When I asked Sean how he wanted to celebrate his 32nd birthday, he had only one wish: to eat a salami sandwich in Little Italy.
Fortunately, we were staying with my friend Konner, who proved to be not only a generous host but a fearless leader in our quest to find the perfect sammie. Konner has lived in the city for over ten years, and has the remarkable skill of knowing how to get to multiple neighborhoods and destinations without even looking at her phone. (I, on the other hand, frequently get lost finding our car in the parking lot — and you’ve seen our car.)
Since we had the whole day to meet our sandwich destiny, we decided to walk to Little Italy from Konner’s house in Bernal Heights. The morning was misty and cool,and the fog — whose name, we learned, is Carl — hung low over the hills as we wandered the many-colored streets.
We meandered through the city, stopping occasionally for sustenance in bars and cafes. (These were few and far between, as you can imagine, but we made do.) We wandered in and out of bookstores and thrift shops, making a couple furry friends along the way.
We made it to Chinatown, where we kept passing half-dressed lion dancers who seemed to be late for something. By this time the weather was perfect, Carl having long ago disappeared in his afternoon retreat.
At long last, the moment came: we stepped into Alimento’s Market in Little Italy, stood for several stunned moments gaping at the menu board, then placed our orders. Sean saw his salami dream to fruition; I went for the veggie sandwich, which comes laden with roasted eggplants, artichoke hearts, avocado, and olive tapenade, and could, I am convinced, make the most zealous of carnivores rethink their life choices.
After that (well, that and an affogato — we’re in Little Italy, come on), it was all we could do to stumble into a cab. We all agreed that Sean’s birthday had been a success — so much so that we might just have to make it an annual thing.
Here’s to this guy. ❤
The Good Ship Watermelon 