Al Langer 1913-2007 Pastrami Perfectionist
Tuesday, June 26th, 2007
I write with great sadness this morning as I have just received news of the death of a true deli legend. Al Langer, the founder of Langer’s Delicatessen in Los Angeles, passed away this Sunday. He was 94 years old. His loss will be felt accross the entire Los Angeles delicatessen community, around the country, and the world. For Al Langer was a pastrami perfectionist and anyone who tasted the fruits of his labors will forever be in his debt.
The Los Angeles Times published a great obituary of Mr. Langer today.
“In his later years, Al Langer continued to spend part of the day at the deli, reading his newspaper, greeting customers, watching the cycles of his customers’ lives.
“It’s fascinating,” he said in a 1986 Times article. “They come in as children, they get married and they bring in their children. And the older people that used to come in, they disappear. Little by little, they’re gone….”
The constant at Langer’s Delicatessen is good food. The expansive menu includes fried kippers, corned beef, New York steak, and livers and onion. But the deli’s hot pastrami sandwich sent critics searching for superlatives. Part of the secret, Langer said, was that the pastrami is steamed tender for hours and hand-sliced. Hot rye bread is the other key.”
Read the rest of the LA Times obituary here.
Though his death will be mourned by deli fans everywhere, his life’s work and legacy will shine forever in three ways:
-Langer’s name will continue to hang over the delicatessen he founded sixty years ago. Just two weeks ago he lived to celebrate this momentous anniversary, where it was decreed by the city that the intersection of 7th and Alvarado will be named Langer’s Square in his honor.
-He is survived by his son Norm Langer, who has been running the delicatessen for several years, and posesses all the great qualities that made Al Langer one of the world’s finest deli men, and a true mensch. With Norm at the helm, the Langer’s legacy will continue to shine bright.
-The pastrami sandwich he brought to Los Angeles and the world remains at the top of its game. Dark, spicy, and slightly sweet, the tender meat is hand sliced to perfection, assembled on thick slices of warm, double baked rye, and slathered with brown mustard. It is a work of art in the world of Jewish deli, and like all great masterpieces, it will outlive its creator for what we pray will be centuries.
Langer’s will close this Thursday, June 28th for the funeral, which is open to the public. Services will be held at 11 am at Eden Memorial Park 11500 Sepulveda Blvd, Mission Hills, California. You can post your wishes to the Langer family below.
Though no fund has been set up, Norm Langer requests that any donations be made to charities that target the needs of children, a cause that Al Langer championed his whole life.
Here are a few in the Los Angeles area.
Childrens Hospital of Los Angeles
The Aliance for Children’s Rights
Alav Hashalom
Rest in Peace
Montreal Jour 3: Smoked Meat Pete
Friday, June 8th, 2007One place in Montreal that I’ve heard much about and yet had never previously visited was Smoked Meat Pete’s. I’d heard the name, I’d heard it was far from the center of Montreal, I’d heard the food was supposedly outstanding. I’d even heard the tasty and tasteless motto: “You can’t beat Pete’s meat”
We’ll leave that up to Pete.
Anyway, yesterday night I tossed my buddy Ben Leszcz in the car and we headed off the western tip of the island of Montreal onto Ile Perrot, some 20 plus kilometers out of town. There, behind a vintage Dairy Queen, sat Smoked Meat Pete, the unlikliest place to encounter great deli.
Inside a blues band was plucking away, singing about heart attacks (from women and chopped liver) and heartbreak. The air hung thick with BBQ smoke, and the wagon wheels and worn wooden benches made it feel like a rib joint, which it partly is. After ordering and paying at the cash, we waited for the meat to come and listened to the tunes.
The place had serious promise, likely because Peter Varvaro Jr. is the son of Peter Varvaro, the owner of the Main Deli, directly accross from Schwartz’s on St. Laurent (aka the Main blvd). With decades in the smoked meat business, the younger Pete decided to set off on his own a decade ago, and the result has been tremendous.
The waitress brought out a trio of treats.
First to dissapear was the ultimate Quebec treat: Smoked Meat Poutine.
