Photo: pink_fish13

I return home from work (hungry), check the mailbox and find my newest issue of Gourmet magazine. There on the cover is a delicious grilled sandwich bulging with juicy ham, its bread toasted to crisp perfection. When I flip through the pages (which, by the way, reading a food mag is never a good idea to do when you are hungry) I am reminded of the sandwiches we used to get in Siena, Italy. After school my girlfriends and I would head to Bar Centrali for panini and cokes (okay, sometimes wine). When I first arrived in Italy I could barely speak a lick of Italian, but I quickly mastered the art of ordering my “panino.”

“Prosciutto crudo, fontini é fungi con salsa rosa é salsa verde, per favore!”

Raw cured ham, fontina cheese, mushrooms with red and green sauce grilled to perfection on a big fancy panini grill. I’m still not really sure what the red and green sauces were (tomato- and pesto-esque), but they were divine in their mystery. Best of all, I felt oh so Italian when I placed the order! I ate that same sandwich almost daily for six months straight. Whether I ate the same version because I was so in love with it (completely) or just scared to learn a new string of ingredients (probably) I’ll never quite know (or admit).

Oh, so young, so naive! If I were there again I’d be ordering a different panino each day. Choosing from amongst the cured meats and cheeses that hung over the bar.

I’ve never been able to reproduce that same panino, and I don’t think I actually want to, as the memory of that one great panino would somehow be sullied. I will always miss that sandwich, though not nearly as much as I miss the time spent with my wonderful girlfriends. Nothing comes close to either.

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