the calling card of each Bay Boy sandwich.

“It’s very unique bread,” Garcia told me. “When I tried to find it in Kansas City, I found out nobody even knew what it was. So I learned how to make it myself.”

It took a little trial and error to perfect the recipe — Garcia said it’s like making two breads at once, because the rice-flour batter must be mixed and applied separately to each roll. “There’s a lot of waiting with this bread,” he said.

But Garcia had both the time and the patience to get it right. As store manager at Johnny Jo’s, he had ready access to a large commercial oven. And, after a taste test, he had no trouble convincing John Milone, the pizza shop’s owner, to let him sell Bay Boy sandwiches on Mondays. Since starting their operation in January, Wilson and Garcia have also begun offering their sandwiches at Milone’s other location, the Pizzeria (516 West 103rd Street), on Thursdays, as well as at Downbeat Coffee (1200 West 39th Street) on Wednesdays.

The menu remains constant: The Bay Boy, for instance, is always available, as well as a vegetarian version that substitutes cucumbers for salami. During the summer months, the B.L.A.T. (bacon, lettuce, avocado, tomato) and turkey sandwiches are also mainstays. But that fifth weekly offering — a hot sandwich, usually — is a bit harder to pin down. With their sights set on operating their own food truck and eventually their own shop, Garcia and Wilson are very much in test mode, perfecting different meat-and-sauce combos to see what works. This is a good thing: It leads to trials like their version of a Cuban sandwich, which has been especially popular.

“Jake is a self-made chef,” Garcia said. “He experiments with a lot of flavors, and he’s not afraid to try new things in the kitchen. He tinkers and messes with stuff and gets really lucky.”

On my second visit, I discovered how delicious luck can be. Garcia had just pulled the bread out of the oven, and customers were starting to trickle in. It was their first time serving beef brisket — a new experiment for Wilson, who insisted I give it a try. I gladly obliged. As I was about to grab my to-go container and head out, Wilson squinted at my face as though he’d suddenly remembered something.

“Weren’t you here a couple of weeks ago?” he asked. “And you tripped in the parking lot?”

I considered denying the whole thing, but instead I just nodded. That’s when I noticed that this time, my sandwich had been wrapped in foil inside the plastic to-go container — an extra layer, like the rice flour on that Dutch crunch. These guys see lessons everywhere, I guess. And that’s good, too.•