At Via Clavature 18, hidden in the back streets of Bologna, is the comparatively charmless little Ristorante da Gianni. It’s dimly lit, almost to the point of stumbling darkness — especially if you enter, as we did, from the sharp rays of a late midsummers’ afternoon nursing a fierce hangover brought on by a handful of Negronis the night before — and is made even darker by heavy wood paneling on all sides and rather gruff service. However, it is famous among local gastronomes for its strictly traditional Bolognese fare, and as most food-obsessed people know intuitively, what they serve in such seemingly unlikely-looking places often more than makes up for what is lacking in atmosphere. So it was here.

I’ve rhapsodized previously about the wonder that was the deep-fried lamb chops I first ate there, and my wife has written extensively about both the outstanding ragu alla Bolognese and the equally scrumptious sausage ragu we tore through as our respective primi piatti that day, but (as part of a gargantuan meal that also included a giant-felling plate of bollito misto) these courses were preceded by a dish of such cunning, such laughter-inducing simplicity, that I have been wanting to make it ever since — just to see if it would tickle me in the same way again. Not only that, but it may also have been among the most effective hangover cures I have ever tried, for following it, I was able to play a more than active role in emptying three bottles of Barolo. So just what was this jovial and miraculous dish, you ask? Spuma di Mortadella sauced sparingly with the sweetest, honeyed, aged-balsamic vinegar I’ve ever had the privilege to taste.

“Ugh! Baloney foam! Why would you begin such a meal with that crap?”, I hear you cry. Well, you’re half-right. Spuma di mortadella is, in fact, nothing more than whipped “Bologna ham”, but it is also, simultaneously, so, so, so much more. Unfortunately, many Americans only know baloney/Bologna as the ubiquitous bright pink sandwich meat that has cursed many a child’s school lunch with its weird, cloying, yet plasticky, texture, and flavor somewhere between hairspray and old socks. But, as with many mass-produced things — from shoes to IKEA furniture — the handmade versions are not only completely different, they’re way better.

Mortadella, known as Bologna in the US because it was originally made only in the immediate vicinity of the city, is an ancient kind of emulsified (forcemeat) sausage that gets its name from the mortar (mortaio) and pestle that was used once-upon-a-time to grind up the pork and spices during preparation. Incorporating at least 15% pork fat — specifically the firm, white neck fat of the pig, and often as large cubes rather than ground up with the pork — mortadella can be flavored with a variety of things including, myrtle berries, black or white peppercorns, nutmeg, coriander, olives and pistachios. It is then cooked gently for as long as 24 hours, depending on the size of the mortadella (some weigh up to 100kilos/220lbs), in air-drying ovens, before being sprayed with cold water and allowed to stabilize in a cooling room.

In Emilia-Romagna, mortadella is often served as part of a salumi, or charcuterie, plate with a selection of the region’s staggeringly delicious cured pork products like, culatello di Zibello, coppa Piacentino, prosciutto di Parma, spalla cotta, zampone (at Christmas), or cappello di prete (a pinky-white forcemeat “sausage” that looks like a priest’s tri-cornered hat), but it can be used to make a wide variety of delectable treats, including spuma di mortadella.

The translation of spuma di mortadella to “mortadella foam” is unfortunate, and somewhat hyperbolic, because while the sausage is whipped and feels light on the tongue, it neither resembles foam in texture, nor sits like air on the stomach. Nonetheless, its simplicity is its brilliance: we simply combined first-rate mortadella (with the lumps of hard fat) with nutmeg and cream and whipped it into a light pink emulsion garnishing with pistachios and a drizzle of excellent balsamic vinegar (in our case, a 30 year old we had bought from a man with a very dubious hair-piece).

However, spuma di mortadella isn’t a one trick pony, quite the opposite. It also makes a fabulously rich filling for a stuffed pasta – which we sauced with garlic-infused butter. And, in a glorious return, tearing up its debased American bag-lunch roots, it is a kick-ass sandwich filling that would be the envy of any child in the playground. It’s even better when used as a topping for a montadito (small, open-faced sandwich, like a crostini or bruschetta) and mounted a cheval, with a poached egg.

We encourage you to give this one a try, even if you have remedial issues from being teased about your baloney-breath by the cool kids, because spuma di mortadella can make even the biggest nerd cool.

