Classic rock music fills the air. Vinyl, ‘80s movie posters and MU-inspired artwork plaster the walls. Columbia’s Sub Shop has loyally provided “four decades of peace and subs” to college students and the surrounding community. The wide interior is filled with picnic tables and lined with quirky artifacts innovated for seating, like old car seats, that make enjoying the restaurant’s scratch-made sandwiches a relaxing and communal affair.

With a vast array of customizable sandwiches and ingredients drawn out on one chalkboard, the ordering process can be intimidating for first-time customers. However, an atmosphere that takes customers on a trip down memory lane removes the overwhelming Chipotle-like feeling of being silently judged as you add unique components to your order. Instead, wide walls decorated with names, Greek letters and punny late 20th-century pop culture references like “grateful bread” fill customers with fascination. 

The time and energy put into thinly slicing roast beef, stacking fresh lettuce and layering tomatoes to create timelessly tasty sandwiches contrasts the lost-in-time atmosphere. Holding true to a fresh and never frozen oath, the open view of the kitchen behind the counter created a sense of openness and genuine attention to detail, allowing my sandwich to disappear almost as soon as it reached my table. 

A flat-topped Eighth Street building at the end of a sloped parking lot barely visible from the columns, Sub Shop is also a hideaway for MU students from downtown’s bustling nightlife. Visiting with a few friends on a late Friday night, the repurposed car seats and subs — made fresh even at 10 p.m. — were a source of comfort and sparked appreciation for the traditions of Columbia’s community I have grown to love.

On a separate occasion, even when severe weather warnings interrupted radio waves of classic rock and dominated the shop’s atmosphere, preparedness and attention to detail overtook the stress caused by the sirens. The Italian sub had every component to make it a heavy, yet comforting sandwich, and absorbing myself into its variety of flavors was an easy distraction from the possibility of getting caught in a tornado on my way back home. 

Each time I visit, the vintage vibe of the shop fills me with curiosity. Sub Shop has the same landmark feel that makes any college town restaurant stand out — the savory sandwiches, posters, flooring, vinyl, music and seating culminated into an atmosphere that reminded me of Buffalo Joe’s, my father’s landmark restaurant in Evanston, Illinois, during his time at Northwestern University. Visits to Evanston were a notable part of my childhood. The same retro atmosphere and spicy dishes were a part of my father’s college experience and a culinary beginning or ending to those visits I always looked forward to. 

Both locations, though different genres, have the same feel of a place that’s central to your college experience, and that you treasure in your heart and take your kids back to when the chapter ends. Each time I visited, I imagined the restaurant as a place that would soon hold memories central to a period of my life.

Edited by Scout Hudson | shudson@themaneater.com

Copy edited by Kyla Pehr and Grace Knight