The Italian deli is the greatest sensory show on this food earth, a wonderland of sights, sounds and especially smells. The pungent bite of sharp provolone, like moldy gym socks left out in the rain. Hunky slabs of imported prosciutto, mortadella and sopressata begging to be sliced. Loaves of crusty bread stacked neatly, invitingly, on a shelf.
The tomatoey tang of homemade lasagne and baked ziti. The acrid snap of broccoli rabe. On the shelves, pastas and peppers and olives and sodas and specialty items you've never heard of, much less sampled. Oh, and don't forget the garlic. There's enough of it in the air to ward off a coven of vampires.
