My Summer Affair with the Best Italian Sandwich Shop

The tastiest paninis in Manhattan

Last summer, I interned for the City of New York, which meant I worked in the Civic Center/Financial District of Manhattan every weekday. My dad’s office used to be around there, and he suggested I grab lunch at this Italian sandwich place that made these long, meat-packed subs. He couldn’t remember its name, but only that it was on a narrow street next to a Vietnamese restaurant. I found it: Pisillo Italian Panini. It was a small shop with only a few standing tables and lots of red, white, and green (i.e. the colors of Italy) decor. Loaves of bread lined the counter where you’d order, and a fridge of cured meats stood at the back wall. There was an industrial-grade meat slicer behind the counter glass, and you could see them slicing the meat that would end up in your sandwich.

The sandwiches were long. They measured a foot and a half in length (at least I think so, I honestly have bad intuition for measurements)—a whole baguette-sized loaf for a single sandwich. You could also get them on these large discs of focaccia. Here were some of my favorites to order (from their website):

Milano: salami, smoked mozzarella, artichokes, roasted peppers

Napoli: prosciutto di parma, bufala mozzarella, arugula

Parma: prosciutto di parma, smoked mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes, arugula

Bologna: mortadella, fresh mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes

Cagliari: soppressata, artichokes, provolone cheese, hot spread

Taking a picture of a long sandwich is difficult

They were succulent, savory, rich, tangy, and, most importantly, filling. A whole sandwich was too much for a single meal, so I’d save half to a quarter and eat it later on as a snack. As a personal limit, I’d have only one or two a week (usually I tried to bring lunch from home). They were a cash-only institution; I’d stop by an ATM on the way there, withdraw enough for a sandwich, walk over, order, and then sit in City Hall Park and listen to a podcast while eating.

I remember these lunches as supremely joyful. Taking a break from work, sitting in a sunny, green park, listening to something entertaining, and eating something delicious all created a fundamentally pleasurable experience. Sitting at my desk, I’d desperately await my lunch hour, and right after I had the sandwich, I’d count down the days until the next week when I’d have another one. I once had a dream about the sandwiches.

I always forgot to take pictures of the sandwiches before I started eating them

Were they really that good? They were salty and meaty and bready. I probably enjoyed the act of eating them more than their inherent tastiness. My attachment to Pisillo stemmed in part from my relative boredom and restlessness at my job. Other lunch places (and my homemade lunches) simply didn’t have the cholesterol to liven my seven-hours-spent-sitting days.

Eventually, the woman at the counter who took the orders began recognizing me. She asked my name, I replied, she nodded, but I don’t think she really heard me. She told me her name, but I forgot it.

My internship ended, and I lamented the end of those lunches. I knew I could take the subway down and go to Pisillo whenever I wanted, but it was far from where I lived, which made the trek difficult to justify. But most crucially, the experience wouldn’t be the same. I knew the worth of a Pisillo sandwich resided in that summer: the work, the park, the podcasts, the nicheness of the shop (it was literally a niche). It would never be the same again.

City Hall Park, where I often ate lunch

A few months later, while walking near Times Square, I saw a banner that read: PISILLO ITALIAN PANINI TIMES SQUARE. I glanced in and saw it was the same setup, same decor, same sandwiches as the one by my former office. I somehow felt betrayed. How could they have another location? I checked Google Maps, and apparently there’s another location in Chelsea. Three Pisillos? Our relationship was no longer special.

Maybe I was just mourning how those sandwiches existed beyond me—but of course they did, it was a sandwich place, I was never their only customer. Maybe I was mourning the fact that a simple Italian panini of cured meat, cheese, and roasted peppers used to make my whole week. I haven’t been back since that summer. A recent blood test indicated I have slightly high cholesterol, so it’s probably for the better.

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