And so there I was eating a pastrami on rye with some friends at a local sandwich shop and I couldn’t help but hear in my head an incessantly looping audio play of Dave Frishberg‘s comically haunting “Do You Miss New York?”
Frishberg–a gifted jazz pianist and composer of such profoundly whimsical masterpieces as “My Attorney Bernie,” “Another Song About Paris,” “I’m Hip” (with Bob Dorough), and “Van Lingle Mungo”–is an old friend from my cherished L.A. days. While his nostalgic yearning for the Big Apple’s allure has nothing whatsoever to do with pastrami, to those of us lapsed New Yorkers with opinions about such things as the Carnegie Deli and Katz’s Delicatessen it is clearly implied.
Pastrami is to New York what pasta is to Rome; everything else is just window dressing.
The Carnegie Deli, nestled under the mid-town shadow cast by Carnegie Hall, opened in 1937 and became the iconic vision of the Jewish delicatessen. It was in the movies, and at one time had attracted the post-Vaudeville show crowd of Yiddish comics, song-and-dance men, theatrical agents, mobsters and Broadway stars. Think Broadway Danny Rose. It was loud, crowded, expensive and had long ago evolved into a tourist trap as indicated by its decidedly non-kosher Reuben sandwich that cost $30 when the restaurant closed at the end of 2016. At least there was not an extra charge for a pickle spear.
Katz’s opened its Lower East Side doors in 1888 at the corner of Houston and Ludlow Streets, catering to the huddled masses of Eastern European Jewish immigrants who had settled there. Back in the early seventies I lived within easy walking distance of that corner and it became my preferred deli during a youthful phase, my halcyon New York days. (On most Sunday mornings I opted for a mid-morning breakfast at the kosher dairy Ratner’s on Second Avenue–the original was on Delancey Street–where the onion rolls, lox and bagels with cream cheese, as well as strawberries in honey-sweetened sour cream, provided rich sustenance as I pored over the Arts and Leisure section of the New York Times.)
Katz’s was in the movies as well. It’s where Meg Ryan faked an orgasm in When Harry Met Sally. Many of us knew it was fake because at the time it appeared she was having a turkey sandwich on white bread–the least orgasmic of all sandwiches, especially if it had mayonnaise.
Both the Carnegie and Katz’s served good pastrami, the former’s an embarrassment of thin-sliced fatty riches piled too high to even bite with any sense of confidence, let alone authority. Katz’s sandwich was not as tall, the hand-carved meat was sliced thicker and therefore was juicier and more suitable for that most luscious of all sandwich adornments–chopped chicken liver. Pastrami and chopped liver, with thinly sliced red onion and a thick schmear of brown mustard on coarse, caraway-seeded rye bread is a sandwich that is so revered that it has been commemorated with a sculpture by Hyman Roth-Lipshitz in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn. It’s a little-known sculpture and quite difficult to find, but well worth the effort. (Not really. I made that up. There’s no sculpture, but there damn well should be.)
I’m not sure what cut of beef the Carnegie used for its pastrami, but Katz’s claims to use the plate or navel. Today, most pastrami is made from the less-fatty brisket, except for some grocery-store varieties which are made from the round–or worse, the very worst being a processed blend of ground meat emulsified into a cake-like batter where flavors, additives and binders are added to form a cylindrical mold which is then cooked. Think hot dog. They perform this same abomination to make deli-counter ham, turkey, chicken, beef and God-only-knows-what-else. (Remember: there are few cuts of meat that are naturally cylindrical.)
A sandwich can be a thing of exquisite beauty–a culinary delight that is best when somebody else makes it. Served with some pickles or olives, maybe some radishes or green onions, a side of potato salad, and a cold beer or a crisp, no-oak chardonnay, the traditional noon-time meal is worthy of attention and quiet celebration. A sandwich is also the perfect road-trip food.
It all begins with the bread.
I’ve yet to have a mass-produced grocery-store bread that offers any kind of satisfaction. I find those plastic-bagged loaves to be bland, soft and gummy, lacking the texture to stand up to most condiments, let alone the fatty meats and cheeses they might embrace. A choice stack of flavorful protein, topped with fine cheese and a distinctive mustard will come to no good end in the weak grip of industrial bread.
Bread is relatively easy to create (yeast, water, flour) and it is by far cheaper than the store-bought varieties. Even worse are the factory-produced, par-baked-and-frozen varieties that allow restaurants to claim the half-truth that their bread is baked on premise. The Brillo-shaped squares of ciabatta so widely sold I find to be inedible; they lack the airy, light quality that defines the style.
