Good Food Makes the Day

Personally, I find food to be the ultimate art form because it is so expressive. I have no issues with humanity's traditional modes of self-expression (painting, writing, sculpture, music, etc.) and do not wish to malign the masters of any form, but food, with its involvement of the five senses, possesses a power unparalleled in a world of chaos and the constant need for speed and electronic distraction. The aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies draws everyone, from the youngest child to the oldest grandparent, into the kitchen where they are being removed from the oven. The sight of a bright salad teeming with fresh vegetable and homemade dressing on the glossy page of a cooking magazine grabs the reader's attention and instills in him/her a strong hunger for the promise of spring displayed before them. The sound of homemade burgers sizzling on a charcoal grill on a raging summer afternoon elicits bittersweet memories of childhood barbecues and nights of carefree fun. The feel of a brie's velvety rind speaks of the prosperity that we all crave. The taste of a beef stew that has simmered for hours, its few simple ingredients melding into a complex palette that Shakespeare himself would be at a loss to describe, comforts anyone on a cold winter evening and enfolds him/her in the warmth of a fleece blanket. Food is the common denominator that joins humanity and represents so much more than the tradition behind its creation.

To me food has always been the way that I express my love for my family and friends. As such, I have come to appreciate the importance of good food in my life and to respect and admire those people who put so much effort into crafting the pasta dishes, stews, and pies of the world. I have eaten at many famous restaurants and tasted numerous delicious dishes made by home cooks and celebrity chefs, but the best thing I have ever tasted came in the form of an unassuming and deceptively simple sandwich from Salumi in Seattle, WA.

I am sure that many people have heard of Salumi (its owner is the father of one of America's most notable chefs: Mario Batali). Located on the outskirts of Seattle, Salumi is literally a "hole in the wall" with only a few seats clustered behind the restaurant's long and narrow counter. Though the appearance of this little gem is unassuming at best, the sandwiches, popular cured meats, and long line of customers belie its unadorned exterior. This no-nonsense attitude towards appearances proves that Salumi is truly all about the food.

The sandwich that changed my day, which had been proceeding perfectly apace with Seattle's chilly grey skies, was the porchetta. A combination of braised pork with carrots, fennel seeds, white wine (?), green bell peppers, and onions on a crusty baguette, its warmth and homemade taste perfectly embodied the Italian spirit of cooking and improved my mood as well. Not only did the sandwich's generous size fill my stomach, which was empty because I failed to eat breakfast, but the warmth of the braised pork and the unique complexity of taste acquired by its simple ingredients lifted my light sense of melancholy as hot chocolate drunk after a long afternoon in the snow leaves the child drinking it full of well-being. My porchetta sandwich proved to me that it is truly the little things in life that matter the most, for they can make the day.