Ristorante da Gianni (A La Vecia Bulagna)
Via Clavature 18, Bologna, 40124 IT
T: 051-229434
Dinner €20-30 per person

Virtually everywhere they make sausages, and in a lot of places they don’t, some form of sausage in bread combination is sold by street vendors, often to the inebriated, and, in many cases, the consumer is best advised to be under the influence before taking their life in their hands with one of these mystery bag sandwiches. The night I met my wife, for example, I remember being horrified that her sister (who had introduced us earlier in the evening) was reckless enough — even after 50 drinks — to buy an insanitary-looking sausage in a roll from a street vendor in London’s Piccadilly Circus.

Where sanitation isn’t the biggest issue, a sense of disappointment often is, with the boring and insipid offerings available at any of the myriad hot dog stands lining almost every Manhattan street exemplifying this. Do not get me wrong, a New York hot dog — pulled from the disquietingly opaque water, slapped into a curiously spongy potato roll, and painted with mustard and an unidentifiable relish – is certainly a real taste of NYC street life, and when you’ve been pounding the city streets for an afternoon, almost enjoyable, but it is not great street food, regardless of what Adam Platt at NYMag says. (feel free to post your own disagreements with me below)

However, the more I travel, the more I realize that these sausage and bread combos can actually be both safe for human consumption and, in some cases, a delicacy. You may remember our merguez frites sandwich of last year, which was not just the best street food we’d ever had, but right up there with the finest sandwiches too. Even the overtly filthy nature of that vendor in Carcassonne failed to put us off. Indeed, it’s probably true that we would risk a searing bout of intestinal drainage on a weekly basis if only merguez frites were readily available.

So, during our recent trip to Argentina we were intrigued by rusty little cabins that we passed throughout Buenos Aires, either parked-up or slumping shack-ily on the sidewalk, emitting wonderfully aromatic smoke and advertizing choripán and morcipán on gaily painted signs. After one particularly lengthy trek across the city from Palermo to Recoleta to the edge of Balvanera, we were ravenous and mentally-prepared for something of questionable hygiene wrapped in a roll and doused with condiments.

Following a tip we had picked up online, we headed to the corner of Avenida Juan B. Justo and Avenida Santa Fe in Palermo [right next to the Palermo Subte stop (D line)], to a very sweaty looking snack bar for a pre-dinner choripán — a chori(zo) on bread (pan). Smaller than our pitifully-sized Brooklyn apartment and decorated with aging posters of scantily-clad beer models, our senses immediately told us that this cafe was exactly the kind of place that would deliver the equal measures of delicious, greasy victuals and stinging doses of the raging squitters we were looking for. [Happily, only the former arrived.]

Your typical sausage and roll combination features a roll that follows the dimensions of the sausage: long and narrow. However, one of the many things I immediately liked about choripáns and morcipáns is that they invert this absolutist relationship on its head. The sausage is split down the center, seared on both “faces” a la plancha and, dripping with bright orange fat, is placed inside a rectangular hunk of French-style bread. Not only is it texturally superior to its flimsy American counterpart, but its increased surface area and the greater density of the bread, make it a far better designed sandwich than the hot dog. As, enclosed in a larger roll, your choice of condiments — in this case, mayonnaise, “golf sauce” (not unlike Russian/Thousand Island dressing), ketchup, mustard, and chimichurri — are less able to escape and damage shirt or shoes, as frequently happens when biting down on the open-topped frankfurter.

Unfortunately, once you go choripán, you can never go back, and their absence from my everyday street food scene has become a source of extreme frustration now that I’m back in New York. Passing-by vendors of the humble hot dog several times a day, I can’t help sneer a little at their meagre offerings of limp weiner and rubbery potato roll, and I mutter to myself that the magnificent, spicy, chewy choripán is a shining light compared to their ghostly reflections.

Happily, choripáns and morcipáns are easy and fun to make in the comfort of your own home and make a great alternative to the unimaginative backyard barbecue staples of weiners and burgers. Perhaps unsurprisingly, we couldn’t find Argentine-style chorizo in Brooklyn, but the easy to find, and similarly fresh and soft Colombian and Mexican varieties make worthy replacements, even if they are longer and slimmer than their Argentina counterparts. This past weekend, humming “the choripán man, the choripán man’s really got it going on…” inanely to ourselves, we mixed-up a tangy chimichurri, grilled ourselves some chorizo, and enjoyed a taste of Buenos Aires with a cold beer, even if we had to imagine the warm weather and palm trees.

