Almost Italian

Among the many great attributes of the Italian Combo is its name. When you’re hungry, you really don’t want to quibble about the semantics of grinders vs. subs vs. heroes vs. hoagies, etc. This means that regardless of whether or not you’ve had the good fortune to have lived or eaten in the the Little Italys of Boston, Providence, Lower Manhattan, or Philadelphia, you need only one unambiguous word that will get you a great sandwich anywhere in the Almost Italian Universe.

Photo: Copyright © 2005, Skip Lombardi

We happen to love Italian Combos.

Nonetheless, because we also love words, we must digress… we find it strange that our own community in southeastern Connecticut, eight miles from Groton, home to one of the world’s largest submarine bases, call these sandwiches, ‘grinders.’ Honestly, if there’s any place on earth where they should be called ‘subs,’ it’s here at what cynical inhabitants call Ground Zero. Yet, we’ve no evidence to suggest the submarine sandwich was first crafted anywhere near Groton or its sibling city across the river, New London. And this, despite the fact that many local grocers, bakeries, and large supermarket chains sell ‘torpedo rolls.’

Our region is prone to giving up stretches of public roads for adoption—you know, a Realtor, a waste-management firm, or the Sons of Italy “adopt” a mile or two of asphalt, put up a placard proclaiming the adoption, and then keep the median strip looking nice. Meanwhile, our state legislature likes to honor significant departed citizens by dedicating bridges or roadside rest areas to people they think we might otherwise forget. We cite these examples to bolster our contention that if there were any claims that the submarine sandwich had something to do with this area, we’d see a sign on Interstate-95 pointing to, say, Carmine’s Grinder Grotto, Home of the Original Submarine Sandwich. And the sign would be at least as big as the billboard that directs lost tourists to the U.S.S. Nautilus Museum.

But we’ll set aside our other hunches, findings, and generally unsatisfied quest for the sandwich’s birthplace for another column. You’re hungry; you have a half-dozen hungry friends coming over for your annual Superbowl party. (Ok, we know—they’re coming to eat and watch the commercials, not to actually watch the game…)

The big question is— A) are you going to buy your sandwiches from a deli counter, or B) are you going to make them yourself?

Lest you automatically assume that buying your Italian Combos from the deli is the path of least resistance, let us fill you in.

There are certain rituals and protocols that must be observed in order to walk away from a deli with one of these prizes. Foremost among them, is the choice of add-ons.

The basic Italian Combo—known elsewhere in Connecticut as the Italian Cold-Cut Grinder—comes equipped with provolone cheese, Genoa salami, mortadella, boiled ham, sliced tomatoes, and shredded iceberg lettuce. Tonier grinder shops, places that might actually use proper Italian and call themselves salumerie may include more sophisticated cured meats—prosciutto or capocola, adding subtle enhancements to the basic sandwich.

No less important than meat are the add-ons. Think of this as the difference between a Crown Vic and a Mercury Grand Marquis—same chassis; it’s all about the options.

You might suppose it would be a simple matter to take the pizzeria posture and order “one with everything.” You must avoid this urge, as the error will reveal you to be a vulnerable neophyte. The people you’ll be facing over the deli counter are seasoned professionals. They’ve been trained by other seasoned professionals to deal with orders just like yours. If you know your options, when you choose to recite the names of those magic ingredients, the guys behind the counter will know you are worthy of admission to their fraternity.

“Pickles? Oil? Vinegar? Olive oil-and-Vinegar? Mayo?” they ask. And they’re only getting started! ‘Everything’ it turns out varies from shop to shop. “Oregano? Olives? Paramesan?” And you thought Starbucks’ options were hard to sort out? You may wish you’d ordered the meatball grinder with red-sauce after all; then, the most they could have asked would have been, “Large or small?”

But, coraggio! You now face the issue of ‘hots.’ With an attitude of smug challenge, the deli maestro throws out this choice. His attitude has little to do with whether or not you want hot peppers on your sandwich, it’s more in the sense of “Can you take it? Are you up to this work of art that I am about to hand you?”

But somehow you’ve survived the hazing to this point. You and your server have decided on onions and hot peppers. No thank you on the olives, and no sprinkling of oregano, but maybe a few grinds of black pepper. Hold the Parmesan…and definitely, no pickles. Again, thank you very much.

Now, you believe you’ve made it. Not quite…

You have to answer only one more question before you can actually eat. Poised, with his hand on a roll of butcher paper, your sandwich maker will ask, “For here or to go?”

But—because we’re cooks, we think that Option B is more fun and allows you to have fresh sandwiches as you need them, throughout the afternoon and evening. (It will also save you money to make them yourself.) And even if you are an innocent, no one will know, as you can assemble your Italian Combos without having to answer a single question.

Have all your condiments, shredded lettuce, sliced tomatoes, peppers, onions, sliced cheese and cold cuts ready before you on a broad work surface. Sharpen a large knife for slicing the loaves lengthwise and then for cutting the grinder into into fist-sized sandwiches. Get to work (all 15 minutes of it) and psyche yourself for compliments, because no matter which team you’re rooting for, the Italian Combo is a winner.

Italian Combo
Adapted from those made at Universal Market of Noank, Connecticut

Ingredients:

4 12-inch submarine rolls, split lengthwise, but not all the way through
Olive oil
1/2 Lb. Genoa salami, sliced
1/2 Lb. Mortadella, sliced
1/2 Lb. Boiled ham, sliced
1/3 Lb. Provolone, sliced
2 – 4 Large tomatoes, thinly sliced
1/2 Head iceberg lettuce, shredded
1 Medium onion, finely diced
Sliced, pickled hot cherry peppers, to taste

Other options:
Dried basil (apply with the olive oil)
Dried oregano (apply with the olive oil)
Roasted peppers (substitute for the cherry peppers)
Pepperoncini (substitute for or combine with the cherry peppers)

And if you must:
Dill pickles, diced (substitute for or combine with the onions)

Preparation:

Spread the submarine rolls open (like a book) and drizzle each side with olive oil.

Layer the Genoa, mortadella, ham, and provolone cheese equally on each roll. Distribute the tomato slices equally among the four rolls, then top with shredded lettuce and onions.

Carefully close the rolls and cut each one horizontally into two or four pieces.

Serves four to six.

And if you’re feeling a little more adventuresome and feel—as we do—that the food is more important than the game, here are a few other suggestions for your super Sunday feast.

Mufuletta
Antipasto platter
Cherry Pepper Shooters
Stimperata ( because you need vitamins)

For you or any of your pot-luck guests who would rather follow a recipe than figure out the point spread and odds on the Superbowl contenders:

Cudduruni
Lasagne
Clams Casino
Stromboli
Stuffed mushrooms

And of course—Tuscan Chicken Wings—as hyperbolically fabled as the Superbowl itself.

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