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| - A sandwich at Szmidt's Old World Deli is not so much a meal as a gastronomic symphony. Upon entering, you experience the overtures of baking bread and roasting meats. You bask in the aura of the classic chalk menu board: fanfare of these wonders of meat and cheese. The menu serenades you with variations on classic themes: turkey, roast beef, corned beef, pastrami while the side menu tempts you with exotic pierogies. You stare, dumbstruck, at the flavors which could be yours within mere minutes. "Take your time" says the smiling maestro of a cashier. He's seen this before. You finally settle on your order, regretting that you have but one stomach to fill. You are rung up promptly, and as the smells of sandwich perfection swell to their finale, your hunger transforms to reverent awe. The sandwich finally emerges from the open kitchen as the platonic ideal of that noble family of foods; split top homemade bread, lightly grilled, neither too big nor too small, and split in half to reveal strata of molten cheese, condiments, and paper thin slices of deli meat. At first bite, your mind is shattered, your preconceptions of the bounds of sandwichdom evaporated in a supernova of warmth and flavor. You must exercise monk-like self-restraint to avoid wolfing the whole thing down in mere minutes, so profound is your ecstasy. You leave Szmidt's a changed man, full not only of physical nourishment, but of a renewed faith in the infinite realm of culinary creativity.
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