I know the intersection of Christopher and Hudson Streets very, very well. From 1994 through 2011, it was an important part of my daily commute: Get off the train at Christopher, cross Hudson, and be on my merry way—and the reverse in the evening. Still, I’ve never really “hung out” a lot over there. Sure, I’ve had some mediocre slices at Rivoli Pizza II. (Without ever really thinking about where Rivoli I might be. Also, I once ran into my sophomore roommate—he of the eczema, disgusting girlfriend, and white-boy Afro—years after the fact and hundreds of miles away at Rivoli II. And they’re poised to move across the street to the now vacant tiramisu spot which for a long time before that was a bodega. OK, that’s all I know about Rivoli Pizza II.) And I’ve paid a few visits to the PATH Cafe, where my pal Niall Connolly hosts a Thursday-evening open mic. But generally my philosophy has been, I’m so close to home, let me just get to the other side of the river and do my eating over there. Plus the fact that I am a sweet piece of fresh meat over around Christopher.
And speaking of fresh meat: In 2000, the Sanpanino sandwich cafe opened on the east side of Hudson Street. It was always in my line of sight in the morning. But though I’m tremendously fond of sandwiches, I never gave the place much thought. I had to get to work; I was probably late anyway. And also, the sign kept making me think the place had something to do with San Pellegrino or some other Italian beverage.
This all changed when Wednesday became Meatball Sandwich Day. As I’ve indicated previously, I have a special interest in meatball sandwiches.
My first thought: I’d go to Sanpanino in the morning (and with my working hours, we really have to put air quotes around “morning”), pick up a sandwich, and have an early lunch at the office. I went in one day… but they didn’t have the meatballs ready at that hour. Obtaining the sandwich began to drive me just a little bonkers. The place was too far from the office—about a 20-minute walk—to make a normal lunchtime visit. But when would I be going past there at midday? Think, man! Some sort of half-day scenario? Morning at home. Or morning at work! Doctor’s appointment? No, my idiot doctor was nearly all the way to work anyway. The logistics were not Sanpanning out. Maybe a midday return from a business trip or something? (But I was still haunted by a previous trip-return failure to get the Wednesday special sandwich—sausage, red sauce, and fresh mozzarella—at Fiore’s. I’d rushed back from D.C. but they’d run out! Heartbreaking.) At some point—I forget the details, but it was a sunny day—I miraculously did get the opportunity. I went in, asked for a meatball sandwich, and… they didn’t make meatballs that Wednesday. I began to resign myself to the fact that I would never eat that sandwich.
I discussed the dilemma with Allan, my Meatball Rabbi. He revealed that he’d actually tried the Sanpanino sandwich—of course he had—and that it wasn’t particularly good! This was disillusioning news from an extremely trusted source. But I still couldn’t quite shake the urge; I had to sample it for myself.
Well, things change as you know, and I’m a freelancer now. I make my own schedule, and, well, sometimes things are a little on the light side in terms of busy-ness. Yesterday, for example. Because I am a classy dude, I decided to visit an art exhibit I’d been meaning to check out. The gallery was quite near the intersection of Christopher and Hudson. Yesterday, the first day I’d be able to go there, was coincidentally a Wednesday. Kismet! I could go around lunchtime, get the sandwich, and still have plenty of time to visit the gallery. The Life of Leisure truly suits me.
Still, I was a little gun-shy. What if, again, they didn’t have the sandwich today? I formulated a back-up plan: My last slice at Rivoli II’s current location. But what if Sanpanino did have the sandwich… and it wasn’t any good? (Allan does know his stuff.) And it’s a tiny place; was there any seating at all? Or even a narrow counter for me to stand at. (I am not fancy.) It was ridiculously cold outside, so eating on the street would be a total drag. Even so, I decided to throw caution to the 47-mph wind.
I got off the PATH train at the Christopher Street station and anxiously approached the intersection. There was a sandwich board outside Sanpanino—but was it announcing my sandwich? I squinted, having not brought my glasses with me (another source of grief, because weren’t there going to be video screens at the art show? And how far away would I be standing?). But still couldn’t make out the words. Until I got even closer, and then… sweet relief.
I entered; it smelled good inside. And there was a long bench with a few (phew!) tables. Sandwich was $8.50, plus $1.25 for mozzarella. I dug into my jeans pocket: A ten and three crumpled singles. (Did I mention I’m a freelancer?) OK, I could afford the cheese. When my sandwich was ready, I walked up to the register, told the fellow I’d be eating “here,” and waited for the total so I could calculate if a can of Coke was also in my budget. It was; now up to eleven and change; so no worries at all. I then eyed some cookies on the counter but didn’t even ask. Dropped the coins into the tip jar and happily sat down with my sandwich, Coke, and a magazine article about the first “rock-and-roll” Christmas in England. (OK, OK, I’m a little behind on my magazines.)
I slid the sandwich out of its white paper bag and began unwrapping the aluminum foil and wax paper. It was a good-looking sandwich. I picked up one half and took a bite.
It was delicious.
There was a spicy kick to the meat that I found immediately pleasing. Hooray for seasoning! The meat was obviously fresh. (For a once-a-week sandwich, it better be.) The crisp-on-the-outside bread was chewy; I like that. Sauce was robust and flavorful. I didn’t really notice the melted mozzarella—which was also clearly fresh—but how could I not get the cheese?
A nice sandwich can truly pick up the day. And of course the Holy Grail aspect made it all the more satisfying. I’d have to tell Allan to give Sanpanino one more chance.
Jack Silbert, curator