It's fall in Phoenix. The summer heat has finally broken and a gentle breeze graces the mountain valley creating the perfect blue sky vacation day. I've flown in to visit with Jordan for a week in the desert city he now calls home. It's been several days later. We've been all over the city enjoying the eats and drinks, deep dish pizzas, wines, par-baked cookies with ice cream, wraps from cafes.
And then we arrive as Pane Bianco. It's small. Rustic. Simple. Stripped to the basics with a slight old market flare. There's a black chalkboard with the day's specials. 2 young women in aprons take orders. And behind them, men are kneading dough to be baked in the wood-burning oven.
At which time, I realize I'll give the shoes off on my feet, to be able to have a sandwich on that bread. Take them.. They're yours.
Jordan and I order. Sandwiches and glass bottled soda. We wait. Our order is called. Outside there's a lil space left on one of the wooden picnic tables.
It was there I had the best sandwich of my life. Tomatoes, basil, mozzarella, salt, and pepper on bread baked just yards from where we sat. Wrapped in parchment paper, sipping a ginger soda, in the cool shade of the porch there with Jordan, Life itself was good.
I'll be eighty years old and think of that sandwich in Phoenix with someone I love sitting across from me in the desert valley outside Pane Bianco, and my heart will be happy.
[photos courtesy Pane Bianco and Serious Eats. I was too busy savoring the meal to take pics.]
