The Chosen Meat

Imagine yourself on an island filled with chefs from every conceivable location around the globe all there to prepare their edible deblooms {new word} for your delight and enjoyment. As self gratifying as you may think this would be, there reaches a point when you fall back upon a favored choice. More often than not you'd find that the delicacy of your fancy, the foods you really love, are the foods you ate when you were young. For me of course, there was one meat, upon which only mustard could be spread, and around which only rye bread could be placed. The chosen food for me remains the hot pastrami on rye.

Never a more satisfying sandwich was devoured containing my heavenly meat than the one I used to eat at the 2nd Ave. Deli in Manhattan. The deli's unfortunate demise a few years back was sad and it left my stomach grumbling for something to fill the emptiness. Since then I've eaten every animal that I could pay to have prepared for me and some I could only pay to prepare myself, but there was no beast to satisfy me. The Wild Boar was too tough and the Bison too lean. And I continued on that way...until now.

Sitting at a lovely Thai restaurant for soup and tea recently, I encountered a two set of some fairly cute, college aged girls... and you know where it goes from there. Among games of geography and stories of dorm life, I obtained two simply astounding pieces of information. First off, one of these chicks works for a fashion designer and informed me all about the ways of the tieless suit facionanality, more specifically, Suite Separates. I'm still not sure what it means but I'm buying one. The second piece of information was that the 2nd ave. Deli had reopened! Without repose, I made it my destiny to visit my alma-mater of land animal consumption.

Walk up 3rd ave., hang a left at 33rd and you'll come across a crowd of eager, mouthwatered meat mongers waiting anxiously for a table at the city's most infamous deli. The new 2nd ave. Deli is exactly like the old one. The seating is tight, the place is crowded, there are more old jewish couples then a Boca Raton buffet, and of course, there is an endless train of jewish girls all hopped up on egg creams and ominously eye-fucking the shit out of me as they follow their daddies/boyfriends out through the crowd. Seriously, feed a girl a glass of chocolate and see what it does to her. The true veteran such as myself knows to walk right past these crowds and take his seat at the 5 stool counter tended solely by the beautiful Israeli girl who speaks brilliant english but always lets the hebrew slip when she's rushing. There is no need for a menu since there's only one thing to get. The aroma of garlic and vinegar is rich and flavorful, overpowering the smell of mothballs and butter-scotch sucking candies from the grandma sitting next to me. A plate of pickles and slaw and a stein filled with root beer are there to build my suspense and within minutes my stack of meat arrives and I've finally reached heaven.

Every bite is an explosion of flavor that rushes to my senses. Bite after bite, the synapses of childhood memories begin flashing in my mind. There is a limitless supply of spicy mustard at my disposal and my favorite waitress shows no hesitation in dishing out a few extra sours as they are obviously my favorite. And before I know it I've housed nearly a quarter of a cow's worth of meat and I'm triumphantly licking the remaining mustard from my fingers. No meat had hit my plate as this sandwich, despite it's size, is stacked with the utmost skill and technique such that a proper grip and bite approach is sure to maintain handheld integrity. Instinctually, or just because she's supposed to, the Israeli chick smiles at me and hands me a shot of chocolate soda to wash it all down. Though this experience is over until the grumbling returns, there will inevitably come a day when I am pulled back into the grip of my favorite meal and I return to the best jewish deli that ever was and ever will be, and for that opportunity I am grateful for the return of the 2nd ave. Deli.

Gratefully full,

Bloom