Before resuming my PAC-NW documentation, I offer up this brief review of storied Seattle delicatessen, Salumi, mentioned in a previous post. Read on:
Despite maintaining the least amount of open hours I've ever seen (ain't knocking it; I'd do it too, if I could); my buddy and I managed to hoof it down to their modest space on one of the most beautiful days imaginable. As a fruit vendor would later say to me, "DUDE, Santa Claus was wrong...THIS is the season to be jolly." Right on, man.
Anyhow, Salumi. A modest line extended out the door. The wait was roughly 30 minutes, which ain't that bad, and having withstood the rigors of Hot Doug's absurd line in Chicago made this seem like we were getting express service. The menu was brief & affordable. I believe it was the turn-of-phrase "slow-roasted explosion of flavor" that sold me on the porchetta. Right before ordering, a free sample of their mole salami nearly changed my mind, with its slow, smoky heat meting out increasing amounts of pleasure during the chew. But no! My brain froze when ordering, and all I could utter was, "Porchetta, please." Knowing I was going to be eating on the sidewalk, a can of Coke seemed an apropos addition.
Sat down in the funky triangle across the street that held a small bus hub, and was populated by a smattering of bus-folk, people loving on some sandwiches with their face, and plenty of pigeons. We sat, unwrapped, and immediately were overcome with a feeling of zen---this sandwich was clearly the only thing in the world that mattered. The universe had been reduced to my olfactory system, teeth, and a juicy beast of a sandwich that warmly throbbed with the vibrations of a thousand harps through two planks of well-hewn bread. Mmm. Oh yes...it was that good.
After finishing, we nodded at each other in silence, paid our respect to the deli paper that kept the sidewalk juice-less, and set out northwards, boldly facing a new, changed world. Only, changed for the better.