Same mundane issue for me and my last 18 years living in Miami Beach: asking for prosciutto at the deli.
After the disheartening experience of ordering a simple coffee for the first time and ending up with a black see-through liquid resembling a bad bouillon broth sold for espresso, you know what I mean, I learned my lesson. If something so mechanic as some hot water coming out of a machine with little manpower needed can be a fail, what could the art of slicing prosciutto become?
Then.
The surprise was, back then, when even finding the prosciutto that sweet, melting, rose and white veined cured meat, was a treasure hunt. Then I found Epicure. They even have both, San Daniele and Parma. I am in. They have a dedicated server, or slicer if it didn’t sound creepy, donning a black uniform and a long white apron. They even use old fashioned waxed paper to wrap it. This feels home. Only detail, instead of being a common lunch-fix-when-you-don’t-have-time-to-cook it is a real commodity with its then ticket price of $36 per pound.
Now.
Even Publix, the Esselunga of Miami Beach, has prosciuttoparma. That’s how they call it, like ricottacheese, take it or leave it, go explain them there’s no need to say cheese. But then, I have to say, it’s the same as when we Italians call cream cheese, filadelfia. Touche’.
So you go to the commoners supermarket, like a Princess with your sapphire ring, and it’s un altro paio di maniche, another pair of sleeves. In fact, roll up your sleeves and be ready to act like a teacher explaining a equation, O.C.D. clear. Know that the server will hate you the moment you order il prosciutto di Parma. She knows you’ll have your eyes on her at all times. Evidently, you are not the only customer requesting the delicacy and, mostly, all the others must be as Italian as you don’t even imagine you are.
You begin with requesting ‘thin’ and they give you a sample of what could be perfect for a vitel tonnee or a carpaccio.
'Thank you but I need it thin' and after a back and forth of ‘the machine doesn’t do it thinner’ and ‘yes it does’ you grow frustrated and surrender to a mount of rippled rosy meat wrapped in a plastic bag to resemble the shapeless mess of your home cables.
So now you go home to a bunch of friends coming soon for a last minute aperitivo you have put together and it’s terror. You had the perfectly ripe orange melon that smells like garbage (a compliment as per my grandmother’s standards), i grissini Torino, heirloom tomatoes and a melting soft burrata, basil, a 24-month Parmigiano, cold prosecco and the piece de resistence is sitting on the counter. You look at it and not sure how to interpret it and if, for that matter, will you even present it.
A couple of apologizes, confessing it’s not really your fault and the rich aroma starts diffusing and reminiscing of so many al fresco dinners that the ugliness melts into perfection.
P.S. first time the pictures are not mine, but they looked so good and gorgeous on Pinterest that they even ‘taste’ better.
