This is a wonderful time to live in America. Oh, I know there are naysayers that point to the economy collapsing, convinced we'll all be living soon in refrigerator boxes under the freeway overpass. (By the way, the one on 24th Street under the I-25 is mine so don't get any ideas.) Yes, there are Cassandras that say our national infrastructure is eroding and driving across a bridge nowadays is akin to juggling bottles of nitroglycerin. And it might be a little hard to ignore the scaremongers that are screeching that Luxembourg is just a couple of weeks away from getting nukes. All of this concerns me, of course, but then I realize that Americans have finally discovered salumi and I get a warm, fuzzy feeling for my fellow man that can't be overcome, yes, even if I hear that Adam Sandler is making another movie.
Salumi might be just a fancy way to say salami. But there's so much more to salumi then something you put on an Italian sub. I realized recently that my affection for salumi had barreled over the cliff of obsession when Mary pointed out that while reading an article on a new wine bar I didn't exclaim excitedly over the forty different wines offered by the glass, or the warm ambiance. Instead I was struck by an offhand reference to the fact that they served small plates with a selection of salumi and cheese (my other great passion). She thought it a mite excessive that I might want to go there right away even though it was in New York, and it was ten o'clock at night. And the worst blizzard in the last two weeks was raging.
During a visit to Seattle last year, we expressed considerable admiration for the meaty toppings on pies served at a temple to the pizzatorial arts called Pagliacci. We obviously so admired the pies (there may have been some singing of hosannas, some huzzahs, and maybe the penning of a paean or three) that my brother-in-law concluded that we might have formed a slight liking for cured tubular meat products. So he tracked down the maker, one Salumi Artisan Cured Meats of Seattle, and had a few varieties sent to us.
And they were wonderful! I took to lying awake at night till I heard the gentle rumbling of Mary's stentorian, albeit ladylike snores, and then sneaking out to the kitchen where I'd indulge in a little two a.m. sausage bacchanalia. Alas, all too soon the salumi was gone but I hungered for it still. Ever since, I've been as interested in finding places offering slices of garlicky porky goodness as I have in the past been with regards to cheese. We discovered a new artisanal pizza place nearby that also offered a selection of salumi. A recent visit to LA brought us to a trendy restaurant that served a variety of salumi small plates. It's only a matter of time till 7-Eleven starts selling imported French salumi from the Pyrenees. It'll be stocked next to the bins holding the nachos and the cheese dispenser.
You know, when I think about combining fine cheese with artisanal salumi and top it off with a cold, crisp lager there's nothing I think that this world could throw at me that I cannot handle. Except possibly a sequel to "The Waterboy".
