Okay, so I got this serious craving the other day. Like, a deep-down need for a real New Orleans muffaletta. The kind you remember getting, maybe not exactly Marti Marti’s because memory plays tricks, you know? But that’s the gold standard I was aiming for in my head. It’s been ages since I was actually down there, whole different world back then.
Getting The Goods
First hurdle, always, is the bread. You need that big, round, seeded Italian loaf. Not easy to find a decent one just anywhere. Took me two different bakeries before I found something that looked about right. Then the olive salad components. Man, that’s a shopping list in itself.
- Green olives, pitted obviously.
- Kalamata olives, gotta have those too.
- That pickled veggie mix, giardiniera. I like the spicy kind.
- Celery, gotta chop it fine.
- Garlic, lots of it.
- Some herbs, oregano, parsley.
- Good olive oil, don’t cheap out here.
And then the actual sandwich guts. Provolone cheese, salami, mortadella, ham. Had to hit the deli counter hard for that. Felt like I was stocking up for a siege or something. People give you looks when you buy that much cold cuts at once.
Putting It All Together
Got back to the kitchen. First thing, tackled that olive salad. Chopped everything up – the olives, the giardiniera (drained it first), celery, garlic, parsley. Mixed it all in a bowl with the oregano and a serious glug of olive oil. Maybe a splash of red wine vinegar too, gives it a kick. The smell starts hitting you right away. Crucial step: cover that bowl and stick it in the fridge. You gotta let those flavors mingle, get friendly. Overnight is best, but at least a few hours. Rushing it is like trying to force a friendship, just doesn’t work right. Learned that lesson the hard way with people, works with food too.
Okay, bread time. Sliced that big round loaf horizontally. Scooped out a little bit of the inside from both halves, make some room for the good stuff. Don’t toss that bread, save it for breadcrumbs or something. Waste not, want not, my grandma used to say. She survived the depression, they didn’t waste anything.
Layering Up and The Waiting Game
Now the fun part. Spread that glorious, marinated olive salad on the inside of both halves of the bread. Get it right into the edges. Then start layering. No strict rules, but I usually go something like: Provolone, salami, ham, mortadella, maybe another layer of provolone. Pile it high. Put the top half of the bread on.
Here’s another key bit: you gotta wrap this beast tight in plastic wrap. Like, really tight. Then, put it on a plate or baking sheet and put something heavy on top. Couple of canned goods, a cast iron skillet, whatever you got. Stick the whole setup in the fridge. How long? At least an hour, maybe two. This presses it all together, lets the juices soak into the bread. It’s torture waiting, smelling that olive salad, knowing the sandwich is right there. But patience pays off.
The Moment of Truth
Finally, time to unwrap it. Cut that big boy into wedges. You see those layers, the olive salad crammed in there… man. It looked pretty legit. Took a bite.
Was it exactly like Marti Marti’s in New Orleans? Probably not. Memory’s funny, and nothing beats actually being there. But was it a damn good muffaletta? Absolutely. Salty, tangy, savory, all that meat and cheese, the oily olive salad soaking into the bread. It hit the spot. Took some effort, yeah. Running around town for ingredients, the chopping, the waiting. But sometimes, doing it yourself, even if it’s not 100% perfect, just feels better. You made it happen. And it tasted pretty awesome. Way better than ordering some sad imitation online, that’s for sure.
