This week, Our Man Sietsema is on a muffuletta quest. The sandwich is a New Orleans classic—a roll piled high with cold cuts and slicked with olive relish—invented at the Central Grocery in 1906. It’s hard to find a good muffuletta outside NOLA, but that doesn’t stop Our Man’s intrepid quest.
He stops by Delta Grill and Bourbon Street, but finds both muffulettas lacking. At Dive Bar, though, the sandwich is perfect:
The cold cuts represented a slight reordering of the usual roster, featuring mortadella, Genoa salami, and something dark that tasted like pastrami. Dive Bar’s rendition ($10) was truly magnifíque, and a righteously oily olive salad provided ample lube.
Unfortunately, the atmosphere at Dive Bar is not as lovely as the sandwich. Our Man is not known for being squeamish, or needing nice silverware to have a good time. So if he’s a little put off by the surroundings, you know it’s bad.
Noting the fire-red walls and Boschian landscape of twisted bodies in various stages of drunkenness, my date quipped: “This looks like Hell.”
Boschian?! Well, how bad do you want a good muffuletta?