“Why are we driving all the way to Astoria for roast beef?
“Fat encased Tuesday’s Roast Beast” (aka Roast Beef). “It’s by far the best roast beef anywhere, you’ll see.”
Spoken with an aire of confidence I just couldn’t muster up enough hootspha to challenge, so I mumbled and grumbled under my breathe while peering out the window at the passing hope of my Shake Shack desires.
Cured meat hanging by rope from rafters coupled with white buckets of olives will thrill me till the day I take my dirt nap.
The ante upped – a whole display case of additional cured meats, specifically salami, whatever happened to salami anyway? I can’t recall anyone calling its name too top an egg or populate some bread with provolone, never happens, its eighty five percent of my sandwich meat & home noshing. Ham? Turkey? Gosh — they bore me too death.
Two little women advanced the slicing arm purposefully- – too and fro with reckless abandons, a seven or eight pound piece of that spoken gelatinously encased meat was getting wacked up thin, in the Hobart slicer along with thick cuts of mozzarella.
Every single customer order was the same as the modulation of chants “I’ll have what he’s having” grew like crickets playing telephone, chirping to the moon at night, anxiously growing and bellies groaning at the passed deli papered sandwiches reached their homes.
Opting for the gravy and mushrooms atop, the taste from bite one to bite last was something out of an edible musical, deliciously dramatic and delectably theatreacle. Overture to cadenza the magical taste had really grabbed me in a food transe that kept me under its uniquely wonderful spell for the remainder of the day and night.