parm

My ex-kitchen landlord, Mike, has become a good friend. Cosmically, our birthdays are separated by one day and a year, and our marriages are one week apart. When you spend countless hours with someone in freezing winters, humid summers, experience flooded basements, junkies walking in wanting free samples, Department of Agriculture inspections and walk-in box failure, chances are you'll be friends for a long time. 

We met up for lunch at Parm, the American-Italiano, food you wish your nonna cooked this well, unstuffy sister restaurant to Torrisi Italian Specialties. Between gently puckering bites of giardiniera pickles, Buffalo chicken-style Asian-pickled cucumbers and marinated red peppers, we chatted about what we've been up to. Once our sandwiches came out - mine: a chicken cutlet with the perfect ratio of tomato sauce to fresh mozzarella on a pillowy Italian hero, with a crust so thin that it shattered under my teeth; Mike's: a firm yet yielding square of layered eggplant parmesan on a sweet Semolina roll - conversation halted for about 30 seconds. It started up again with enthusiastic ooos, mmms and exchanges of bites and smiles. Everything was right with the universe.

(Top image: eggplant parmesan on a roll; Slideshow: bar facing street, menu, Buffalo cucumbers, bar facing kitchen, kitchen - love the cookie sheet separating the fryer from stove, chicken parmesan on a hero, giardiniera pickles, coffee)