If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if a charming neighborhood deli/market and a secret garden had a baby, the answer is Jackson Market. And that baby grew up to be gorgeous, popular, and extremely good at making sandwiches.

Walking in, I immediately felt like I’d discovered a place I should not be telling people about. It’s that cute. But here I am, blogging recklessly.

First, you pick your food by filling out a little form that makes you feel like you’re applying for the most important job of your life: Professional Sandwich Eater. Then you pass it to the chefs behind the counter, who somehow manage to look calm even though everyone in Los Angeles is pointing at ingredients like they’re ordering a custom-built spaceship.

You can grab drinks, snag baked goods, and generally behave like someone who definitely did not promise themselves they’d “eat lighter this week.” I personally selected snacks with the enthusiasm of a toddler let loose in Target.

Then comes the best part: the garden. Oh, the garden. It’s so lush and peaceful I’m convinced they hired a team of fairies to maintain it. You sit down with your food and suddenly forget you’re in a city known for traffic, chaos, and people who say “Let’s circle back” unironically.

We devoured:

• A melted cheese sandwich that could bring world peace.
• An Italian sub handcrafted by what I can only assume was a sandwich wizard.
• Barbecue chips that disappeared suspiciously fast.
• A chocolate chip cookie the size of a throw pillow.
• And two sea-salted milk chocolate bars because I respect myself.

What didn’t go well?
Leaving. I didn’t want to go. I considered staying forever and becoming the garden’s unofficial mascot.

Jackson Market, I love you. I will be back. I might even bring a book and move in part-time. Don’t worry about it.