Although the cuisine of both Buenos Aires and Montevideo, Uruguay, is delicious, it’s much more varied than most people may believe.  But, boy, one thing is true – they love, love, love, love, love their beef.  We ate beef eight days out of the ten we were there and learned so much about all the various cuts of beef served.  Needless to say, we’ll be eating salads for the next few weeks.  Activia is now our friend for the next two weeks, or at least until our digestive track is back on track.

We’re just off the plane, so before we get settled back into post-vacation life again, we need to make a note of some things we learned about on our trip. Everyone knows that Argentina is famous for its amazing beef, but you might not know that they usually cook it about medium-well to well-done. Some restaurants will ask you how you want it cooked but, for the most part, it comes they way they cook it. Even well done, the meat is still remarkably flavorful and moist. 

Another important thing to remember if planning a trip to BA is that dogs are everywhere… everywhere! They do not require that they are leashed-up and, often, you’ll wonder how runaway dog looks so well fed. Then you notice his owner 2 blocks away. Along with the freedom dogs feel in the city comes the freedom for them to poo wherever and whenever they want. Dog shit is everywhere… everywhere! No lie.

We started playing “poop watch” so that one of us could walk down the street for a few minutes without constantly staring at the ground.  If you go, be prepared to be on poop watch too.

Finally, Porteños are extremely polite, pleasant, kind, funny, cool, social and pretty much all-around awesome. They almost never let us speak English (which we loved because it stretches us) and were never condescending when we messed up a phrase or two in our pidgin Spanish. Their accent is difficult understand at first if you are used to the way Spanish is spoken here in the States or in Spain. They often lose (or aspirate, as it’s known) the “s” (i.e.: “despues” becomes “deh-puess”) and the double “L” is pronounced with a slightly slurring “J” (i.e.: parilla sounds like pa-ri-ja and molleja, Spanish for sweetbreads, sounds like mo-jea-ha).  When speaking fast it can be hard to keep up!

We have so much to write about our trip to Uruguay. We spent three nights in the capital and largest city in the country, Montevideo, which really is an amazing, and incredibly underrated, place. We also rented a car and headed into Uruguayan wine country only about 20 miles outside of the city. It’s a little known fact that Uruguay is the only place that produces the Tannat grape variety besides Southwest France. I think we’ll become ambassadors of tourism to Uruguay because we were blown away by the beauty of the country and the kindness of the people. Much, much more to come on that.

So, thanks for sticking with us during our hiatus. We’re feel much better now – well-rested, way too well-fed(!), and totally revved up for some spring cooking. Today, we’ll leave you with a delicious (and timely) spring recipe for soft shell crabs – they are just beginning to be in season now, so get your bums down to your fish monger and demands them! If this recipe isn’t for you, check out a few of the others we have created in the past include Soft Shells in Butter and Garlic and Soft Shell Sandwich with Red Pepper Aioli.

CORNMEAL CRUSTED SOFT SHELL CRAB PO’BOYS (serves 2 to4)

• 1 fresh french baguette – 12 inches long
• 3 to 4 soft shell crabs (depending on size)
• 1 cup of flour
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 1 cup cornmeal
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon pepper
• 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
• Garnish and Toppings: sliced tomatoes, sliced pickle, lettuce, creole mustard (see step #4 below for recipe) and mayonnaise
• enough corn or veggie oil to deep fry
• lemon

What to do:

1. Pat your crabs dry with a towel.  In one bowl, mix the flour with the salt, pepper, cayenne, onion and garlic powder.  In a separate bowl, beat the eggs and add a tablespoon of milk or water to thin out.  In one other bowl, add the cornmeal.
2. In a pot, add enough vegetable or corn oil to deep fry and heat up to temperature.
3. Meanwhile, dip each soft shell first in the flour, then in the egg and finally in the cornmeal.  Set aside until ready to fry.
4. Make the creole mustard if you don’t have any handy. Not sure if theis is authentic, but I mixed dijon mustard with a few dashes of worcestershire and some hot sauce to taste.
5. When oil is hot enough, fry each breaded soft shell until golden brown – turn over if necessary to ensure even frying.  Should take about 2 to 3 minutes.  Allow to drain on some papertowels and sprinkle with a bit more salt and a squeeze of lemon.
6. Slice your baguette and on one side, spread the creole mustard and on the other side, spread the mayo. Add the soft shells and top with shredded lettuce, sliced tomato and pickles.
7. Enjoy with a cold beer.

