This, my friends, is a muffuletta. I suppose you could eat one somewhere else in the United States - there's probably not a law against it - but why would you? You could be chowing down on this meat and cheese and olive salad slathered sandwich in the elegantly dessicated, palm tree shaded court of the Napoleon House. That way you'd have a Pimms Cup or a brandy or bourbon milk punch to sip (I was told to "do the right thing and have a breakfast cocktail," and who am I to cross Poppy Tooker?), and you'd also BE IN NEW ORLEANS.
Then again, your friends who are TOTALLY JEALOUS of your RIGHTEOUS SANDWICH would be all yelling at you that you're doing it wrong - that a muffuletta should never be served warm, and should only rightly be purchased at Central Grocery and you'd feel all dumb and stuff. But then again, to heck with them. You're in the Big Easy with a muffuletta and they're not. Nyah.
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