Looking for good portable food?

Check out our new Zingerman’s Picnic offerings!

• Ploughman’s Plate: A hunk of cheese, meat & bread served with chutney & either olives or cornichons.

• Meat Cone: We pick 3 of our favorite meats plus paté & cornichons. Served in a paper cone.

• Cheese Cone: We pick bite size chunks of our favorite cheeses. Served in a paper cone.

• The Game Day: 2 Bakehouse pretzels (made with lard) & our housemade pimento cheese.

• The Day Tripper: 4 landjaegers from Nueske’s and a 1/4 pound of Vermont Nor’easter Cheddar.

• Kick up the Jams: An assortment of our favorite preserves with Bakehouse bread and Michigan farm butter.

• Oh Oh It’s Magic: 3 featured estate varietal olive oils with Bakehouse bread & sea salt.

• Off the Hook: Sardines, Ortiz tuna, farm butter & Bakehouse white bread.

All this and more at the Zingerman’s Deli!

Later this month, olive oil maker Marina Colonna, who makes our private label Peranzana Olive Oil, will travel from Molise, Italy to Ann Arbor for the very first time. On June 24, we’re throwing a welcome party! During the event, Marina will tell us all about her olive farm in Italy, and the cultivation of her varieties of olive trees. She’ll describe the olive oil process from harvest to the oil mill, and the best uses for these oils. The Zingerman’s Deli kitchen will prepare an exciting menu of dishes using Marina’s oils too. We’re very excited to spend an evening talking and tasting olive oil with one of the industry’s leading experts. Please join us for an evening you won’t forget!
To attend, please call 734-663-3400, or reserve online. Space is going fast!

This is Part Two of an essay Ari wrote back in 2004 describing his first visit to Marina’s estate. Read Part One. 

Oil, Oil, Toil And Trouble

The Colonna’s farm is called Bosco Pontoni (“the Woods of Pontoni”). “It used to be all forest,” Marina explained. Brown, green and gold checkerboards of wheat,
olives, and corn run across the fields. The Colonna’s country house sits squarely in the middle of the farm, cream-colored stucco, with dark, chocolate-bar doors. “Not too old,” Marina told me. “From the 1800s.” Bright red poppies float by the front door of the house. Red, pink, and purple roses shine in the garden. Inside, there’s a great fireplace, and a blue-and-white tiled ceramic wood oven for heat in winter. Below the house are these great “vaults” in which the oil is stored. When we needed a little oil for dinner one night, we simply took an empty bottle and headed on down to the ten or so silver steel tanks. Each tank is feet high and five feet across and holds oil from one of the farm’s four olive varieties. We’d fill our bottle and head back up for dinner. Now, that’s how I’d like to live. Tanks of olive oil in the basement, ready and waiting for me to tap in case I run low.

Marina puts enormous effort into the little things, the details that most people don’t deem worthy of attention. The lightly green-tinted bottles in which the oil arrives in Ann Arbor are a beautiful, slope-shouldered amphora, patterned after the similarly shaped, fired clay vessels in which Marina’s ancient ancestors bought their oil. The bottles come from an Etruscan Glassworks in Tuscany. She spent “ages” selecting them, she told me. And, rolling her eyes skyward, she added, “they cost a fortune.” They are beautiful and well worth the trouble, I think. Each bottle is topped with a rounded blond wooden stopper. After filling, each bottle is sealed with wax, and hand-pressed with a red lacquer Colonna family crest. Granverde, Marina’s oil of lemons and olives, is sealed in green; her new Arancio, an excellent oil of Sicilian oranges and olives, in orange.

To ensure the caliber of oil she’s looking for, each of the farm’s four olive varieties is picked and pressed separately depending on the time it ripens. The various oils are stored separately, and then carefully blended according to flavor, variety, and age before being bottled. Colonna oil is decanted—the sediment is allowed to settle out at the bottom of the storage tanks. Still, you may come across a bit of sediment at the bottom of each bottle because, unlike many oils, Marina’s is, “never, never filtered.” “You lose something of the flavor,” she says.