This meal took about 15 minutes, but that’s only because we had about 15 peppers which had been grilled the weekend before for a bachelorette party (aka “hen do” in other parts) my sister threw for a friend of hers down at the shore. We tried to stay out of their way, but with no male stripper for me to corrupt, I felt no need to be in the ‘thick of things’. What I did love was the variety of penis paraphernalia. Nothing screams “bachelorette party” like penis-shaped straws, penis whistles, a penis-shaped chip tray, penis-shaped pez-on-a-necklace (ohhh the fun… and the taste!) and phallic-shaped skewers of grilled chicken and peppers for the girl’s to dine on before their boozy night out. Fortunately for us, the friend who brought the ingredients for the skewers must’ve thought the party was bigger, because she brought about 4 huge ziplock bags filled with marinating red, green, yellow and orange peppers. They barely used any, so we skewered the rest of them, grilled them up and took them back to Brooklyn with us. So, there we sit a day later with a few leftover garlic-butter soft-shells, a few bags of grilled peppers (thanks, Jackie!) and a bunch of penis-straws. What to do? First, taunt husband with penis straw. Check. Next, put penis straw under husband’s pillow. Check. Finally, get rid of all those pounds of grilled peppers by making some pepper aioli, reheat those crabs and grill some delicious fresh rolls. Check!

***Thanks to bachelorette.com for the use of these friggin awesome pictures of their “Pecker Party Plates” and “Pecker Party Straws”. Perhaps you’d like to visit them to order a “Mid-sized Penis Cake Pan” for your next Daring Bakers competition? ***

If you don’t have the soft-shells, you can so get creative with this meal. Grill some salmon, fry some white fish dipped in batter or herbed flour, grill chicken or pork, maybe even throw some ground lamb burgers on the bun instead. This pepper aioli was so unbelievably delicious and versatile, we found ways to use it the rest of the week. So bring out your inner bachelorette (even you guys….work it), blow on your penis-shaped whistles and chomp into a penis-shaped soft-shell sandwich (or your topping of choice) with pepper aioli.

SOFT-SHELL CRAB SANDWICHES ON BUTTERED GRILLED ROLL WITH PEPPER AIOLI AND CAPERS

Ingredients:

• 2 large soft-shell crabs (or other topping of your choice – battered and fried white fish, grilled or sauteed salmon, lamb burger, fried calamari, etc… use your imagination!)
• some shredded savoy or napa cabbage
• 2 tablespoons of capers
• For the aioli (feel free to use our roasted garlic aioli instead):
  • blender or food processor

  

  • 1 cup of either roasted or grilled red, orange and/or yellow peppers (make sure they have been cooled and try to remove some of the skin if possible if it’s been charred)
  • 1 egg yolk (fresh eggs and organic, if possible, are best here)
  • 1 clove garlic (for a less strong flavor, roast the garlic first)
  • 1 teaspoon (or a few shakes) of hot sauce
  • 1 tablespoon paprika
  • Optional: 1 tablespoon of curry powder
  • Optional: 1 tablespoon of chipotle powder
  • extra virgin olive oil (have at least one cup handy)
  • juice of 1/2 a lemon (or more to taste)
  • salt to taste

What to do:

1. Place all of your ingredients except the olive oil, lemon and salt into your blender or food processor and blitz or pulse till smooth. You may have to scrape the sides a few times in order to get everything pureed.
2. With the lid on, slowly stream in your olive oil as you keep the blender/food processor on constant puree and allow the aioli to emulsify (meaning mix together to form a thicker puree). You may not need to use the whole cup of olive oil. When you notice it getting emulsified, stop and taste for consistency and flavor. Keep adding more oil if you like it very thick.
3. Squeeze in some lemon and a pinch of salt, whizz it up again and taste to make sure seasoning is to your liking.
4. Meanwhile, heat up your frying pan with a bit of olive oil and a tablespoon of butter and allow to melt. Cut your rolls in half and place both halves face down and allow to crisp up a bit. After they have toasted a bit, remove from pan and place on the side.
5. With the remaining oil and butter in your pan, reheat your soft-shells by sauteing them again. After 2 or 3 minutes, flip them to cook on the other side.
6. Assemble your sandwiches by placing the softshell on the bottom of the bun followed by the cabbage and a drizzle of olive oil, a pinch of salt and pepper and a squeeze of lemon. Top with the aioli and capers and enjoy!

