Preso dall'angoscia del panino

Sunk into panini despair

I saw her again this afternoon and my heart sank, her colleague was preoccupied with her mobile phone, and she was left to take my order. How hard can it be to make a panini?

A simple toasted Italian sandwich with fillings inside and keeping that together enough to cut it in half and wrap it up. So, for the third time, I was placing a basic order.

Cajun chicken, chorizo, jalapenos, and cheese in a ciabatta, cut through, lengthwise. I had the lowest expectations considering this could have the professional quality in the preparation and presentation she had twice failed to achieve.

Her accent belied my reticence to comment on what she was doing, I just felt it would all be lost in translation, and I did not want to make her feel bad even if I half hated the almost rubbish of their stated menu I was presented with.

A dimmer on panini

Usually, the first part of putting in the fillings survives any apparent mishap, but by the time she gets it into the tray to put in the oven, a slow train crash happens before your eyes. The interregnum between placement in the oven and retrieval at the beeps is a time to draw a deep breath hoping that clumsy would not overcome practice.

Fat chance! At retrieval, this basic heated thing that should have been held together by melted cheese is already falling apart as she lifts it to place on wrapping paper, I am surprised she is not already picking some of the chicken and chorizo off the floor.

A second stage of reparative preparation begins and the whole wrapping ends up like the ciabatta was running away from its fillings but forced to coexist. Utterly unbelievable!

You better believe it when I get my order which is everything it says it is on the board but nothing it appears to be. I am totally exasperated but find a way to get the thing into my mouth without ending up with bits in my hair or on my back.

The trials of panini

That was my thinking at lunchtime, and clumsy did happen as she could not find the tongs to put the tray in the oven and never deigned to ask her colleague where they might be. A dishcloth stood in for the tongs for placement and for retrieval. I thought it was totally wrecked that seagulls would come from the coast just for the chicken in my panini going for free like Saint Francis of Assisi loved to feed the birds of the field.

I had no hopes for a reprieve, I was stuck with what I was given and a bag of crisps for comfort until I opened the wrapping and to my surprise, I had a panini all together like it should have been presented and made by any of her other colleagues. Whether that was a fluke, I cannot tell, but if the panini trials are over, the tribulation of clumsy looms for the next time I venture down there.

The title translates to ‘Caught up in the anguish of the sandwich’ and that’s just Italian for starters.