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New York Deli State of Mind

I’m a New York Deli guy. Know this about me. I love walking into a deli, ordering a hero by contents and allowing the Deli artisans shape my crude request into sheer lunch-hour artistry. I can only hope that I make the poetry that is a New York sub tangible to you.
Waiting on the line as they carefully, expertly slice up the Boar’s Head Virginia Ham, letting you sample a symmetric paper thin slice. Nodding as they knowingly apply only a smear of mayo and an equal dab of pure honey mustard on the opposite loaf. Eagerly anticipating the meal as they load up your sandwich with Provolone or Swiss, Genoa Salami, smoked cracked peppermill turkey and layers of lettuce and tomatoes. In awe, sheer delectable awe, as they pour olive oil, balsamic vinegar, a dash of pepper and a dash of salt over it all, before wrapping it and slicing it for your lunching convenience. In ecstasy as you bit into the cornucopia of flavor that is a New York Sub.

Have I made it tangible? Have I made it real? Because when I left New York, I yearn for her Deli’s.

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