Can I eat a hot roast beef sandwich at the beach?

And 5 other beach foods from local restaurants ⛱️

Growing up, my mother used to take me to Lakoma Deli in Ronkonkoma for a hot roast beef sandwich. My mother passed away in 2007; Lakoma, in 2025.

It’s poignant, the way food connects you to the past. I feel shorter than the counter when I think about the sandwich, looking up at the menu, looking to see where it was listed. It wasn’t. Often my mother would have to explain exactly how she wanted it, and the people behind the counter would walk out into the deli portion of the store to grab a can of beef gravy. They’d slice the homemade, rare beef while the gravy heated up in the microwave, then place the thin slices on a hero, and finally slather on the gravy before double-wrapping it in aluminum foil.

Sometimes, I’d get it with gloopy, low-moisture mozzarella. The gravy and cheese would cling to the aluminum foil. If the hero wasn’t soggy in my hands, the bread would be so dry it’d get stuck in my chest. I didn’t care, because even a bad sandwich from Lakoma was the best sandwich I could possibly have.

I don’t know where my mother learned about the hot roast beef sandwich. But she loved it, so I did too.

Years later I’d be caught dunking a hero into a plastic tub of gravy at Robert Moses. My friends had stumbled upon me at a beach miles away from the city, one person out of thousands on the sand, and they were shaking their heads: Who the hell brings a roast beef and gravy sandwich to the beach?

I do. And it’s called a hot roast beef. But I can’t get them from Lakoma anymore. Now I get my sandwiches from Babylon Village Meat Market.

If you ever talk to 2nd-generation owner Dave Popp about his family business, the sandwiches aren’t his proudest achievement. “We’re a super high-end, niche butcher shop,” he told me, before listing out his inventory of berkshire pork, dry-aged prime beef, and a5 wagyu. Dave is a butcher before anything; his grandfather was a butcher, his uncle was a butcher, and his father is also a butcher. The store is a shrine to high-quality meat.

But his store’s close proximity to Babylon High School has made it a sandwich destination. Locals come in droves to order “The Lone Star”: fried chicken cutlet, melted american, bacon and BBQ sauce on a roll. Others go for their pastrami on rye. Of course, I go for their hot roast beef.

Like at my hometown deli, there’s no hot roast beef sandwich on the menu. Instead I order the thin-sliced beef with fresh mozzarella on a hero, and a side of gravy. I add on a fat pickle, a bag of chips, and their famous spinach dip, which goes by the name of “green crack.” Then I’m off to the beach.

The quality of this sandwich is much higher than the one I grew up with. It’s not soggy and double-wrapped, the gravy isn’t Campbell’s, the hero isn’t some stepped-on semolina that gets stuck in your chest. The beef is sliced razor-thin, and it’s abundant. The fresh mozzarella doesn’t goop and stick to the paper, it’s clean and salty and delicious. And the bread is griddled until crispy. It’s an exceptional sandwich.

It’s not the same. But it’s exceptional. - Rob Martinez

📍 Babylon Village Meat Market
85 Deer Park Ave, Babylon, NY 11702

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