Check out some other posts you may enjoy:

• AUTHENTIC CARNE ASADA TACOS
• FUSILLI WITH SALSA DI NOCI AND MUSHROOMS (WALNUT PESTO)
• PERFECT BROCCOLI DI RAPE/RAPINI
• Knowing Your Tagliatelle from Your Tagliolini
• Does Hollywood HATE Food?

A few summers ago we were very fortunate to spend a long vacation traveling through northern Spain and southwestern France. It was our first real vacation alone since Amy and I had met, and was especially well-deserved because we had spent the previous 12 months going through the traumatic process of immigrating me to the United States and all the crap that goes along with moving to a new country and finding gainful employment. Even now, after ten or more trips overseas in the interim, we still look back on that wonderful trip with great nostalgia. In fact, so formative was it for us and our relationship together, that we might not be so passionate about food (or even have this blog) were it not for having driven those rural highways and byways eating and drinking our way through the small towns of Spain and France. So this post and podcast are a sort of belated paen to the mental tranquility we rediscovered on that trip.

As we planned it, we read-up on destinations en route from Barcelona to Bilbao and decided that Carcassonne should be amongst them. Quite apart from its culinary pedigree of being one of the three towns in that part of France which lay claim to having been the birthplace of the famous pork and bean dish cassoulet, it also, reputedly, has the best Bastille Day firework display anywhere in the country outside Paris. Judge for yourself in the video below.

Bastille Day or Fête de la Fédération (July 14th), is the French equivalent of the American Independence Day, and marks the storming and fall of the Bastille (Paris’ central prison where French political prisoners and fictional characters, including Dumas’ The Man In the Iron Mask were imprisoned) during the French Revolution that signified the ‘birth of the modern French nation’. It’s the biggest national holiday in France with celebrations and demonstrations of fidelity to La Patrimonie all over the country.

However, like many national holidays around the world, in spite of the ostensible patriotism of the day, good food, amazing fireworks and fun, drunk times are the thing that most people focus on. So, to line our stomachs before a night of drinking wine out of the bottle on the street (like everyone else), we, almost like Moses in the wilderness, followed the pillar of smoke towards the heady smell of grilled meat. There we found a lined, toothless, Algerian man, squinting against the smoke and spitting fat of his blackened grill, cooking huge merguez sausages (a spicy North African sausage made with beef or lamb) over hot coals. In exchange for a couple of euros, he nestled a couple of these sausages snugly into a crusty baguette alongside a load of salty, golden french fries, and smeared the whole thing with dijon mustard and ketchup. That’s what I call street food!

The sandwich is exactly what you’d imagine, and after a couple of drinks, it’s even better. The spiciness of the merguez along with the salty, crispy french fries, well, it just doesn’t get any better. We’re not actually going to post a recipe for this one, only a quick pictorial step-by-step below – you’ll have to listen to the podcast for a detailed how to – but anyone with half a brain (and we firmly believe our readers are in possession of somewhat more than that) should be able to make their own sandwich de merguez with ease. As you can see from the photos, we added some fried leeks as a topping in what can only be described as a petty bourgeois touch, which the French revolutionaries of old would certainly have disproved of, but that’s freedom for you, right? In a similarly middle-class stylie (or sans culottes for those of you who’ve fought your way through Baudelaire’s Paris Spleen), we attempted to make our own version of a harissa sauce, combining ketchup, 1 clove of roasted garlic, 1 fire-roasted habanero (yes, the sauce was a f***in’ wildman), and a pinch or less of ground coriander, cumin, mustard powder, black pepper and kosher salt in a food processor, but you could use dijon mustard and ketchup as your condiments, as we did that hallowed night in Carcassonne. Enjoy the sandwich whenever you like, but why not give it a try during the next national holiday wherever you are. After all, you don’t have to be French to appreciate spicy sausages and fries in a crusty roll!

Thanks to Zach at Serious Eats for featuring this sandwich in his weekly Serious Sandwiches column. THANK YOU!

SANDWICH DE MERGUEZ – A STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE

1. Grill some merguez sausages on an indoor or outdoor grill.

2. Thinly slice some leeks.

3. Toss thinly sliced leeks in 2 tablespoons of flour PLUS 2 tablespoons cornstarch and fry in some veggie oil for about 1 minute.

4. Thinly slice 2 or 3 potatoes.

5. Heat up some vegetable oil and double fry your thin-sliced potatoes until golden brown. Allow to drain on some paper towels and sprinkle with salt.