I have a handful of favorite sandwiches. Katz’s pastrami on rye comes to mind, as does its pastrami with chopped liver on rye that I’ve enjoyed as well at Canter’s in the Fairfax district of Los Angeles and the competing Art’s in Studio City. They each feature a toothsome, lightly seeded rye bread with a coarse texture and a dark spicy mustard that at one time might have been Gulden’s, the only mustard I knew growing up.
WITH AN HOUR OR SO TO KILL in Dublin while waiting for a train to Belfast in 1986, I found my way to a small pub across from the station. It was mid-morning and the barman made me a sandwich of fresh-sliced white bread, shaved boiled ham and Colman’s English Mustard. Accompanied with a Smithwick’s Irish ale, it was one of the most memorable meals I’ve ever had. Sometimes, simplicity is the very best choice.
Another of my favorites is a tuna pan bagnat, which is far from simple. It starts with a baguette that is split lengthwise and smeared with an olive tapenade. It is then layered with canned white tuna, sliced red onion, roasted red bell peppers, tomato and hard-cooked egg with mustard vinaigrette. It should be made and wrapped tightly in cellophane a day or two before eating to make sure the flavors have fully melded and soaked gently into the bread.
It was on a fishing trip to the Gulf Coast of Florida that I was first introduced to the Cuban sandwich: highly seasoned sliced pork shoulder, smoked ham, Swiss cheese, yellow mustard, pickles and a drizzle of the pork’s braising liquid on a long Cuban roll that is grilled. Paseo’s in Seattle makes the best one I’ve ever had.
The list of favorites is almost endless. Braunschweiger with Vidalia onions and mustard on a crusty baguette. Chicago-style Italian roast beef with giardiniera and dipped in au jus. An Italian hero with prosciutto, salami, peperoncini, provolone, shredded lettuce, tomato and red onion, with olive oil, fresh oregano and basil. A Reuben, but only if authentic Russian dressing–not Thousand Island–is used.
A Philly cheese steak made with shaved rib eye, grilled onions and Cheez Whiz on a soft hoagie roll. Period.
But my hand’s-down favorite, at least at this very moment, is a crusty warm baguette, slathered in rich (high-fat) salted butter and layered with thin-sliced smoked ham. You can add some kind of cheese or some mustard, if you’d like, but there’s really no need to. In France, this sandwich is called jambon-beurre. I had my first one at an odd little joint called Le Parisienne on Eighth Avenue below 23rd Street that is by now long gone.
I think I’ve answered Mr. Frishberg’s question. It’s time to see Annie Hall again.
Tapenade
1/2 pound pitted mixed olives
2 anchovy fillets, rinsed
1 small clove garlic, minced
2 Tbs. capers
2 to 3 large fresh basil leaves
1 Tbs. freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 Tbs. extra-virgin olive oil
Thoroughly rinse the olives in cool water. Place all ingredients in the bowl of a food processor. Process to combine, until the mixture becomes a coarse paste, 1 to 2 minutes.
Russian Dressing
Combine:
3/4 c. mayonnaise
1/4 c. + 2-3 Tbs. chili sauce
2 Tbs. sour cream
2 tsp. minced parsley
1 Tbs. + minced red onion
1 Tbs. + minced dill pickle
1/2 tsp. fresh lemon juice
1 Tbs. prepared horseradish
1/4 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
French Potato Salad
1 pound small Yukon Gold potatoes
1 pound small red potatoes
2 Tbs. dry white wine
2 Tbs. chicken stock
3 Tbs. Champagne vinegar
1 tsp. Dijon mustard
2 tsp. kosher salt
3/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
5 oz. extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup minced scallions (white and green parts)
2 Tbs. minced fresh tarragon
2 Tbs. minced flat-leaf parsley
2 Tbs. julienned fresh basil leaves
In a large pot, cover the unpeeled potatoes with cold water and bring to a boil. Add salt and cook for 20-30 minutes, until tender. Drain in a colander and place a towel over the potatoes to allow them to steam for 10 more minutes. As soon as you can handle them, cut in 1/2 (quarters if the potatoes are larger) and place in a medium bowl. Toss gently with the wine and chicken stock. Allow the liquids to soak into the warm potatoes before proceeding.
Combine the vinegar, mustard, salt and pepper and slowly whisk in the olive oil to make an emulsion. Add the vinaigrette to the potatoes. Add the scallions and herbs and toss. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Photography by Courtney A. Liska