Making her dream of getting great oil from the farm in an area where mediocre oil has become “normal” has not been easy for Marina. And her struggle is made all the more difficult because she is not a man. “Because you are a woman they always think they know better,” she says with weary frustration. An Italian woman fighting to create change in the countryside is akin to one of us going up against the IRS. Sometimes justice wins out, but only after incredible persistence and patience. No matter what you want to do, the reply comes, “that’s not the way we do it.” No matter how fast you try to go, everything moves slowly. That’s the countryside. Fortunately for the olive oil world, Marina’s managed to make it work. If all the offspring of ancient Rome had as much vision, stubbornness, drive, and determination as Marina, the Empire would probably still be standing.

The struggle for quality is big, but it shows up most often in the little things: Marina—as she should—wants the olives pressed within a day of picking. They need to be pressed quickly in order to prevent the buildup of oxidation and acidity that begins the moment the fruit is removed from the tree. The farm manager insists he’s kept olives “much longer than that, for a month even, without any problems,” and “you can’t tell the difference.” Marina shakes her head. You can tell the difference. She persists. The olives are pressed within 24 to 30 hours.

Marina wants to sell the oil while it’s fresh, certainly within the year of its pressing. This is a standard requirement in the world of good oil. If it’s kept much beyond that it loses its luster, leaving a slightly flat, less-flavorful oil. Marina won’t sell old oil, but the farm manager thinks she’s crazy. He insists on selling what’s left to the locals even at two years; “they like it that way,” he says. It’s more likely they’re used to it, and have stopped paying attention.

What it comes down to is that instead of staying true to tradition, the locals have evolved (devolved?) to a culture of shortcuts that, in the case of the oil, means mediocrity instead of excellence. And so, Marina pushes against their resistance to change, striving to get a great olive oil out to the rest of the world. It’s an odd twist on the battle for tradition, because in this case, it’s the modern effort to improve quality and revive some of the traditional ways, while the locals look to keep cutting corners.

Eating Marina’s oil is a pleasure; all the more appreciated from knowing how hard she’s worked to get it out. Colonna oil has a robust, lively flavor that hints of green tomatoes, almonds, and an enjoyable, earthy pepperiness. It’s especially well suited to easy-to-enjoy, simple dishes that don’t take much time. Try toasting thick slices (as thick as your toaster can tolerate, or do it under the broiler) of Farm Bread ‘til they’re brown, rub with a clove of cut garlic, then douse in a stream of Marina’s green-gold oil. Top it with chunks of roasted peppers cut into strips, or peppery green arugula leaves with a pinch of sea salt. Spill it over just-out-of-the-oven chicken roasted with rosemary and fresh garlic, or toss it with just-cooked spaghetti and a grated Pecorino cheese. In the Molise, they like their food on the spicy side, so pass a bowl of ground red pepper. And drink a toast to Marina’s persistent pursuit of great olive oil.

Read Part One of Ari’s essay. 

Later this month, olive oil maker Marina Colonna, who makes our private label Peranzana Olive Oil, will travel from Molise, Italy to Ann Arbor for the very first time. On June 24, we’re throwing a welcome party! During the event, Marina will tell us all about her olive farm in Italy, and the cultivation of her varieties of olive trees. She’ll describe the olive oil process from harvest to the oil mill, and the best uses for these oils. The Zingerman’s Deli kitchen will prepare an exciting menu of dishes using Marina’s oils too. We’re very excited to spend an evening talking and tasting olive oil with one of the industry’s leading experts. Please join us for an evening you won’t forget!
To attend, please call 734-663-3400, or reserve online. Space is going fast!

This is Part One of an essay Ari wrote back in 2004 describing his first visit to Marina’s estate. Part Two will appear tomorrow. 

Oil, Oil, Toil And Trouble

The region of Molise is sort of the gateway to southern Italy. Draw a line due east from Rome; stop about two-thirds of the way across the Italian peninsula, turn right (south) and you’ll be there. Pass through the “gate” and you enter a world far removed from the fast-paced fashionable affairs of Milan, Turin, Florence and the north. Instead, you find farms and farmers, a significantly slower pace of life, an allegiance to the past, and a subtle but steady resistance to the future.