6. In a fresh baguette, brush some dijon and spicy ketchup on each side of the bread. Add your grilled sausages, nestle some french fries between the sausages and the bread and then top with some fried leeks. ENJOY and feel free to keep dipping sandwich in some more mustard and ketchup.

Basically, in a “new” commercial for Wendy’s (you know Wendy’s, right? It’s a fast food joint) they try to tell us that “it’s waaaaaay better than fast food, it’s Wendy’s”. Do they think we’re all that much of a bunch of idiots? This is the most ridiculous form of advertising I’ve ever seen. If it works, I’ll believe that there’s nothing advertising and marketing can’t do. Check it out here:

But, I think the part of the commercial I like the best was the quote:

“You know what they say, if you don’t know what it is, don’t eat it!” – is there anything you’ve ever eaten before you knew what it was?

Who ARE these people!? Since when is this a horrible thing to do? I mean, check out my post on my years eating the Philadelphia breakfast favorite, scrapple and pork roll. I didn’t actually know what it was, but I still ate it! In fact, how can you try new foods if you know what everything is? Does this commercial make you as irritated as me?

SEE OTHER INTERESTING POSTS RELATED TO THIS ONE:

• European Union to Stop Junk Food Ads – Why Not America?
• Free Lunch for Inner-City Kids – If It’s Free Does It Have To Be Crap?

Regular readers will remember the vigorous back-tracking done in the recent post In Defence of Sandwiches when excuses had to be made for having seemed to have been demeaning towards the humble sandwich. Well, friends, here’s some more hand-held, lunchable flip-flopping for you, I’m writing today about an excellent sandwich I made for lunch and which sat in my backpack, sweating away under the hot sun for half a day before being enjoyed. I normally mock such soggy sandwiches and compare them unfavorable to my delicious leftovers, but this was an extraordinary sandwich, and one that provided a gourmet experience not at the desk, as is my usual lunching spot, but on a rock in the hills of upstate New York.

Last weekend, Amy and I were hiking in Sam’s Point Preserve, close to the one-horse town that is Cragsmoor, NY, and we had decided to take a picnic with us as a way of economizing, having already splurged on dinner the previous night. After two hours on the trail, we sat down to lunch. Pulling the foil-wrapped bufala mozzarella, rocket (wild arugula) and pesto topped Italian bread roll from my bag, I was happy to see that it hadn’t wilted completely, and the foil had kept it from overheating. We’d even brought extra pesto along with us in a small plastic pot, so were able to use it like a condiment, dipping our sandwiches in for an extra garlicky-basilico tang. All extremely delicious and made all the more enjoyable by a beautiful view over the surrounding hills clothed with the yellows, oranges and reds of fall.

I raise this sandwich not just as an example of how to make an ordinary picnic slightly less ordinary, but also as an example (see image) of a sandwich that is not over-stuffed with fillings whose success relies on the careful balance of bread, condiment and just two high-quality fillings.

Another recent example of a successful, but simple, sandwich is the paté and cornichon sandwich I made for lunch the other day. Our first order from Fresh Direct was filled with “luxury and gourmet” products we wouldn’t normally buy, and for some reason buying things online made it much easier to swallow the $12 for a 1/4lb of jamon serrano.

Also in that order was a thick slab of country pork paté (literally) peppered with whole black peppercorns and surrounded by a generous layer of fat. Having bought some wholewheat Portuguese rolls, some amazingly cheap wild arugula and a jar of cornichons (baby gherkin pickles) we had the makings of a fantastic sandwich. Add a little smooth Dijon mustard, and you’ve got what the French might call “un sandwich de chasseur” or hunters’ sandwich. Fantastically simple, hearty and delicious, with the right blend of meaty fattiness, crunchy pickles, sharp mustard and peppery tang of the arugula.

The great thing about sandwiches is that you can put virtually anything between bread and that a great sandwich doesn’t have to have thirty-six slices of roast beef crammed into it. I often reminisce about a roll with 2 slices of the most fantastic jamon iberico that I had for breakfast in Barcelona train station a few years ago. Do you have a great sandwich memory or a killer sandwich“recipe” / combo that you’d like to share? What’s you favorite sandwich? And what’s the best accompaniment to it? Potato chips (crisps), fries (chips), salad, condiment/s? Let us know.

