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Strolling along the cobbled streets towards the water's edge
of Portofino's tiny harbor, my companion and I are accosted
by the strong scent of garlic. We stop dead in our tracks
and process this deluge of aroma. To our left stands a window,
decorated with hundreds of mini biscuits, cakes, tarts and
many other indescribable Italian delicacies. Intrigued and
now hungry, we allow the aroma to guide us to the tiny doorway.
A gentle soul with a toothy grin, the elderly gentleman welcomes
every one of us as we grace the door of his beloved deli,
a staple in the daily lives of the friendly people of this
quaint seaside town. He greets everyone with a nod and refers
to everyone by name. His personable demeanor is as inviting
as the full sprig of thyme that hangs loosely in the open
doorway.
Inside, above the counter, dangle a variety of meats of all
shapes, sizes and color. On the back wall are shelved a multitude
of loaves and breads, freshly baked that very morning. The
front counter is a veritable painter's palette, crammed with
golden paninis generously filled with spicy meats, creamy
yellow cheeses, and ripe vine tomatoes as red as the potted
poppies in the flower box outside. Fresh herbs are generously
cut from living basil and oregano plants and then sprinkled
onto the luncheon sandwiches, then drizzled in a rich and
natural olive oil.
We each order one panini and an Orangina to take with us.
While waiting in line to pay, we overhear the man laugh and
talk about his life in the deli he has owned and operated
for more than sixty years. He beats his chest hard and rolls
up a sleeve to reveal a tanned and flexed muscle on an aged
arm and proudly boasts that he is 91-years-old. With a scandalous
twinkle in his eye, he yells something I don't quite understand
with my limited grasp of the Italian language, and the crowd
of patrons erupts in a roar of familiar laughter. The two
women behind the counter roll their eyes and shake their heads
before yelling, "Prossima!" to the next customer,
waiting patiently for his turn to order.
With a wave of thanks, we depart with our tissue-wrapped
fare tucked safely under our arms and make our way up the
hillside to the old church ruins that overlook the Bay of
Portofino. We sit quietly on the wall and soak in the sunlit
view of the bay, watching the crisp white sailboats bobbing
on the water, while savoring our flavorful lunches. Warm olive
oil runs smoothly down my chin as I delve into the soft, salty
bread. The spicy meat leads a trail of heat to the back of
my throat so that I must quench the fire with my orange-flavored
drink. It is truly a satisfying lunch.
We finish, and begin the descent down the hillside, back
towards the town. As we pass by the deli, I smile and ponder
the effect this traditional man has had on the local people,
many of whom have never left the port of this little fishing
village and who have come to rely on the routine of his strength,
kindness and tasty Italian treats. I smile and shake my head
for I am aware of the effect he has had on me. And just as
the strong scent of garlic found us earlier, echoes of laughter
drift from within the open doors of the deli. |
Travel Writers: Paninis in Portofino by
Andrea Myshkowsky