An old agricultural area, the Molise has been making olive oil in large quantities for millennia. It’s filled with big hills and smallish mountains; when I visited in May, there was still plenty of snow up on the brown mountaintops, which looked like a sugar-dusted chocolate Bundt cake. Primarily a rural area, the major crops of the Molise include wheat and olives. Olive trees grow up and down the hillsides, ash-colored trunks twisting gray off the ground; pale green leaves shining softly silver in the afternoon sun.

I had the chance to visit the Molise and to see the farm where Marina Colonna presses her exceptional, gutsy-green olive oil. I tell this story in part because I love her oil, especially her Granverde, an old Molisana specialty where olives and lemons are pressed together to make a unique “lemon oil.” But I also tell it because I was struck again and again by the nature of Marina’s struggle to get her oil out to the world. So often I’ve traveled and told of the struggles of small traditional producers to fight the near-overwhelming pressure to modernize, to abandon the old techniques and the integrity of their food in favor of newer, faster, more economical methods. But Marina’s story is different.

It’s the reversal of the usual roles that caught my attention last spring. In the case of Marina in the Molise, it is Marina the modern woman who is working tirelessly to return to the quality and integrity of olive oil’s past. The locals, instead of preserving tradition, are quick to sell it out, with little regard for the flavor and quality of the oil. It’s like history has come full circle.

Marina is probably in her forties, full of energy, her eyes alive. She’s quick to anger, and just as quick to smile. She’s slim, with the sense of style in clothes, and in life, that is notably Italian. Short black hair; long, thin, rough-textured, working hands. Raised in Rome, part of a prominent and well-connected family, she set out to make her own mark by leaving the safety of family routine for a successful career in the Italian equivalent of public television. Her skin is a dark brown, a shade the Italians call olivastro —soft, chestnut brown in the winter, turning almost to deep brownish-black in the summer sun. I remember the term because somehow from my Russian Jewish roots I too turned out with olivastro skin. Maybe that explains my strong attraction to olive oil and olives.

Marina is a new “branch” on of one of Italy’s oldest family trees. The Colonna heritage is very old and very Roman; they can trace it back to the Popes of early Rome. The name means “column,” and the family crest, which you see on each bottle of oil, is a Roman column.

At the farm, Marina has framed parchment public notices from the 17th century laying out the work rules and prices for Rome’s butchers (macellerie) and grocers (alimentarie). Much to my surprise, they included a regulation declaring that Roman citizens were prohibited from buying heads or hoofs of animals from Jews or Jewish butchers, accompanied by a list of assorted punishments for those caught buying from them: caning, whipping, etc. The notices were signed by a host of officials, including Marina’s ancestor, Giralmo Colonna.

What really drove the historical point home to me was an incredible archive that’s stored in Marina’s office at the farm. Over a hundred bone-colored binders of family history stuffed with dry and slightly dusty parchment paper documents, stacked onto white wooden shelves. They document the details of family feuds, lives and deaths dating back to the 10th century. “What’s in these things?” I asked Marina. “Everything,” she answered nonchalantly. “Who married who, who fights with the church over who owned land, who owed money to someone else…” It strikes me that she knows more about her ancestors of a thousand years ago than I know about my great-grandparents.

On the other hand, the Colonna’s history with olives and oil production is relatively recent. The farm came to the family around the time of the war, when Marina was still a small child. She hardly ever visited as a kid. Back then, most of the roads were unpaved and it took twelve hours to get from Rome to the Molise. Times change. Marina and I made the drive on the up-to-date autostrada just three hours. Her father planted the olive trees on the farm about thirty years ago. Up until Marina got involved in the mid-1980’s, the oil was always just sold off to some larger bottlers, who used it to add flavor to some otherwise bland, commercial blend. At one point, her father was ready to just forget the whole thing and sell the farm; he’d decided it wasn’t worth the aggravation. That was when Marina got going. She decided that she was going to turn the farm’s oil into something special, and she’s spent the last decade working long and hard to make it happen. You can taste the fruits of her labor when you taste her oil.

