![]() ![]() ![]() It was a scant mile down Route 46 away from my dad’s office, a few minutes in the other direction from my aunt’s salon and maybe a half hour from the family’s seat in Paterson, promising a constant stream of relatives activating the tin bell hanging on the front door. Plus, the deli became a home away from home for the extended Guerriero clan. I wouldn’t say that I could place specific “taste memories” (a term food people love to abuse) on that white pleather barstool, but spending that much time watching the kitchen guys expertly drape dried meats over sandwiches and listening to the whir of vertical slicers undoubtedly sparked an interest not only in this cuisine but in the business and the people devoted to it. I can remember heading directly from my sister’s kindergarten drop off to plant myself at the counter and devour some version of a menu mainstay adapted for the discriminating palate of a five year-old. More personally, Il Panino was a central piece of my obnoxiously Italian-American childhood and the beginning of my lifelong love of food. In a town that may have as many Italian delis as fire hydrants, serving #1’s* and pasta salads to construction workers and cops on their lunch break was admittedly not a revolutionary endeavor, but that’s no reason to discount its challenges.Īside from clearing the technical hurdles of opening a food service establishment in their relative youth, Uncle Chris and Marco managed to keep a business afloat, serve great food and build a space of community all at once, and that deserves recognition. Uncle Chris opened his first deli, Il Panino, with his business partner (and my cousin by some extension that escapes me), Marco, right across the highway from the current location, shortly after I was born. For those in a reasonable vicinity to Essex county, I’ll shamelessly plug its address: 397 US-46, Fairfield, NJ 07004. I’m talking about my uncle (and godfather) Chris’s Italian deli, Il Classico. It’s been a near-constant in my life and my family’s since before I was born, and every time I head back from campus, I truly don’t feel at home until I stop in for a taste of its familiar fare. Of all these spots - from classic diners serving sliders with still-crunchy onions and gooey cheese, pizzerias heating time-honored slices to palate-singeing temperatures and ramen shops that have been warming stomachs and hearts for decades - there’s one that I hold most dear. However, I also find myself longing for my favorite bites from mom-and-pop businesses all over North Jersey. As I’ve already written in this column, these cravings include the meals my mother and the other phenomenal home cooks in my family dish out to my clamoring cousins and me. In the weeks following spring break, I’ve been struck, yet again, by constant hankerings for the flavors of home. ![]()
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