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American Deli

4.4 (5 reviews)
Closed 10:30 am - 9:30 pm

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Recommended Reviews - American Deli

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2 years ago

Helpful 26
Thanks 3
Love this 32
Oh no 0

3 years ago

Helpful 7
Thanks 2
Love this 9
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2 years ago

Helpful 1
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Love this 1
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11 months ago

Everything was good and the service was on point they was very friendly and helpful I will be back

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2 years ago

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The Liquor Store

The Liquor Store

3.7
(98 reviews)
4.1 mi
$$

I will say it was very busy when we came but the food was delicious. When I'm out to eat I usually…read morelook at other people's plates as well and I swear every plate looked good as well. I had the chopped cheese and the pancake stacks. Odd but delicious. The ambiance was great as well and I loved the music and the smell of coffee when I walked in.

Liquor Store MEM 27…read moreJuly 2026 Synopsis: Breakfast worth crossing state lines. There are restaurants that feed you. Then there are restaurants that grab you by the collar, slap the stupid out of your face, pour you a generous vodka, and remind you why civilization bothered inventing fire. Liquor Store is the latter. You'll find it at the corner of Poplar and Mendenhall, where Memphis traffic oozes through the intersection like molasses contemplating life. Parking isn't abundant, so prepare to circle a bit. We somehow snagged the very last space, which immediately felt like the culinary gods whispering, "Yeah... today's your day." The second you walk inside, the heat dies. Not "bank lobby in Memphis where your sweat flash-freezes into an ice sculpture" cold. Just perfectly air-conditioned. The kind of temperature where your body finally stops negotiating with humidity and starts believing in happiness again. The room breathes. High ceilings--but not cathedral or airplane-hangar ridiculous. Just enough space to make the place feel alive without feeling like you're eating breakfast in a Costco. Then comes the staff. Fast. Friendly. Professional. Zero wasted motion. These people move with the confidence of mechanics during a Formula One pit stop. Nobody is pretending to be busy. They actually are busy, and somehow they're smiling while doing it. Tyler had our backs from beginning to end. Now let's talk about whoever was commanding the kitchen. That beautiful lunatic has BTUs at his fingertips and clearly understands that cooking is not merely chemistry--it is controlled violence against hunger. I ordered the Sweet Potato Hash. Normally it comes with vegan sausage. No. Absolutely not. Life is too short. I asked if they could substitute chicken instead. They didn't blink. No sigh. No "let me ask." No drama. Just an effortless, "Sure." About four minutes later--and I was the kind of hungry where I'd have considered eating the menu--that masterpiece landed in front of me. Friends... I've eaten breakfast from San Francisco to New York, from roadside diners to hotel brunches where they charge you because they know you'll pay. This was the best breakfast hash I've ever eaten. The chicken was juicy. The sweet potatoes had actual personality instead of being sugary mush. The sautéed spinach deserved its own fan club. Then there was the sunny-side-up egg. Listen carefully. A proper sunny-side egg is one of the great disappearing arts. This one had crisp edges worthy of applause while the yolk remained gloriously molten, ready to flood every bite with liquid gold. Not greasy. Not overloaded with salt. Not trying to impress Instagram. Just perfect. Then there was the vodka. And bless these people... When they say "well vodka," they apparently interpret that as, "Let's not insult the customer." They pour a genuinely respectable shot instead of the microscopic chemistry experiment too many places call a cocktail. It arrived with our chasers in what felt like under a minute. That's confidence. That's hospitality. That's Memphis. The music stayed exactly where good restaurant music belongs--in the background. Cool enough to create atmosphere but never loud enough to hijack conversation. Whoever curates that playlist deserves a raise. I intended to carefully analyze every flavor. Instead, I inhaled the contents of that little cast-iron skillet with the elegance of a starving wolf wearing a necktie. By the time I thought, "I should really study the seasoning..." there was nothing left but an empty cast-iron skillet, one lonely hash brown that had escaped onto the plate like the last survivor of a glorious battle, and absolutely zero regrets. Here's the dangerous thing about Liquor Store: Nothing feels forced. Nothing screams for attention. Nobody acts like they're doing you a favor. The entire experience is so effortlessly dialed in that excellence feels completely ordinary--which is probably the highest compliment I can give a restaurant. We had a long drive ahead of us toward Bristol, and I genuinely didn't want to leave Memphis because it meant leaving this place behind. If I were on death row and the warden slid the final meal request across the table? I'd hand it back with two words. "Liquor Store." Then I'd ask Tyler to bring one more of those gloriously generous well-vodka pours while the kitchen wizard cracked one last sunny-side egg--the kind with crisp, lacey edges and a yolk so perfectly runny it ought to be protected by federal law. Needless to say, we'll be back.

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Cafe area
Cafe area
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Burger and fries
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American Deli - newamerican - Updated July 2026

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