by Sara Dickerman

DeLaurenti Specialty Food and Wine

1435 First Ave (Pike Place Market), 622-0141

Mon-Sat 7 am-6 pm, Sun 8 am-5 pm.

Ta-da! We are thrilled to present The Stranger's new food columnist, Sara Dickerman. Sara beat out a field of fine and hungry writers for this spot; we're proud of her like new parents. --Eds.

I was running late for lunch at DeLaurenti, and I found my friends browsing around the upstairs wine section, hungry but happily distracted by the bottles. If you're often late, like me, it's good to meet people in a place, like DeLaurenti, with built-in entertainment value.

DeLaurenti has sold imports in the Pike Place Market since 1946, and although trips to the market can have a contrived feel, DeLaurenti always pulls me in for certain insatiable salty-food urges: buttery Lucques olives, anchovies packed in salt, and cheese. The store's cheese selection is encyclopedic, and, chances are, if some shepherd in the Pyrenees has a way with curds, DeLaurenti will carry his work.

The shop has had a cafe for a while now, but until this spring's remodel, it was hidden away upstairs. By clearing out the bulk goods and spices that once cluttered the entrance, the store has lost some of its olde-apothecary-shoppe charm (for that, you can always visit the Souk, farther north in the market). In return, it gained a lofty space for its cafe, offering a communal table and countertop seats with a close-up view of First Avenue.

DeLaurenti does an admirable job of negotiating the Market's split personality. It politely welcomes, and then dispatches, slow-moving tourists, while encouraging serious food shoppers to come in and get their Gruyère on. It's no accident, I think, that big hunks of pizza are kept close to the cafe entrance. As we ate lunch, dozens of diners came up to the counter, and many of them left without ever sitting down, simply rejoining the market drift with their slice of pizza in hand.

The out-of-towners can keep the pizza: Our slice, garnished with artichoke hearts, was blandish and warmish, an edible compromise. However, the cafe's sandwiches ($4.99) are worth sitting down for. They are of the Universal European Style--nothing too exotic or rich, just good ingredients, warm and crusty after their encounter with the panini machine. I'm inclined to think that the popularity of the panini machine, which flattens and intensifies everything that falls between its irons, is one of the great food accomplishments of the past decade. Especially tasty are the misto, with mortadella, salami, and little strips of marinated peppers, and the Greek sandwich with chin-dribbling hunks of roasted eggplant and feta. There's also a prosciutto roll and the inevitable caprese combo--with semi-dried tomatoes, basil, and lush mozzarella. A thoughtful cup of olives garnishes each plate (more salt, hooray!). On the side are options like lentil soup and minty orzo salad, although the mixed green salad was an overdressed afterthought.

I've also visited earlier in the day for good coffee and pastries from the regular bakeries like Macrina and Essential. Toast, also pressed panini-style, is smartly paired with preserves from the shelves a few feet away.

Like the toast, most of the cafe's options have been designed to show off the foods that are sold in the store, and that principle has made it a pleasing spot for a quick downtown lunch. It would be great to see more of that inventory on the menu. What with an enviable deli case just yards away, it seems cruel not to be able to dig into a cheese plate or a hunk of pâté.

As it was, I got up from my seat and raided the store for dessert. There I discovered some pricey chocolate-covered corn kernels that called out, "Hello! I am strange and beautifully packaged. Only you can appreciate me."

I passed around my funny little bonbons, which were met with curious approval. They were like the best Corn Nuts in the world, only chocolatey. Whether that's something the world needs is up for debate, but we left the store crunching away, with just enough room in our bellies for a little cantaloupe gelato from the new shop two doors down the hill.