A "superette" may be a diminutive term for supermarket, involving a few soup cans and cereal boxes squished onto a shelf, but let's be honest, Joe. Your superette is just about the prosciutto balls fried in the back. The gumball-sized nuggets are filled with ricotta, mozzarella, and boiled ham, and for only sixty-five cents each (they were fifty until recently), that's some cheap decadence.
The sign for JOE'S SUPERETTE has been missing a "U" for as long as Ed can remember (the advertised "JOE'SS PERETTE" also sounds Italian and nice) but the grammatical faux-pas doesn't seem to offend the average prosciutto ball lover. Over Super Bowl weekend, they sold 3,000 balls (they'll sell them raw if you're frying at home).
There's nowhere to sit inside because, remember, this is where you're supposed to buy dusty cans of Chef Boyardee and split. But prosciutto balls don't need cutlery or sitting. Just pop them into your mouth like doughnut holes. Pig-flecked doughnut holes.