Shooter McGavin’s review 2023: Kara Monssen visits Carlton sandwich shop

Gloriously golden fried with earth-shattering crunch — you can’t pass on the hot honey chicken at this new sandwich shop.

The early bird gets the worm, or the hot honey chicken sandwich at Shooter McGavin’s.

It’s what some may call a first world problem.

Only 20 minutes into lunch at Shooter McGavin’s and they’ve sold the last fried chicken sanga.

All those earth-shattering crunchy, honey-basted, succulent cluckers – gone.

The only sandwich in its arsenal where the bread is made from scratch, daily, inspired by the chef’s grandmothers family recipe.

I really should have known better.

This Melbourne gal is a seasoned sandwich shop stake-out artist.

I’m well-oiled on the Theo’s, Hector’s and Rocco’s and Ca Com circuit, yet for some reason I overlooked the most important rule in sandwich land: ‘if ya snooze, ya lose’.

The early bird gets the worm, or the chook, in this case.

Melbourne is piled high with gourmet sandwich joints – most named after hipster males or inspired by ’90s pop culture.

Lads Paul Buterra (ex-Oscar Cooper, Attria wine bar fame) Liam Lowther (ex-Oscar Cooper head chef) and Josh McAsey (ex-The Sycamore Group) have bravely named their digs after that jerk golfer Shooter McGavin in Adam Sandler’s cult film Happy Gilmore.

It’s fish and chips — in a sandwich.

A stroke of genius born from almost leasing a vacant Moonee Ponds shop on Shuter St (Geddit?) that was unshakeable when they moved to a modest Grattan St space last November.

You wouldn’t necessarily sit for an eat-in here, it’s more of a grab-and-go vibe, though this tiny diner’s modern glow-up is schmick. There are large window seats overlooking Cardigan St and an L-shaped counter facing the open kitchen upon which to perch. This is one for the kids, in university heartland, with the beats pumping at 11.30am, the La Marzocco whirring its happy tune, the fryer sizzlin’ golden goodies.

About five or so staff work the kitchen, flanked in custom forest green Shooter tees.

Someone’s cutting produce, another is on the assembly line, it’s all mesmerising and methodical until someone yells ‘shooter up!’

Pew pew, it’s sanga time.

Do Shooter’s how you will, but my method is: fresh first, toastie time then a hot finish.

Conti ($16) is a fresh fella stacking deli faves mortadella, salami and ’nduja (spreadable spicy salami) in firm ciabatta layered so tall it’s impossible to bite. Ricotta, peppery rocket and a salsa verde tip the scales the other way. A delight.

The tuna melt ($17) is more like a cheesy white sauce than fishy in flavour and brightened with herbs and an electric tartare. That crisp fine crunch from butter melting into toasted rye crevasses make this heavenly good.

So fresh, so clean.

Pew Pew, it’s sanger time at Shooter McGavin’s.

Hangover reviver, the fish butty ($17) is fish and chips in sandwich form, ticking all pleasure points at once: fried, crunch, salt, vinegar, hot carbs, cold iceberg and tartare dripping between white bread.

My only pet peeve? The slices were a touch too fine to burden the load of hot fried fish, chips and sauce. He won’t travel well, so immediately down the hatch.

Sangers are Shooter’s game but there are other worthy eats here.

Early risers can wolf down a shortstack of buttermilk pancakes ($12) doused in maple and butter, and bacon if you dare, plus sausage bagels or an egg roll with a side of Inglewood coffee until 11am.

There are sweets, though those scrolls are no longer made in-house due to the kitchen’s more pressing demands, with those large dark chocolate-hunked and sea salt cookies baked by the boys instead.

On warm days, Shooter’s thickshakes or iced teas are essential. The latter sees housemade infusions steeping black, green or white tea, and either flesh or peel, bubbling with a white citrus foam on top.

And did you really think I didn’t come back for that chook?

That biscuit bun, a sweet hybrid of a scone and bap roll, still lives free in my head.

A contrasting mouthfeel, mega-crunch, lip-tingling spice – it’s how we must all lunch from now on.