I want to stress that despite her prestigious family history, Marina does work, and work hard. In Italy title and history have long since been disconnected from wealth. Olive oil is not a hobby here. Nor is it a way to get rich quick. Selling a few thousand bottles of olive oil a year is not an easy way to make a living. It requires a commitment to craft, an eye toward the future, the energy to turn out great oil year after year. Marina has that commitment.

Part Two of Ari’s essay will appear tomorrow!

We’ve updated the Deli menu!

Returning old favorites, and some brand-new items. Check ’em out!

• #202 The Banh Mo: We liked this sandwich of the month so much, we’ve added it to the menu. Vietnamese chicken sausage from Detroit’s Corridor Sausage Co., The Brinery’s pickled carrots, fresh cilantro and mayo. Grilled on a soft bun.

• #212 Davey’s Deep Purple: Cajun Tasso ham with The Brinery’s Storm Cloud Zapper (Michigan green cabbage, Michigan red beets, fresh ginger root, sea salt), Switzerland Swiss cheese & mayo grilled on a paesano roll.

• #96 Reina’s on a Roll: Back on the menu! Housemade meatballs made with beef and pork, pomodoro sauce, melted provolone on a Bakehouse hoagie.

• #230 Sy’s Legend 3.0: Zingerman’s famous pastrami on a housemade fried knish with hot mustard.

• #219  Erica’s Tea-wich: Slightly spicy pimento cheese, slices of cucumber and tomato quartered on country wheat bread.

• #222 Marshall’s Ten Out of Tin: Housemade tuna salad, now made with Ortiz line-caught tuna, Switzerland Swiss cheese, New Mexico green chiles & tomato on grilled pumpernickel.

• Kreplach Soup: Our housemade chicken broth with housemade brisket filled dumplings.

• The Sandwich Salad: Enjoy any sandwich without the bread! Served instead on a bed of leaf lettuce!

All this and more at the Zingerman’s Deli!

After a few years of hard work and excitement, the Deli buildout is near completion! We’ve moved things around to provide a better Zingerman’s experience for our guests. Scroll down for a mini-tour of the new layout.

 The front door that faces Detroit St. is still the main entrance and will lead you to great tasting cheese, meats, breads, and specialty foods as well as the path to the new sandwich ordering area.

The ‘Bread Box’ is still where you’ve always found it, just inside the front door, where the bread boxers are ready to get you a loaf or two of artisanal breads made at the Zingerman’s Bakehouse.  They will more than likely share a sample or two of their favorite treats!

We’re excited to have more space for cheese, meats, fish & olives! Taste your way through our selection of full-flavored and traditional meats & cheeses next time you’re in.

Meat lovers can rejoice, there’s much more space for meat! You’ll notice that sliced meats from your favorite sandwiches are now on display. And, as always so are the beautiful bone-in prosciuttos, ready to be hand-sliced.

Wondering where to order? The Deli menu boards have moved into the Atrium, that is the connection between the original Deli and the new addition.

Turn right, toward the “We Cater” sign, then go around the pillar to your left…

…and straight up the stairs into the Atrium.
Be sure to check out the new location for pastas, spices, sauces & veggies on your way to order!

Look for the ‘order sandwiches’ sign…

…where you’ll see the sandwich menu boards, our brand-new salad case, and a friendly staffer to take your order!Our brand new salad case has more room to fill with exciting and delicious side salads made daily in our Deli kitchen.

Head under the menu boards to enter the blue house (also fondly called the ‘420 building’), which is where you pay.

After you’ve checked out, you can choose to sit in our new porch complete with cool garage doors that’ll be open when the weather permits it…

…outside on our new patio…

…or at our Next Door coffeehouse, which still has seating both downstairs and upstairs!

In the Next Door Coffeehouse, you’ll find tasty pastries, cakes, muffins, & pies made by Zingerman’s Bakehouse. There’s also an intriguing selection of chocolates, gelato made by Zingerman’s Creamery (don’t miss out on gelato sundaes and malts!), & Zingerman’s t-shirts to take home. And, of course, there’s an exceptional selection of espresso drinks, coffee, tea & hot chocolates!

