The deli capital? It's L.A.
That's the conclusion of 'Save the Deli' author David Sax. He explains why
the City of Angels beats out New York and other contenders.
By Elina Shatkin
The Los Angeles Times
October 21, 2009

It was in rural Kansas, near the geographical center of America, that David
Sax hit rock bottom in his search for the perfect deli sandwich. It happened
innocently enough, in an Arby's. He had ordered a Reuben.

"What I got was this horrible abomination of plasticized cheese that tasted
like it had come from a napalm plant," he says. "Meat that had been pressed
and pumped and vacuumed and torn apart to increase its yield in water but had
no flavor. Bread that was just white bread painted a dark rye color. It was
horrendous. And it was microwaved. I had two bites and that was it."

But if Sax found the nadir of the Reuben, he also found its zenith. And --
perhaps surprisingly -- he didn't find it in New York, the birthplace of the
Jewish deli; he found it here in Los Angeles.

"It's a very difficult business to be in," Sax says, "but the [delis] that
are most inspiring, the ones that people cling to, the ones that people
enshrine for years and years are the traditional Jewish delis. And Los
Angeles just happens to have more of them than any city I've been to."

To die-hard deli aficionados and sandwich fans, this assertion is heresy. It
certainly wasn't what Sax, a Toronto native who now lives in Brooklyn,
expected to discover. But in "Save the Deli," a book that traces the rise and
fall of Jewish delicatessens from the shtetls of Eastern Europe to the
suburbs of middle America, he makes that very claim.

On a two-month cross-country trip, Sax hit all the major deli hubs: Los
Angeles, Chicago, San Francisco and, of course, New York, even working for an
evening as a counterman at the legendary Katz's deli on Manhattan's Lower
East Side. But he also fanned out across North America to Denver; Detroit;
Scottsdale, Ariz.; St. Louis; Cleveland; Las Vegas; Ft. Lauderdale, Fla.;
Montreal; Toronto; and a dozen other cities. He even made a trip across the
Atlantic to visit delis in London, Brussels, Paris and Krakow, Poland, one of
the birthplaces of the modern Jewish deli.

History in every bite

Bound by "a proclivity for garlic and onions, and a reverential worship of
schmaltz, or rendered fat," Sax writes, the Ashkenazi Jewish cultures of
Germany, Poland, Romania, Hungary and the Russian empire developed kosher
versions of local meat specialties. When centuries of diaspora living met
America's abundant beef supply in New York in the late 1800s, the deli
staples of pastrami, corned beef and tongue were born.

Selling from pushcarts, early Yiddish food vendors faced increasing
restrictions (a familiar conflict to foodies aware of recent county and city
attempts to curb taco trucks) and evolved to bricks-and-mortar restaurants.
But it was America's obsession with the sandwich, according to Sax, that
catapulted Jewish delis "from an obscure immigrant food to an American
cuisine." In Los Angeles, delis had yet to make their mark; that would come
later as the descendants of New York's first wave of Jewish settlers migrated
west.

The 1930s were boom deli years, with a second generation of immigrants
finding more stability and prosperity while catering to a clientele
concentrated in New York's Jewish enclaves.

At the same time, the traditional kosher deli gave rise to the kosher-style
deli, also known as the Jewish or New York deli, that predominates today.
Uninhibited by dietary restrictions that forbade observant Jews from
consuming meat and milk together, they broadened their menu and clientele.
Ergo, the Reuben, the ultimate assimilated sandwich: corned beef and
sauerkraut topped by Swiss cheese and creamy Russian dressing.

Driven by the rise of supermarkets, decreased Jewish immigration, changing
eating habits, fewer mono-ethnically Jewish neighborhoods and uniquely low
profit margins in the deli business, the post-World War II years marked the
beginning of the decline for delis.

"In the 1930s there were something along the lines of 1,500 kosher delis in
New York," Sax says. "Now, there are about two dozen in all of New York City.
That's an 80% to 90% decline. This has been echoed in other cities around the
country."

Yet Los Angeles delis have managed to thrive in a niche market. Acre for
acre, Sax maintains that Southern California boasts "more delicatessens of
higher quality, on average, than anywhere else in America." He commends Nate
'n Al in Beverly Hills; Factor's in Pico-Robertson; Junior's in West L.A.;
Greenblatt's on the Sunset Strip; Art's in Studio City; Canter's in the
Fairfax district; and the various Hat locations.

But Sax reserves his highest praise for Langer's, near MacArthur Park --
where the pastrami sandwich "encapsulates perfection at every turn" -- and
Brent's in Northridge and Westlake Village -- which he calls "absolutely
sensational."

Where New York delis tend to be cramped and covered in an intangible layer of
old world schmutz, Los Angeles delis are the height of midcentury, suburban
modernity. If New York delis are as intimate and familiar as your bubbe's
kitchen, then Los Angeles delis, with their spacious banquettes, polite wait
staff and abundant parking, are like younger, sexier spokesmodels for the
deli world.

Metaphors aside, the most successful delis usually share three traits: They
own their own land and aren't subject to harsh rent increases; they often
keep the business in the family; and they don't skimp when it comes to the
quality of their core deli fare.

"Any deli where you can order lobster should be suspect, even if you're not
kosher," Sax says. But he's aware that rules are meant to be broken. Sax was
initially skeptical of Brent's, because of its vast menu, but he was won over
with one bite of their house-made kishke, a rarely served sausage made of
beef intestines stuffed with schmaltz, matzo meal and, often, organ meat.

Community spirit

The other secret of L.A.'s delis is that its owners are a tight-knit bunch
who usually cooperate with each other. When Nate 'n Al installed a new
computer system, owners David and Mark Mendelsohn went around to other local
delis to help them set up their computer systems. Sax can't imagine that
happening elsewhere.

"I've been to delis, especially in Florida, and when you ask if there are any
other delis, they say, 'There are no others,' even if you can see another
deli in the strip mall across the street," Sax says. "The attitude that
prevailed in New York for a long time is that if another deli goes out of
business, 'Hey, more for me.' "

It's not simply a philosophical error but a pragmatic one, in Sax's opinion.
If the deli, whether as a hallowed eatery or as the civilian repertoire of
American Jewish culture is to be saved, then Los Angeles is the case study.
"The more delis that there are, the more people are going to want to eat at
delis because it's visible, it's there in their minds," Sax says. "I thought
that was the lesson L.A. could teach everyone else."