Pastrami Sandwich, Manny's Deli: Chicago

I would like to preface today’s post by pointing out that I am a proud son of Chicago, the city that American Poet Carl Sandburg described as the:

Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of wheat,
Player with Railroads and the nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders

Renowned for inventing the Skyscraper and other decadent delicacies such as Deep-Dish Pizza, Italian Beef Sandwiches, Vienna Beef Hotdogs and, of course, the McJeff (shout out to my boy Jeff Barzan*).  It is safe to say that when Chicago goes, it goes big.  Keeping this in mind …  Roughly six months ago, I relocated from the greatest city in the world to Oakland, California…

… Three months ago, on the eve of Passover–the Jewish Holiday which commemorates the Exodus from Egypt–my good friend and roommate Arlen Ginsburg and I headed to Saul’s Restaurant and Deli in North Berkeley to dine on traditional Jewish delicacies.  Now, my days of eating Matzos for a week straight are long gone. God, if you’re out there, please forgive me.

That night, I definitely felt the hunger within. When the waitress came to our table to take my order, I asked which would be more filling: the Cobb Salad (which, it turns out, was no longer available) or the Pastrami Sandwich.  Now, the menu has two different pastramis, one that is small and one that is large. I ordered the large with one slight change. Instead of getting rye bread, I asked for challah, which I believe makes for a superior culinary experience.  When the plate was served, my face dropped in astonishment at the meager portion which lay before me. Being from Chicago, I am used to such culinary institutions as Manny’s and the 11th St. Diner, places that understand the meaning of “piled high.” The two pieces of Challah bread were literally separated by three pathetic and limp slices of pastrami. I asked two different waitressess to confirm that I had ordered  the large. Both replied that, since I had ordered my sandwich on challah (which is a wider bread and a totally bullshit response), it gave the appearance that there was less meat on the sandwich. I was astonished once again.  I finally requested to speak with the Manager as there was no way that I was going to pay $12.95 for six slices of pastrami.  To my bewilderment, the MANAGER had the exact same response.  During my bickering contest with the manager, I even mentioned that I have been eating pastrami for “a long time now” and there was no way that this met the criteria for a  $13 sandwich.  I finally got my way and was charged for the small, but, not before deciding to never again step foot in such a horse-shit establishment.

After reviewing the play three months later, the call on the field stands–Saul’s Restaurant and Deli: You’re Done Here, Buddy.

* To learn more about the McJeff and other heart-stopping culinary delicacies in the Chicagoland area, check out Titus Ruscitti’s Blog Smokin’, Chokin’ and Chowing with the King @ http://chibbqking.blogspot.com/

This next one goes to all those corporate recruiters out there. Thanks for hookin’ it up. You’re Done Here, Buddy. Done Here!

Allow us to turn our attention to Taylor Swift, the inaugural buddy who is done here. You may have seen Kanye West interrupt Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech at this year’s  2009 MTV Video Music Awards. Why are people giving Kanye such a hard time?  Even President Obama called him a “jack ass.” Kanye was simply stating the obvious. Besides, it’s pretty clear that Swift’s video is about as ground-breaking as a high school student playing “twinkle twinkle little star” at a talent show. Taylor Swift: You’re Done Here, Buddy!