The Cupboard Mouse Gets ‘Nosh-talgic’ at Art’s Deli

{Worries Go Down Better With Soup}

New York City, fashion mecca and land of the Bubby.  As long as my memories go back, I have had this very hazy picture of eating corned beef, and not just any corned beef. . .corned beef from the deli promised land, nay the deli center of the universe, the Carnegie Deli.  Where the words “extra lean, half sour, and Russian dressing” float through the air on smooth currents of “chopped liver”.  Every grey haired man here was a potential grandpa or perhaps a not so distant relative of your great uncle’s cousin, Sheila.

So you sit there, and as you wait you feast on pickled tomatoes and other briny delectables from the pickle spectrum.  And then, sheer glee, my five year old life was complete! In front of me appeared, as if by magic, the most luscious ruby layers of warm corned beef stacked mountainously high between two rye encrusted cushions.

Oh yes, Bubby’s favorite color just might have been black, and she also may have slept in curlers, and she may not have let me play with the little glass boxes on her side table in her living room, but the food in Bubby’s city really had some  panache!