For those who don’t know, poutine is the ultimate heart attack food, a French Canadian concoction of golden french fries, cheese curds, and a thick beef gravy. It tastes of heaven and slows the body, but the idea of mixing in chopped smoked meat seemed risky and somewhat goyish. The result however was heaven, shrouded in layer upon layer of decadent sin. Salty, meaty, beefy, cheesy, starchy, and just plain old fat. When I get to death row, that’s what I’ll be eating before I go. Watch Ben go to town:
Next was a nice scoop of beef chopped liver, dark and sweet, pasty and flecked with bits of chopped egg. The kicker, and truly the best part was the little mound of crisp fried onion strips, almost hairlike in size, that were infused with gallons of delicious oil which made the perfect topping for the liver atop rye. Chopped liver without fried onions is like a night without stars.
And finally, the piece de resistance: Le smoked meat. Pete’s is dry cured like many of Montreal’s finest, which means that the briskets are rubbed with spices, left to marinate for a week or more, then smoked (usually baked) and finally steamed. There’s no preservatives, no pumping or injecting, just a natural slow cure, some cooking, and lots o’ love. Pete’s famous meat is rightly so; it crumbled nicely upon biting in, was tender, and extremely moist (to the point of being succulent). It came with a beautiful dark carmel crust, which lent a hint of sweetness to the peppery spice, a lot more pronounced than others in town.
Best of all, Smoked Meat Pete is right on the way into or out of Montreal if you’re coming from (or going to) Toronto. It’s about ten minutes from the airport, so really there’s no excuse not to go.
*also, Peter Sr. is having a bit of maintenance this coming week, so send your wishes and prayers to one of Montreal’s first families of smoked meat
Smoked Meat Pete
283 1 AV
ÎLE-PERROT,QC
(514) 425-6068
The Butcher of Marais: Michel Kalifa et Maison David
Thursday, May 24th, 2007Bienvenue mon ami. Vous etes avec faim? Pas de probleme…allez nous a Maison David!
photo by Christopher Farber
Pardon my bastardized grade 6 french, but when one talks about the culinary joys of Paris, one cannot pollute the sweet words with the bile of maudite Anglais.
I write today about one of the finest deli men I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Michel Kalifa runs a small butcher shop and charcuterie called Maison David, just off the fabled Rue des Rosiers in the Marais District of Paris. Le Marais is one of the oldest and most treasured Jewish neighborhoods in Europe, though that character is steadily dissapearing. I learnt about this from Kalifa, who is also President of the neighborhood preservation society. The city of Paris is increasingly pressuring the Jewish residents of the Rue des Rosiers, with their traditional bakeries, delicatessens, and stores, to clear out for boutiques, salons, and gay nightclubs. Last year, the legendary Jo Goldenberg’s Delicatessen closed, possibly the most famous deli in Europe.
“It’s artificial,” says Kalifa, of the gentrified area, “It’s a facade, a false street. People here don’t have the money to buy a dinner at these costs.”
Visit the site of Kalifa’s neighborhood commercial association (French only).
Until I ate at Maison David, I associated Jewish deli with cheap, plentiful, gut busting food. “Non Non Non” said Kalifa, laying various exsquisite treats upon his immaculate glass counter. There was mouth melting goose and duck pastrami, chopped liver the consistency of foie gras, mold crusted artesenal salamis with hazelnuts or peppercorns inside, and little karnatzels the size of a NIB candy. It was awe inspiring, showing that traditional kosher Yiddish cuisine (what Kalifa calls it), can be every bit as refined and delicious as the finest French, Italian, or Spanish charcuterie.
Don’t go looking for towering sandwiches and cheap knishes. This is old world food. Small, very powerful, rather expensive. It is meant to be savored and swirled…food for thought.
Take the pe’tcha for instance. This traditional shtetl dish of jellied calfs feet, a Romanian favorite, is one of the most intense gastronomic experiences in the Jewish diet. But Kalifa will place a slice on your tongue like Timothy Leary, and as it dissolves and warms, the garlicky aroma of veal and fat will fill your cheeks.
