So I walk in and I wasn't immediately struck by the place. Small, an unremarkable deli case - just NOTHING. Until I looked a little closer at the deli case and saw a small pile of cut up cheese wheels. "What kind of cheese?" I asked. The guy was nice and told me all of the above - provolone, Italian Table...
So I asked if the provolone was strong and he told me he would give me a sample. He pulls it out and cuts me off a nice size slice. I bite into it and it immediately transports me back to Grandma Ida's kitchen table, in the south end of Hartford - circa 1965 - where all of us kids are sitting with Gram stuffing our little faces with - what do you think - a lunch of provolone cheese, spicy hard salami and homemade Italian bread.
I ordered half a pound. As he was cutting it, I had a brilliant idea and called out and asked if he could slice me a few pieces separately that I could snack on in the car. He responded "Sure!" When he came to the checkout, he said, "I cut you a few slices of Italian bread to eat with it also and here's a loaf at no charge also. I made the bread this morning".
(Of course, that cheat meal was SCREAMING my name. How can a girl refuse?)