The deli counter always seems to be the social hotspot at the grocery store. This makes getting cold cuts a less than desirable experience for me, since I don’t usually like small talk or most other people. Sure, I try to make it clear that I’m opposed to unsolicited engagements when I’m in public, but people often miss or disregard subtle nonverbal cues like wearing my hat low, never making eye contact, or saying things like, “I don’t want to talk, get away from me.”
It’s not just the meat and cheese jockeys asking how thin you want them to slice your order (“Whatever you want is fine” I say, cementing my status as a man of the people) or how your day is going. Other customers try to mingle while we wait to be serviced, their faces revealing a sincere longing to connect. “Why aren’t they doing the numbers? It’s chaotic!” they say while I reread the same Facebook status update for the fourth time, hoping that they’ll move on. But they never do. Polite nods and forced smiles are all they’ll ever get from me, yet they persist. Also, why are they always coughing? Forget sample cheeses, give away lozenges.
I find the free samples irritating. Not the gesture, free food is always appreciated. It’s the communal plate. When I stare at the somewhat enticing pile, my creativity blooms and I do germaphobe calculus to deduce how many people have jabbed their fingers into the now-tainted goodness, ignoring the mini tongs. Always ignoring the mini tongs.
I don’t even trust the free meat offer from the people working the counter. Their hands are gloved, but mine have touched the cart with that top basket that is typically occupied by baby asses and produce. I’ve thought about Purelling while they stand there dangling a piece of roast beef in front of my face or asking them to just toss it into my mouth as though I were a seal, but it feels like it might awkward up the moment a touch.
Anyway, here’s a ranking of the best deli meats based on how willing I’d be to take a free sample with unwashed hands.
PART I. The Imperfect Circles
13. Chicken Roll 12. Liverwurst 11. Bologna
When you’re a kid, it can be hard to get a feel for when your family is struggling financially. Maybe a planned 10-day trip to Disney World turns into a weekend at Hershey Park or Christmas consists of a night before pick-em at Toys R’ Us with a hard cap. In hindsight, I realize the switch from roast beef to chicken roll when the rent was due constituted a clear sign that temporary austerity measures were in place. But at the time, I just assumed I was being punished.
Pressed and then formed into a tube before being sliced, chicken roll was a gritty-seeming abomination; an unholy alliance between meat and science. If you’re having trouble locating your own tortured chicken roll memory, however, don’t fret, it seems like it was more of a northeast regional thing. I suppose because the winters made us hearty and resilient. I’m not even certain that it’s still around (don’t locate it for me), though Weaver brought it back to select grocery stores in 2011 after they were driven to do so by “online inquiries and consumer phone calls.”
The mouth feel of liverwurst is similar to that of the chicken roll, but to be honest, it doesn’t taste horrific. What it is — liver bits and other such things — is what pushes this to the back of this list more than anything. Which is wildly unfair and hypocritical in that I’ve spent the last 30+ years regularly consuming chicken nuggets and hot dogs. So let’s not pretend that I haven’t eaten liver, pig anus, some bone dust, etc.
Bologna is in that same class. An amalgamation, processed into a smooth, perfect cylinder. It’s all sci-fi. I prefer my deli meat to have texture and marbling and it should look like meat or at least bring enough flavor to the game to make up for its unholy construction (more on that later). Because of all this, the chances are next to nothing that I’d let my deli tech toss a liverwurst disc into my gob like some kind of meat frisbee.
You may be developing an opinion of me as some kind of elitist based on these words, but as you’ll see, I have love for other meats of the proletariat. Moreso than I have for exotic choices like…
PART II. The Imports
10. Mortadella 9. Soppressata 8. Prosciutto 7. Pancetta
Nobody’s mom packed them a pancetta sandwich in fifth grade. These more exotic choices feel as good on the tongue as their names do rolling off of it, but they don’t feel like everyday options, just better versions of everyday options. Do you like bologna? Treat yourself to mortadella from time to time, it’s basically bologna with bits of fat and pistachio in it, to supply a richer flavor. Prosciutto is a thinner, aged, and seasoned member of the ham family.
These are all very good (assuming your grocery store has a good selection), but sometimes you need something a little… meatier.
PART III. The Staples
6. Corned Beef 5. Ham 4. Salami 3. Turkey 2. Roast Beef
A sandwich can be a thing of beauty, but often times, it’s utilitarian. And why does that seem like a bad word? We get so wrapped up in the pursuit of amazement that we forget how hard it is to get where we need to be without calamity or disappointment. Not being hungry or disgusted or bankrupt by your lunch — these are places we need to be and Virginia ham, honey turkey, and roast beef can get us all there.
There is majesty in the mundane. Your car may not have supple leather seats that warm your ass like the sun on a tropical nude beach, but you still hit the gas down an asphalt path at blistering speeds beside cackling maniacs and survive every time with only the hint of psychological scarring, don’t you? Show a little respect to your 2011 Hyundai Elantra. Here’s to the basic things, long may they… just sort of sit there as an option for when we can’t make something better happen.
INTERLUDE: A Moment To Talk About Bread, Toppings, Meat Volume, And Responsibility.
Presently, I’m off carbs so low net carb wraps are my reality and a reality without seeded rye or semolina bread is a grim one, indeed. It’s like wrapping cold cuts in a shmata. If you’re not trying to reduce by exiling joy and can still eat bread, do so. All of it. Any of it. Have a Portuguese roll, put some bologna on a bagel on a Portuguese roll. There are no rules here and part of that is because I am mercilessly judged when I lay out my ideal sandwich construction to someone taking my order.
Full disclosure: I don’t like toppings. Well, that’s not true. More meat is my favorite sandwich topping and occasionally I’ll be a little imp and get some peppers or some mustard. But usually, I just get a dry sandwich. (Lots of) Meat and bread, thankyabye. You’d think that would cause the people making the sandwiches to swoon, but no. They do not swoon at the simpler order (nor do they get it right). They judge. They emit a noise signaling shock. They are personally offended.
“Nothing?!”
I am defiant and robust in my response. Because you gotta be. They’re sandwich bullies and sheeple. Never be shamed into accepting societal sandwich norms. Never shirk from the responsibility that comes from having non-standard or “bad” food takes.
IV. The Favorite
1. Pastrami
For me, pastrami is without peer. It’s not just that I favor its taste over all others, it’s that it means the most to me because nostalgia is also a good sandwich topping.
I’ve written about this, at length, so there’s no need to repeat myself when it comes to expressing that connection but it starts with the Carnegie Deli (RIP) and sharing a joy with my dad. It’s also about the heart-quickening sight of a sandwich that’s the size of your head, which you curse yourself for not finishing (I assume).
There are cheaper brands that I’ll get from time to time when I feel like teasing myself (or when I’m instituting my own austerity measures), and then there’s the high-end choice, like Boar’s Head. But it’s still too lean. Good pastrami should glisten and it should feel like a guilty pleasure and a treat. Just like it did at the Carnegie Deli.
Even when I do get Boars Head, I don’t attempt to touch the sky with my stack. It’s a modest sandwich on rye, just a little taste of something that lifts me off my chair for a second, transporting me. That’s what a favorite is supposed to do, even when it’s a sliver of a thing that you’re going to be chasing after forever.
So yeah, I’d take a sample of pastrami. I’d even take it from an ungloved hand.
That’s all I have to say about deli meat. This was wholly subjective. Order whichever meats you want, just don’t try to tell me about it at the deli counter.