If you haven’t been to Paris, go now. And if you’ve been, but haven’t met Monsieur Kalifa, do so as well. With his Super Mario moustache and warm heart, you will emerge from his tiny shop full, satisfied, and a little bit more in love with the finest deli food imaginable. Bon Appetit!
Maison David
6, rue des Ecouffes, 75004
4e Arrondisement -le Marais
Paris, France
(014) 278-1576
MAP
Yuval Dekel and Liebman’s: Tongue in the Bronx with a side of Heavy Metal
Thursday, May 3rd, 2007
Though the Bronx was once a hotbed of delicatessens, today there is but a small slice left of its illustrious past. Sadly, there are only two delis that remain, in the upscale enclave of Riverdale, just north of Manhattan on the Harlem river.
One of these is Leibman’s, a half century old joint on West 235th Street, where elderly Jewish clientelle shlepp in and out laden down with huge bags of takeout. Though the Liebman family is long gone, the quality here is almost unsurpassed in the five boroughs, thanks to the watchful eye of young owner Yuval Dekel.
The Israeli born Dekel is a bit different from your standard New York deli owner.
First off, he’s young…not yet thirty, though to be fair, I’m not either.
Second of all, his real passion is drumming and writing music, which he does in the New York heavy metal band IRATE. It’s a far cry from knishes to death rock, but the proof is in the kishke, and Liebman’s is probably the best kosher spot in New York.
When I visited last November I was surprised by the quiet, soothing atmosphere. It wasn’t a gritty New York place, competing to be the loudest or rudest. Young staff (many of whom were Yuval’s relatives from Israel and his wife’s from Georgia) served dedicated old customers classic dishes. There was incredible sweet and sour cabbage rolls, the matzo ball soup is packed with chickeny flavor, and because Dekel was a baker before his father passed away and left him the store, the bread is outstanding…moist…dense…crisp…the perfect palate for the corned beef and pastrami that is cured IN THE STORE. The chopped liver is creamy and splendid, while the tongue is cut so thin and cooked so perfectly it melts like foie gras.
One of the best things Liebman’s makes is a hush puppy…tiny knishes stuffed with hot dogs. Liebman’s dogs alone are outstanding, not salty, extremely juicy, but the hush puppy treatment just raises the woof into another league. This is the type of place where you could just sit and eat for days and never get tired. Top tier, though entirely local because it’s far from Manhattan’s centre.
Well worth the visit. And there’s good news…Dekel says he plans to write a crazy death metal song about kvetching deli clients. Should be a classic.
Liebman’s
Kosher Restaurant and Catering
552 West 235 Street - Bronx (Riverdale) New York
www.liebmansdeli.com
Yuval’s band IRATE’s My Space page.
Schmaltz by Southwest: Arizona, Texas, and New Orleans
Sunday, March 25th, 2007Charlotte, North Carolina
It’s been a while since my last area roundup, due partly to the fact that I have driven across the entire country in a week, and largely to the fact that the following week I spent by the beach in Florida. So sue me.
Now I’m in for my final night in the south, before heading north to DC and then back home to Toronto in time for pesach. It’s been a hell of a trip, but at this point I can barely keep my eyes open.
This dispatch covers what I found once I left Las Vegas and before I arrived in Miami. As the crow flies that is about 2500 miles, though I took the longer route, which had me driving most days for about 5-10 hours at a time.
There aren’t a lot of delicatessens along the southern US border, packed as it is with sagebrush, vast tracts of inhospitable desert, drug smugglers and illegal aliens. But in the enclaves of Phoenix, Austin, Houston, and New Orleans there was haymish tastes to be found. (more…)
The King of Kibbitz: Freddie Roman
Thursday, March 22nd, 2007Boca Raton, Florida
Freddie Roman: legend of standup, king of the Catskills, Vegas stalwart and opening act for the likes of Tom Jones, Shirley Maclean and Sammy David Jr…not to mention the dean of the Friar’s Club.
