The Lucca signature sandwich: breseola, arugula, truffle paste, parmesan, and straccitella cheese on herbed focaccia bread

If you look over at just the right moment, you might spot the little counter shop as you pass by its B Street location. But you could be standing ten feet away on 6th Avenue and not even know there's a restaurant there

Because it's just a little box. It could barely even be considered a kitchen. Plus, the whole thing sits below street level. From the sidewalk, it simply blends into the courtyard landscaping in front of the high rise at 600 B Street. I would say you can find that building by looking for the words "San Diego Union-Tribune" written across the top of it, but that was before the newspaper's branding hadn't been removed last month over unpaid rent.

A small box of a sandwich shop

There is, however, still branding on the structure for WeWork office sharing space; I guess they can still afford to be here. I suppose I'll have to start calling it the We Work building instead. Don't worry, it's only ominous if you value things like a free press or print publishing.

Anyhow, Lucca Italian Sandwich Shop opened right about the same time all that happened last month, and its window faces the entrance to the building. That makes sense, because whoever's working there in the post-U-T era makes up the shop's core audience. When lunch hour hits, hungry office workers funnel down the elevators and pour out of the lobby, and it's the first food they see.

Normally, I might not give that operation a second glance, even if it were easy to spot. But I noticed those two words sitting in the middle of the name: Lucca Italian Sandwich Shop. I perked up like a fox terrier, because I've been a tourist in Florence, and stood the lines to try panini, made with mortadella, stracciatella cheese, and pistachios. Not so much for the mortadella, which is the finely ground Bologna luncheon meat some American genius was aiming for when he invented "boloney." Mostly, I liked the idea of putting pistachios on a sandwich. But that only works thanks to the stracciatella, a surprisingly refreshing mozzarella paste that spreads across bread like whipped cream cheese. Still, what really made all those Tuscan sandwiches distinctive was the focaccia-like bread.

The "Firenze," given the Italian name for the city of Florence, where mortadella, stacciatella, and pistachio sandwiches are popular

This sort of sandwich made a star out of Florence sandwich shop Al'Antico Vinaio, which has branched out into U.S. locationsincluding two in Los Angeles. Now, Tuscany nerds may be quick to point out the bread is called schiacciata: similar to, yet thinner and crispier than, focaccia. So for their sake, I'll say Lucca makes its take on this sandwich, the Firenze ($14), on the schiacciata-like bread, foccacia. It's herbed and baked in a small, tabletop electric oven inside the shop. And the sandwich is dressed with basil pesto and arugula.

Italian mineral water, sodas, and nonalcoholic beverages

Other sandwiches invoke other municipalities with their alternate meats and toppings: Rome ($15.50) is prosciutto and mozzarella; Pisa ($15) is artichoke, red pepper, and spicy salami; and the signature Lucca ($17.50) features the cured beef bresaola, truffle paste, and more of that stracciatella cheese. A nonalcoholic Aperol spritz ($3) — part of an interesting collection of organic Italian sodas — helped the illusion along. I kinda like this overachieving for a coachlike office building courtyard sandwich shop. I bet the journalists would have liked it too..