It's Suenarita's birthday this weekend, and she ran away to make hot monkey love with her own personal Captain Von Trapp. So, while she's off drinking the bubbly (I recommend Chandon, under the circumstances -- always been partial to their Blanc de Noirs), I get to stay at home and drink and blog. Don't worry, I'm keeping the houseboy busy. :) Happy birthday, Suenarita!
I live in the best walking neighborhood in Los Angeles, filled with leafy streets, dotted with houses -- big and small--dating from the 1920's, and anchored by a retail street full of mom-and-pop stores where you always run into someone you know. I tell my East Coast friends that I live in a little slice of Brooklyn in the middle of L.A. They don't believe me, until they come to visit. Then they don't want to leave, because they can't resist the allure of both the neighborhood and the possibility of dining next to Don Johnson.
And although some uppity new landlord is busy raising the rents and driving out our local hardware and bagel stores (you know who you are and the neighborhood doesn't like you), we've still got our jewel of a wine store, which also happens to serve the best damn paninoteca-style sandwiches you've ever tasted.
I wandered over there this weekend and stood in line with the 20-something hipsters that seem to come out to crawl the sidewalks on the weekends. (How exactly do the guys make their hair stand up like that?) A mozzarella-and-tomato sandwich was calling my name, and there was no denying it. The line wasn't too bad, and besides, standing in the shop is an adventure. As you wait for your sandwich, you are literally sandwiched between a cold case full of Italian sausages and cheeses, and shelves brimming with little jars of stuff that you didn't know you needed, until you saw it. Truffled honey, anyone? Cilantro mayonaise? EVOO handmade by tiny Italian monks?
You can have your sandwich on ciabatta or baguette. You can have the special sauce or not. That's it for customization. Unbelievable, in the land of half-caf slightly cooled cappucinos with a twist of lemon and hold the foam. And the folks line up -- if you're not in line by noon, you get to wait 20 minutes just to order.
The best part, besides the sandwich, I mean? It's the stacks of value-priced wine in the front of the shop. Simon, the wine buyer, is a genius. Which means that my sandwich always costs roughly $35.
This week's contributor to sandwich inflation? Stephen Vincent 2005 Crimson. Produced in Sonoma county from a blend of Syrah (75%) and Cabernet Sauvignon (25%). Fruit forward, approachable, a little spicy on the backside. Costs about $10. Tasty with that sandwich. Probably good with a bagel, too.
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