July 14, 2023 – Bennett Campagno sits where he pretty much sits 9am-4pm, six days a week, at the center of an 800-square-foot universe dripping with as much stuff as his sandwiches.
Above him hang models of American military planes and helicopters.
Around him appear photos of celebrities, family and loyal customers.
Down the aisle behind him await bags of boutique chips, bottles of specialty sodas, boxes of Dolly Parton cake mix and cans of craft beer.
In every possible nook throughout the deli hang signs, name plates, unit flags and infinitely diverse totems to armed forces heroes past and present, who were all stationed down the street at the Defense Language Institute.
And while Compagno is almost always sitting here—behind the register where he peppers customers with friendly banter and punches in totals without looking at the keys, like he’s been doing it since age 8—at any given moment, he might not be.
On this visit he moves with deceptive quickness to behind the big deli case to help assemble the signature sandwiches that merit a 1,000-word sea poem on their own.
He helps pile the bacon, avocado, Italian breaded chicken (with house bread crumbs) and pepper jack cheese on the French flat bread (baked to spec by Paris Bakery) to form the #27, my go-to.
Meanwhile he coaches his team on fundamentals (“Always toast the bread!”) and chides customers (“On the hot corned beef you didn’t state half or whole!”) with battlefield enthusiasm.
Beyond the #27 and more than two dozen other huge hot and cold sandwiches come specials like the Crazy Reuben, muffaletta, artichoke-chicken breast, Philly cheesesteak, Space Force and Drill Sergeant—with turkey, cream cheese, Hot Cheetos, mayo, mustard, lettuce, tomato, pickle and onion.
A whole, by the way, is enough to feed four people, which makes it a banging bargain at $13.99-$15.99, even if it didn’t taste so daym good, which it does.
I hear a newcomer murmur to her husband, “That’s a lot of sandwich. I don’t know if we can eat that.”
She was talking about a half.
When the couple checks out, Compagno is back at the register, asking, “What’d you two do today?”
“Oh, nothing, hung out, a few hours of work,” says the DLI student-soldier.
“Not what I heard,” Compagno replies with a smile.
A moment later he’s telling the woman how much he enjoys seeing her husband, who Compagno greets by name—and asks if he’s having his usual (The Marine with bacon, pepper jack and Caesar dressing; there are also Army, Navy and Air Force sandwiches too).
“I appreciate the good word,” the customer says. Before they leave, Compagno’s out from behind the counter again, hugging the gentleman and wishing them well.
Looking back, I regret not getting a slice of the tall cakes his mom created the recipes for, but I’m well-enough equipped for a summer afternoon with the besties. We’ll share the #27, a homemade bacon-grape-broccoli salad, some spicy Fritos and a chocolate chip cookie—and have leftovers.
Compagno’s mom is still around. His pops passed in 1997, three decades plus after he bought the place in 1965. Bennett used to “sweep and eat” after elementary school, before he started running the register.
When I check out, he tells me a story about my dad and asks about my mom, and offers some unsolicited but helpful intel about family inheritance, which feels fitting.
I’m not sure if he knows his massive Italian family has invited my nuclear crew to holiday feasts at least partly because they subconsciously pitied the tininess of our tribe.
I mention an Edible colleague texted me the other day asking, “What do you know about Compagno’s? I was just there for the first time last week. The owner called and requested magazines. Such a character!”
I LOL’d a little when I read the text—and noted that spots like this are a major reason I proposed this column in the first place.
And I realized that Compagno’s was so established in my life I took it as a given, not a grace.
The soldiers who depend on him definitely don’t. He estimates around 50% of his clientele are stationed behind the Taylor Street Gate. When they run into fellow DLI alums abroad, one of the required questions centers on what they’d order at Compagno’s place.
One of the many photos on the wall is of Anthony Crivello, a childhood friend of mine, and a blood relative of both Bennett Compagno and my adopted aunt Paula Crivello.
Last December we lost Anthony way too early, to stomach cancer, in a sudden way. The community that turned out at the Moose Lodge in Del Rey Oaks to rally funds for last-ditch treatments was legion, laughing, crying, catching up and checking in, with Anthony beaming in digitally.
When I talked to him on FaceTime that day his charisma defied his drained frame.
He joked but kept it real, talked life but didn’t avoid death, held the shared moment but also wagged his tongue when he could tell I was getting teary, ever the character his family is proud of, and expert at producing.
When Crivello crossed over, I thought about how much we take for granted. (Sidenote: He would order the #27 too.)
I aspire to never do that with community treasures.
Compagno’s Market and Deli • 2000 Prescott Ave. Monterey • 831.375.5987
About the author
Mark C. Anderson, Edible Monterey Bay's managing editor, appears on "Friday Found Treasures" via KRML 94.7 every week, a little after 12pm noon. Reach him via mark@ediblemontereybay.com.
