October 25: Salumi

Jointly owned by husband and wife Brian D'Amato and Gina Batali, Salumi was co-founded by Gina's parents, Admandino and Marilyn Batalli, in 1999. Marilyn still makes gnocchi every Tuesday.

...Well, every Tuesday outside of tourist season. And not today, when Gina's big brother Mario (The Chew, Iron Chef America) was here for a book signing. So no gnocchi for me. I saw the sign about the signing on the way into work from King Street Station, but didn't think it would leave me gnocchi-less.

I was warned that the line is typically out the door, but it was manageable. The restaurant is in a thin hallway-like space, with a 10-person communal table and a small 2-person table in the back. Open 11:30-3:30 on weekdays only (and takeout only on Mondays), you have to step back to leave a space for people leaving as you're on the way in. But when I did...

"Hey, you're that blogger, right?" Two fellow Weyerhaeuser employees recognized me on their way out. I shook hands, and confirmed that yeah, that's me. I hope the counter staff didn't hear that, though, because I'd like to believe that they provide the same amazing level of service to everyone here.

I asked about the gnocchi: sorry, next Tuesday. Instead, I ordered the porchetta, described on the readerboard as "slow roasted pork, studded with fennel seeds, carrots, and celery [in] Guiseppe 'pocket' bread. Cheese is not recommended - it's already rich!" (emphasis in original). The woman behind the counter asked if I wanted it for here or to go. I said "for here", and she eyed the communal table. "I think you'll get a seat; they look like they're just leaving." I had my doubts, but she pulled out a plate, sliced a pocket in the Guiseppe bread (similar to ciabatta; I assume it's from the SODO Macrina bakery), and slathered up the inside with what looked like an olive oil and basil spread. In goes roasted onions and green peppers. In goes a lot of pulled pork. I order a meatball on the side; its red sauce just faintly glistens from the pork fat pushing its way to the top. She slices the pocketed sandwich in half.

"Here you go," she says, handing the plate and a couple of napkins over the counter. Just as she predicted, the guys at the end of the table are standing up, and the busser is quickly clearing their spots. At the register, Armandino points out that there's still a few signed copies of Mario's Big American Cookbook for sale. I decline, add a can of Diet Coke to the order (only 50¢!), and grab a seat at the table. I grab a fork from the communal silverware tray and dig in to the meatball.

As I sat down, I wondered how I would be able to write a post if there were flaws in the meal. I mean, I'm just this random guy; far be it from me to tell the family of an Iron Chef how to prepare food. Fortunately, it's not a concern. The meatball is one of the best I've had. I briefly think that perhaps I should have ordered the meatball sandwich, and when I scrape up the final bite of it with my fork, I'm a little sad that it's gone. A little bigger than a golf ball, it had none of the bitterness that some over-seasoned meatballs have. Near perfection.

I then tuck into the first half of the sandwich. The pork is scaldingly hot, but worth the pain. It's simple, meaty, messy, and a little greasy. The bread holds back the grease well, although some has trickled to the outside. The busser hands me three more napkins, observing "The one you have isn't going to be enough." A few of the veggies sneak out, and in a testament to how good they are, I chase them down with my fork.

The second half goes slower; I'm getting full. I finish up, lean back, use the last of the napkins, and leave a few onion and pepper chunks on the plate. The busser sits down with me, impressed. "So how was it?" Outstanding, and quite filling. "Yeah, I've only had the porchetta once in all my time here. You had a meatball, too. That's a lot of food." I mention that I'm not going to need dinner tonight. "Your wife is going to hate that." It happens a lot :-)

Salumi
309 3rd Avenue S.
Porchetta sandwich, meatball, Diet Coke, $15.72