Category Archives: Uncategorized

Katz’s Delicatessen

Life is so beautiful sometimes, particularly when the scent of pastrami is in the air. Had the good fortune to encounter lunch at Katz’s and to be in a crush of like-minded sandwich loving souls. Two at our table, the two who had been around the block on odd sodas, drank Cel-Ray. Fries all around. Same went for slaw. Both full and half sours splashed down early on setting my heart a-thump.

Stuffed to fluttering, the tip cup’s sign said “NO TIPS”. The pastrami cognoscenti briefed me. The white capped deli guy exposes the fatty side, you squash a buck or two into the cup, *flip* ~whack~, the lean side is revealed and graciously carved. Right before your very eyes, the beautiful build of a superlative, glorious-in-its-plainness, pastrami sandwich.

Under duress we were pressed into table service. Clutching our tickets we self-shepherded to a table along the wall. The price of sitting? A bit more fat in the cut of our sandwich fill. Or so we feared, suspiciously eyeing adjacent sandwiches. Just across the narrow aisle sat those whose timing had funneled them through the carving line, where they could scrutinize each slice as it slid greasily off the knife onto the rye pile.

Photo by food snapshot artist Eric “Roscoe” Ambel

The women did the girlie thing and split a wich – we had Magnolia Bakery cupcakes on our minds for later. Had I known the line at Magnolia would be 100 strong I would have ordered my own damn sandwich. So prim, that little half, although it’s palm-lubricating power was ample, and heavens it was so delicious. Writing this, I relive that firm crumbed rye and thready, softly salted, unctuous meat. Pastramied heaven.

James asked me at least half a dozen times if I had my ticket – see the blue billets in the picture? – and each time I had a petit-panic. Without the magic ticket, you may not leave, or so I was threatened. What a fate, a deli eternity.

Had a lovely lunch with my Aged P at M M M Me Jana last week. Lebanese lunch. Mmmmm.

The man knows how to live, let me tell you. One big adventure is how he looks at it. Waiting to find out what happens. He can do some damage to a mess ‘o fries, too.

Schawarma like I have never seen it. Very hifalutin. Although I have a Pavlovian schawarma association with the sensation of juice running down my arm, this one got me going with deliciousness murmurs. Sans napkin. Neatly gorgeous and seductively scrumptious.

Thought I should check the lyrics for My Sharona before posting this, and did. I’m horrible on lyrics and am often taken by surprise by reading the actual, as opposed to going with the imaginary. Well huh… the lyrics to My Sharona are not really the thing to reference in conjunction with a fun lunch with Dad. Reminds me of the scene in Arrested Developement when the dad steps up for karaoke with his niece and chooses Afternoon Delight. Damn, My Sharona is pretty darn suggestive.

My friend Jane says, “Punks. Long Island punks,” with amused disgust.

My father will laugh. I hope.

Does this answer my spelling quandary? Who you gonna believe?

I like it with the extra c. Makes you make the sound you make when wrapping your mouth around a big messy sch sch sch schawarmmmmma. See, it is WARM in the middle any way ya spell it.

Susan Costner, the author of “Great Sandwiches,” revels in both the infantilism of late-night eating and the luxuriousness of it. Sometimes she’ll cut a Granny Smith apple into six or eight rounds and smear them with peanut butter and coconut, then reassemble the apple. When she’s feeling a bit more romantic, she tends toward a sandwich of sauteed asparagus and scrambled eggs on toasted Italian bread. “There’s something sensuous about scrambled eggs at night,” she says.

Food; Sweet Dreams (I should say so!)

Read it all here.

Scrambled Hotdog/Buffalo Chicken Sandwich/Chivito

I want to eat these things and am going to have to travel for it. Hope to make a stab at a Chivito in Queens. Betcha I can’t get a single New Yorker to accompany me on a trip to Queens for a sandwich that draws worldwide raves. Can’t get a Chivito in my environs. Queens is closer to me than Uruguay, and I’m willing to get myself to NYC, but I expect I will be venturing alone once I get there. We’ll see if I can coerce anyone into packing a survival kit and bushwhacking with me.

The Chivito Sandwich

I might have better luck finding a sandwich mate for Miami reconnaissance.

Next up, Buffalo for the elusive Buffalo Chicken Sandwich…Pittsburgh, sandwich hotbed, is between here and there.

Moo has been the theme around here all week in odd, serendipitous tidbits. We must be picking up meat velocity as Easter approaches. Baaaaa would be more accurate, but moo will do. The string of mental jumps plays like this:

This place has cute little biz cards in sweet little felt cases. Mine are en route.
Moo →

Got an alert from alacritous Chicago correspondent Bottle Rocket(s) fan Linda that I must holster my fork and visit this spot while in the windy city in May.
Moo and Oink →

Had to have some new red shoes for the equinox yesterday!
Miz Mooz →

Browsing a tottering (borrowed this word from Cormac McCarthy) pile of clippings I came upon this bit of etymology from Nick Malgieri, Carnival, the name in English of that rich, pre-Lenten feasting season, derives from “carnevale”, Latin for “farewell to meat”.
Carnevale →

Diligently reading… next item walking the plank to the recycling bin, a French Dip in the Washington Post.

Slow Goes It →

What did I swear off for Lent? Noooo, not meat…. agnosticism!

The Original State Fair Spiedie Sauce

I found this stuff at the big box grocery, in Virginia, far from the Spiedie trail. Wasn’t looking for it, particularly due to product overload blindness. You know, the sea of bottles begins to spin and you stumble back, overwhelmed and exhausted. Condiments, dressings, marinades, goo. Just before the lights dimmed my fingers wrapped the Spiedie Sauce bottle. Then blackness.

I think I got snookered. The sauce is your basic vinaigrette. Olive oil, red wine vinegar, garlic, oregano, basil. This sauce was already in my kitchen, just needed wrangling.

I’ll Have What They’re Having is my source for spiedie history. A friend in Wisconsin, a friend who will drive quite a distance for one odd food, insisted that my library include this book, whose largest chapter is devoted to sandwiches. Spiedies, bierocks, beef on weck. It’s a celebrity round up.

Although I have yet to eat an actual spiedie, I have smelled the sauce and am hot on the trail. Expect to tree it before the week is up.

This is what you do, according to the State Fair Spiedie Sauce website: Make up one inch cubes of your favorite meat, marinate overnight, then roast on an open fire with skewers (included in our Spiedie Survival Kit), serve on a slice of Italian bread or small sub roll…and there you have a Spiedie Sandwich.

The website may sell other stuff, but a hunch tells me their kingdom was founded on Spiedie sauce. Domain name: spiedie.com

Spiedie Survival Kit? Anything to do with treeing a spiedie? Does a spiedie fight back? Perhaps with skewers? I’m going in camo. Camo in the hues of meat and bread.

Spiedie Fest in Binghamton, NY., August 1, 2, 3, 2008. And balloon rally!

What were they thinking? Has the agency been canned yet?

Occasionally I see an ad that makes me think, “How did this get approved???” So grateful I was not called upon to be the food styling flunky for this gig. Cause I would have said yes. It looks a bit, um, salacious to me, and not in a way that propels me to the bacon case.

The copy writer played along. Not quite Makin Bacon, but close enough. For the love of god, Oscar!

Prized possession

Fill ‘er up!