Mile 1441. That's amore.

The store bells jingle as I open the door to Corrado’s.   At 6:45 pm, I make it in the nick of time before closing.  I’ve just finished another 12 hour day of hiking; and I am ravenous.  Again.

Corrado’s Italian delicatessen in Stormville, New York is a worthy 0.2 miles off the Trail.  They allow free tenting on the grassy area behind the store.   And they welcome hikers to use their spicket to refill water bottles and their outlets to recharge phones.  

“You look like you’re hungry,” Joey says to me as he wipes down the counter.   With his gold chain, rolled up shirt sleeves and heavy-set eyes, Joey is a shorter and stouter version of Sylvester Stallone.

“I just cleaned the grill, but I think we can find you something to eat.   What looks good to you,” he says.

My cravings on the Trail vary with the vitamin and mineral deficit of the day.   Lately, I’m all about BLTs – the salt of the bacon combined with a summer ripe tomato, crisp lettuce and creamy mayonnaise have been putting me right again.    Joey’s BLT, though, has egg on it – a grill item.

“Mm.   I’m not going to be able to do that one.”   Then Joey pauses, thinking through more options. He snaps his fingers.  “On second thought, I can cook your egg in a skillet.  Yeah, that will work.”

“How about if I substitute the egg with some turkey.   Would that be easier?” I negotiate, trying to reciprocate Joey’s willingness to find a solution.  

“Done,” says Joey.   “How about some sharp cheddar and fresh avocado on it too.   That would be good.”

“Done,” I say.

“What kind of bread?  We have bagels and hoagie rolls.”

I’m not usually a bread person.   But Corrado’s feels like a place where bread is part of the experience.   I go for it.   “What do you recommend?”

“Do the hoagie.  We make both fresh every morning; but the hoagie is special.”

“Done.”

Joey gives a confident nod and immediately gets to work.  

He approaches the empty hoagie like an artist approaches a blank canvas.   He stares at it.   Then – inspired – he furiously whips into action, hands ablur and eyebrows furrowed.   A little of this, a little of that, pile on this, sprinkle on that.  

He stands back to evaluate his work.   He makes one adjustment.   And then….   His masterpiece is done.   He carefully wraps it in brown paper and accentuates with a toothpick - his final signature.

My mouth is watering.

Joey escorts me to the only table by the window and behind the shelves stuffed with almond biscotti and angel hair pasta and Mama Lucia’s homemade cream sauce.   He pulls out the chair for me; and he waves his arm.   I feel like royalty.   Hiker royalty.  

Finally, the anticipated moment arrives.   I take my first bite. 

The fresh softness of the bread is a perfect juxtaposition against the thick, crispy bacon.   The roundness of the cheese smooths out the sharpness of the bright red tomato.   And the smoked turkey adds a third dimension to this Italian opera that is happening in my mouth.  It’s sandwich nirvana.  

I savor every bite, lost in my own nirvana world.   And then I notice – as Joey is cleaning up the kitchen, he is singing,

“Whennnnnn

theeee

moon hits your eye

Like a big pizza pie

That’s amore”

I chuckle to myself.   Life’s greatest pleasure comes down to the simplicity of a sandwich. It doesn’t get any better than this.

I love New York.