Nestled in the back of Hoboken (translation: you have to walk a bit further than Washington Street) is a tiny gem of an Italian deli that knows how to make a mean sandwich.
Having had enough of listening to a friend rave about his amazing food-gasmic experience at Fiore’s Deli, I decided to lace up and make the trek to 5th and Adams St. with a friend in tow. Not really knowing what to expect, we were confused when we walked in to find wall-to-wall Italian goods such as Baci, various pastas, canned tomatoes, olive oil, etc., but no chairs, nor menu—more of an Italian-American grocery store than anything else, and certainly nothing to indicate the ability to order a sandwich.
Either hearing us enter, or more likely sensing a great wave of confusion, a jovial middle aged man appeared from the back and stood behind the deli counter ready to help. Upon ascertaining that we were after the seemingly elusive sandwich, he was quick to offer a slice of one of Fiore’s cornerstones—their freshly made mozzarella or “mutz.”
The moment the cheese hit my mouth, the piece melted into a creamy explosion of delicate flavor that is only offered by freshness and a lack of refrigeration (a very good thing when it comes to mutz), and I knew the rich deliciousness had to be an integral part of my sandwich’s construction.
The man proceeded to point out the small piece of paper listing Fiore’s specials (one for each day of the week), and luckily, being a Thursday, the hot roast beef and gravy that my friend had raved about was the special.
The friend I had brought with me chose that, and I, always judging a deli by their prosciutto, went with an Italian. We had to pick our bread out of a glass case (after remarking on the freshness of the bread, I was informed it’s made one block up at Dom’s Bakery on Grand St.) and bring the loaf to the man who would build our masterpieces.
Having each opted for half a sandwich (a whole one could provide four meals for me, two for the average male), the man began slicing and piling on the delicious combination of meat and cheese. Upon completion, he asked if I would like roasted peppers and balsamic vinegar and oil—to which I of course assented (as a general rule this is a must) and then requested $7 of my friend and $8 of me (beware—no prices are listed, but all of the half sandwiches are priced around there and full are just double the price of their halves). Pulling out our cards, we were quickly told cash is the only acceptable form of payment, and thus we scrounged around in our pockets and were lucky enough to come up with the proper amount.
With nowhere to sit, we took the sandwiches back to her apartment and dug in. I bit into the sandwich, my teeth first hitting the perfectly crunchy crust of the bread, then the soft fleshy innards and finally the many layers of perfectly ratioed meats (including the thinly sliced and tender prosciutto) and mutz. Oil and vinegar dripping down my chin and forearms and gravy dripping down my friend’s, happily chomping away and enjoying the deliciously balanced flavors, we both nodded in agreement that Fiore’s was a place we were going to frequent.
Having been back a couple of times—including to purchase just cold cuts and mutz—the time of day at which you go can make a big difference in wait time and confusion (i.e. the weekday mornings will see more workers trying to quickly get in, get lunch, and get out, and weekend mornings and the end of the workday will see more homemakers trying to stock up on cold cuts and the like, late morning to middle of the day is usually fairly slow).
The mutz when bought separately can be hit or miss, once or twice I have gotten a rather dry batch, which to be fair is still better than anything you’ll find prepackaged in a regular grocery store, and their wrapping of prosciutto when purchased separately is not as neat as other delis.
The average Stevens student may wonder why he should walk so far AND have to make sure he has cash when Vito’s is right here on Washington and accepts Duckbills. To this I leave the reader with a piece of advice, one hallmark of a fantastic old-fashioned (in a good way), hole-in-the-wall, off the beaten path type place is a sign that reads “Cash Only.”
