Music fluctuates among tired alternative radio jams, and the crowd has some of that nouveau West Town prissiness. But there's no denying the quirk and character of the menu at this husband-and-wife run, gourmet sandwich stop, a sister location to the one on Madison.

The decor feels masculine and faintly opulent with crisp, khaki-hued booths and several subtle chandeliers. Riding into happy hour, mid-30s, male professionals lean against the back bar, while late evening ushers in a younger area crowd, scrambling for a seat on the patio when it's warm.

Jerry's inventive list of sandwiches tallies up at a staggering three-digit figure with its carefully selected pairings. Bread offerings span from salt and olive oil ciabatta and pretzel rolls to standard rye and sourdough slices, and the fillers—think prosciutto, portobello, fried eggplant and peanut butter—are a boon for adventurous deli-goers who shirk "the usual." While filling, the sandwiches don't aspire for titles like "train wreck." Instead, ingredients are delicately arranged and balanced by two sides; the fries are a favorite, as is the barbecue coleslaw.

It's no surprise that the concept of a gourmet deli gives way to a number of inconsistencies. Lemonade comes in a dainty martini glass, and Jerry's price point rivals that of some white-tablecloth date-spots. There's little space for non-diners to relax and enjoy one of its many imports and craft beers, like Dogfish Head and Allagash White. Extended delay for order preparation (it's a sandwich, after all) feels a little contrived.

Yet, Jerry's moniker honors the beloved counter-cultural musician who taught fans that life's not about the destination, but the journey (R.I.P., Garcia), and the menu here is appropriately inspired. So act accordingly: Bring a group of friends, indulge in the imaginative offerings and simply enjoy the trip.

Centerstage Reviewer: Libby Ramer