A blog friend declared, not long ago, that the best muffuletta in her town could be found at such-and-so restaurant. (I'm keeping her identity private. But I will tell you she does not live in New Orleans.)
The best muffuletta in town? That's so "Portlandia." There is NO muffuletta in my town, unless I make one at home, and suddenly I had to make muffulettas.
I could fib and say we ate these on Mardi Gras, but that would be a fib. All we did on Mardi Gras was get drunk on hurricanes and show our breasts. I don't think anybody peed on a wall. (OK, that would all be a fib too. Except the part about the wall, I hope. Cranky?)
Interestingly, we had all the ingredients we needed for these spectacular sandwiches, except for bread. Yes, I live in a house that sometimes does not have bread. But we had mortadella, prosciutto, provolone and two kinds of pitted olives. Do not trot over to your Quickie Mart for the ingredients. Your meat and cheese need to be as good as you can get, and the olives probably shouldn't come from a can. Cranky found some perfect rolls at the farmer's market.
I followed Emeril's guidelines for muffulettas, including the olive salad, which gets spread over and under the cold cuts. I was especially glad he's OK with plucking out extra breadiness from the rolls, because two inches in altitude of bread can really wreck a sandwich.
Verdict: Really, really good. Not sure if they'd be the best in Portland, but I sorta, somehow think they might have been better than Central Grocery's, if memory serves. If that's possible.