i go to molinari's a lot, or at least whenever I want to and for a long time, for years, say, decades. if you don't want to be like Elaine in the bakery, then grab a number to avoid all confusion about your place in the sometimes lengthy line. but here's the thing. no matter what your number, they will regard you as the only customer in the shop and will make your sandwich or olives or fresh fresh pasta seem as the purchase of a piano or a car or some other life gem of a purchase because at Molinari's, the food is a treasure and your consumption of it is a rite, a holy act that will make you remember how fortunate you are to be alive to taste the mortadella, the fresh fresh roll, the focaccia. oh, the cheese! go early (how early?) to avoid the lines but even at 11, there are still plenty of hungry sandwich and macaroon and marinated artichoke lovers in the narrow, sweet smelling place. grab a roll and when they call your number, tell them what to put on top of it; provolone or swiss or ham or salame, you will remember this sandwich and god love you if you can finish it. get an orange soda to go with it and sit outside at a little table or sneak it into the caffe Trieste up the street where you'll get tea and rugelach to go with it, or take it down to Washington square park and have gastronomical intercourse with this thing, you will feel so good, so alive that you will gladly repeat this escapade any time the waft of the nice slimy olives or by the pound parmesan or another salame sandwich calls you. all of the fellas who make the sandwiches are flirty and really know how to stack things onto bread.