Before I say anything more, I should make it clear that I had never been to the famous San Gennaro festival that is running through this weekend in Manhattan’s Little Italy before Wednesday night, and that during our visit, my cellphone was thieved, perhaps leaving an extra special bad taste in my mouth. I’ll also make it clear that we spent three weeks in Italy this summer – though we did not visit Naples or any of southern Italy – and we had an amazing time and feel pretty well-informed about mainstream modern Italian culture. My wife is also a proud third-generation Italian-American from Philadelphia, so I’m also pretty well-versed in East Coast Italian-American culture. So, that said, allow me, if you will, to tell you why I didn’t find the much-heralded San Gennaro festival such a great cultural experience after all.

The sausage and peppers sandwich we ate was good – too much onion, and not enough sausage and peppers, but good bread and basically, very tasty. I’m blaming the lack of peppers and sausage on the generally parsimonius nature of street vendors, but I was pleased to be served by beefy looking Italian-Americans with a characteristic gruffness that I enjoy. This, I thought, is what I came for – something authentically Italian-American – a kind of balls-out, overblown street food-fair where everybody talks with their mouths full and with grease on their chins. I wasn’t expecting anything authentically Italian because I know that wherever immigrants have settled across the world their attempts to recreate aspects of their former lives and homes are reminscent but never exactly alike the old country and I know this from personal experience. However much I think Brooklyn is redolent of certain Victorian neighborhoods in England, it’s always going to be Brooklyn and not Fulham or Highgate. But I was enthused by the food, the sheer number of zeppole and cannoli stands was impressive, and the smell of frying onions and sausage filled the air, even if for $6 I had expected more than one small piece of sausage. The crowds were mightily impressive too – I had expected it to be quiet on a Wednesday evening – but it was busy enough that it made me glad not to have come on a weekend when it would have been horrific with kids dropping ice creams everywhere and swarms of teenagers roving around in intimidating mobs.

But here’s the kicker, and watch out readers who read last week’s post on the Italian strike over pasta, you may find what follows peculiar, or at least at odds with my self-proclaimed admiration for the upkeepers of tradition. You see, what bothered me about San Gennaro, apart from the depressing chintzy sideshows that charged $5/dart and then gave away the world’s most awful teddy bear prizes, was a general feeling of decay that pervaded the festival. Not only were all the people working the stands kind of haggard and down-on-their-luck looking, but Little Italy itself is depressing because it’s a neighborhood with absolutely none of the vibrancy it is famous for. A few red-sauce Italian restaurants and round-bellied people on street corners going “ay, gabagool!” to each other does not make a neighborhood. It’s become a kind of film-set or theme park, with nothing really of substance remaining, and holding a festival for the patron saint of Naples in a neighborhood which is predominantly Chinese is even stranger than there being Ecuadorian food vendors selling mozzarepas and Colombians touting flame-grilled steaks.

Those of you who watched the final series of the Sopranos (and advance apologies to those who haven’t seen it yet for ruining at least one episode) will know that there is an ongoing war between the New Jersey and New York mobs, and that the New York mob are often pictured in their restaurants in Little Italy. There is one very telling scene in which one of the New York mob gets whacked while his companion is left untouched. The companion then starts hurriedly walking away from the scene through crowds of people. The scene closes with this guy looking frantic as a tour bus passes him with the guide saying something like, “to your left is Little Italy. It used to cover 30 blocks but is now little more than one street, three blocks in length, having been swallowed up by neighboring Chinatown.”

The point that scene made to me is one of demographics. Italian immigrants and their descendants are still present in great numbers throughout the north-east, but are being overtaken in their traditional neighborhoods by newer and more numerous groups like the Chinese and various Latino populations. This is exactly what I saw at San Gennaro – the last gasp of a once-great and homogenous group of immigrants – and it was depressing. I have deep respect for people who keep traditions alive but my San Gennaro experience left me with the impression that it was only the tradition that was left and none of the substance, particularly when the woman selling “I love guidos” t-shirts turned out to be Canadian and our sausage and peppers vendor was from New Jersey.

But what do you think? Am I unfairly maligning a strong and proud tradition that has a real future in New York City, or do you think New York’s Italian traditions are dying out? Before you answer you might consider reading this recent article in the New York Times.