Hope to see you soon!

*From time to time, we share the writing of our friends and co-workers on this site. Today’s guest post comes from the blog of Zingerman’s Deli staffer Maddie LaKind. 

I owe much of my college career to a sandwich. Ok, maybe that’s an overstatement, but it definitely played a big part. Let me explain. Ever since my toddler years, I have been bred to attend the University of Michigan. I wore the merch, visited campus, memorized the cheers, heard stories of the good ole’ college days from my parents and relatives, and housed a collection of maize and blue clothing that puts my current student collection to shame. Becoming a wolverine seemed like my young-adult destiny, until it came time for the college application process.

Knowing that Michigan held the title of my top school, I only applied to three others: two “safety” schools and the University of Wisconsin Madison, which, despite my extreme infatuation with Ann Arbor, almost dissuaded me from coming here. Having visited Madison at the peak of fall, I fell head over heels for the school. Who wouldn’t love a lakeside campus, stunning foliage, top of the line facilities, and a thriving capital city to boot?

As much as it wowed me, it lacked a certain crucial element that couldn’t be found anywhere but Ann Arbor. No, it wasn’t the eclectic music scene, the renowned Ann Arbor Film Festival, chipatis, or the unparalleled Big Ten football culture; it was Zingerman’s Delicatessen, or, more specifically, the #73 sandwich, Tarb’s Tenacious Tenure. On the day before Thanksgiving 2008, I sent in my acceptance e-mail to the University of Michigan. Deal done.

Now you may be thinking that this rationale is completely ridiculous given the importance of one’s college decision. I mean how could somebody possibly determine the fate of their college career because of a sandwich? For me it was simple; I wanted to be in the same community as Zingerman’s, hang out and study there, explore their menu, and, maybe someday, even work there.

As a wide-eyed kid whose world revolved around Food Network and personal endeavors in the kitchen, visiting Zingerman’s for the first time felt like I had reached foodie Mecca. I couldn’t get enough of it and made a point to my parents that upon any visit to or passing through Michigan, Zingerman’s be made a priority stop.  It was during these seminal years of early Ann Arbor exposure that I first experienced the sandwich bliss of the #73, which quickly became not only my sandwich of choice, but also a contender for one of my favorite dishes of all time.

The sandwich is simple enough, but the combination of ingredients, textures, and tastes always appealed to me in a very big way. Starting with two hefty slices of Farm Bread (which I liken to a more mild sourdough with a thicker, heartier crust), the sandwich combines turkey, sliced tomatoes, avocado spread (simply comprised of mashed avocado and lime juice), and healthy schmear of housemade Russian dressing. The sandwich is then briefly pressed on the grill until reaching that characteristic Zingerman’s Deli golden glow and, after being paired with a fresh cucumber pickle (aka a “new” pickle), is ready to eat.

For nearly ten years before I came to Michigan as a student and eventually began working at the deli, I couldn’t shake this sandwich from my mind: the unparalleled crunch of double baked bread, heaping layers of savory turkey, and the fresh, summery essence of fresh tomatoes, all rounded out by citrus and tang from the Russian and avocado spread. Can you tell I have a bit of a love affair going on with this sandwich?

Having eaten a good share of Zingerman’s sandwiches over the course of my employment (which began the beginning of my sophomore year), I can easily name ten to twenty others that taste-wise are just as excellent. However, none of them carries the personal nostalgia factor quite like the Tarb’s. Which is why, to this day, it is still my go-to recommendation for new guests and old friends a like. For me, this sandwich represents so much more than just a lunchtime fixin’. It’s a symbol of a place that values and adores food A place that creates memories, has fun, and helped define my college experience. It taught me the value of hard work, provided me with friends and loving co-workers and it makes me happier than any other place on earth.

So no, it wasn’t actually a sandwich that dictated everything, but it definitely helped push me in the right direction and kept me smiling and satiated every step of the way.

Maddie will close the book on her University of Michigan studies in a couple of weeks, but we look forward to seeing more of her writing here.