CHECK OUT SOME OTHER POSTS RELATED TO THIS ONE:

• San Gennaro Festival, Little Italy, NYC – Ain’t What it Used to Be (Girl’s Version)
• FETTUCCINE FRA’DIAVOLO WITH CRAB AND SHRIMP
• FRITO MISTO DI MARE (FRIED MIXED SEAFOOD AND VEGGIES)
• Striking Over Pasta?
• PERFECT BROCCOLI DI RAPE/RAPINI
• SAUSAGE AND PEPPER SANDWICHES
• In Defence of Sandwiches (White House Subs, Atlantic City)

Now that you have the background of the event I can tell you a bit about my experience. The first time I went 5 years ago it was basically the same at it was 2 days ago – a genuine cheese-fest. I felt like I was walking down the boardwalk in Wildwood, NJ! But, I later learned I should have felt like I was walking down the boardwalk in Sleezeside Seaside Heights, NJ which, if you don’t know, is basically a mirror image of the Wildwood boardwalk. The reason for this, we were told, is that many of the vendors at the festival also own stores in Sleezeside. Just to paint a picture for you, the festival (and the boardwalk) is a nice mix of iron-on t-shirt shops (see pics), pizza/zeppoli restaurants, crappy, ‘disposable’ clothing shops and old-school arcades where you can attempt to win an ugly, highly flammable stuffed animal. In fact, within the first 2 minutes walking through the festival, Jonny was swindled by a woman manning a game booth who just kept handing him darts to throw and then told him his ‘game’ cost $35… right.

The one thing that people get excited for at the San Gennaro festival is the food – mainly the Sausage and Peppers. My grandmom made her sausage and peppers different from the ones at the festival which are just grilled with some oil and put in a nice hero roll (Grandma’s recipe to follow). The Italian sausage was delish and spicy but the guys working the grill were a bit shy on the peppers (in fact there were barely any left to give us). The other thing that was interesting about the festival was the presence of Mexican vendors. Now, believe me, I LOVE Mexican food, but at an Italian festival? If you put mozzerella cheese in an arepa it doesn’t automatically make it an Italian treat… right? It would’ve made more sense if there were Chinese vendors because Little Italy in NYC is really no longer – it is more like Little Italy/Chinatown. The whole thing kind of left a strange taste in my mouth and made me wonder what the original San Gennaro festivals were like.

The night at San Gennaro ended on a bad note as we discovered that Jonny’s crappy ‘came-free-with-the-plan’ cell phone was stolen from the side of his bag. It used to be thought that the festival was actually planned by the mob so maybe it was inside job. I hope they can even resell that piece of sh$t for more than 2 bucks!

All in all it was an interesting night. Not quite what we were hoping for, but still a Northeastern cultural event that I probably will not be attending again.

In memory of my lovely grandma Anna Norcia, I offer you her recipe for Sausage and Peppers. Very different from the one at San Gennaro but, in my opinon, much more delicious. Note that the original really calls for no measurements of ingredients. You kind of have to ‘get your Italian-mama’ on and just keep tasting till it tastes good. I tried my best to give measurements, but I would still continue to taste to see if you think it needs more ‘ummmph’. Enjoy!

ANNA’S ‘MAKE A LOAD FOR THE GRADUATION PARTY’ SAUSAGE & PEPPERS

Ingredients:

• Spicy Italian Sausage Links (2 lbs.)
• white wine (maybe 1/2 cup?)
• pork gravy (of course homemade would be great, but store-bought will be fine)
• green and red peppers (3 peppers total)
• 2 onions – sliced
• 2-4 cloves garlic (to taste)
• olive oil
• good quality hoagie/hero/sub rolls

1. Slice your sausage into 1-inch pieces. Brown.
2. Slice up your peppers (into strips) and onions (into thick slices) and saute until semi-soft then add chopped garlic. Don’t let them get too soft cause you want them to have a bit of chew.
3. Add the pork gravy and the wine and simmer on low for about a half hour.
4. Add some salt and pepper to taste.
5. Using a slotted spoon, spoon the sausage/pepper/onions into a sliced hoagie roll. Top with some of the gravy. (Note: You can also eat this on top of rice or noodles if you prefer).

Maybe this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but it reminds me of home (as well as every family party we ever had!).

CHECK OUT SOME OTHER POSTS RELATED TO THIS:

• FETTUCCINE FRA’DIAVOLO WITH CRAB AND SHRIMP
• FRITO MISTO DI MARE (FRIED MIXED SEAFOOD AND VEGGIES)
• Striking Over Pasta?
• PERFECT BROCCOLI DI RAPE/RAPINI
• In Defence of Sandwiches (White House Subs, Atlantic City)