Freddie Roman: deli lover, deli maven, deli macher. No one on earth can match the encyclopedic knowledge of delis, past and present that Freddie Roman contains in his noggin. You say a city he’ll name a deli. “Atlanta…oh yeah, Tom Jones and I stocked up on matzo ball soup for his jet from this place thirty years ago…”
And so, a classic deli joke, as told to me yesterday by Mr. Freddie Roman, comedic and delicatessen king. (with credit to originator Myron Cohen):
A man comes in to the same deli for twelve years every night and orders a matzo ball soup. One night he pulls on the waiter’s sleeve and says “Taste the soup.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the soup” the waiter says,
“Taste the soup” the man insists, shoving the bowl toward the waiter.
“What the heck are you talking about?” the waiter says, “it’s the same soup you’ve been eating every night for 12 years, nothing’s the matter with it, we make it the same way.”
“Taste the soup,” he says again, sending the waiter over the edge.
“Ok Ok stop hollering, I’ll taste the soup!…where’s your spoon?”
“Ah Ha!”
*sorry Freddie, I butchered it.
I Left my Blintz in San Francisco
Thursday, March 1st, 2007Deli Men of the Golden Gate
Los Angeles, CA
Finally out of the misery of winter and into sunny So-Cal. Just went for a run along Venice beach, with the sun, surf, and sandpipers reminding me that I’m a good few thousand miles from home. In a few hours I’m setting out for the first of many interviews at some of LA’s finest delicatessens, but for now I want to talk about my day in the city by the Bay.
San Francisco’s Jewish community has never been a heavy hitter in terms of North America. Still, it is decent sized enough to warrant a good deli scene, though like Chicago that has failed to come together over the years. The pickings are slim, though I managed to check out three places run by three different generations of deli men, all of whom warrant a visit when in the Bay Area. (more…)
Knishes in the Gravy Belt: two deli men in middle America
Friday, February 16th, 2007Boulder, Colorado
When I pulled into Denver a few nights ago I felt blessed. The drive from Kansas City had been a brutal 9 hour ordeal through the centre of the United States. At first it drizzled, and then poured sheets of rain. I passed time listening to right wing talk radio “…the homosexual agenda in the public schools wants to expose our children to…”, counted the anti-abortion bilboards, and weighed them against the equally numbered sex shop bilboards. By the time I was halfway the freezing rain kicked in, which soon turned to slush, which then turned to snow, and then just mixed back and forth. Accidents were everywhere, the road was a skating rink, but I finally arrived in Denver with my car encased in a cocoon of ice. Amen.
During those days between Chicago and here I met two deli men who operate in areas where owning a Jewish delicatessen is a lonely business. Middle America is the gravy belt. Aside from some outstanding Bar-B-Q it is the home of white bread, white folks, and spiceless meat. Hardly a place where deli can thrive. And yet…. (more…)
Sy, Rose, and Ari: legends of Motown
Sunday, February 4th, 2007Day 6 of Deli Road Trip-Chicago, Il
I’ve finally arrived in Chicago after a freezing white knuckle drive on icy roads where I saw more accidents than ever before in my life. Now I’m in the comfort of an airport hotel room, watching Da Bears fumble away a Superbowl.
Detroit and its surrounding suburbs provided a great start to the road trip, being a city full of character, quirky Yids, and a deep love of corned beef and double baked rye. I saw gleaming suburbs, quaint college towns, and the stark urban blight of an abandoned city, where the lines of race and economics are as stark as ever.
I’d like to use this post to start a feature I call “Profiles of a Deli Man”, and in this case a woman. A Deli Man is more than just a deli owner. He/she is the embodiment of the delicatessen’s ideal; someone whose very core is linked to their deli. A deli owner may run a delicatessen, but a Deli Man will live for their delicatessen. A Deli Man can work any job in a deli, from cooking the matzo ball soup, to cutting sandwiches and waiting tables. He is a tireless and selfless creature and the Jewish delicatessen exists today because of the Deli Men out there.
In Michigan I met a host of deli owners and workers, who were all very kind and interesting, but I want to talk about three figures in particular who stand out in my mind as exceptional Deli Men (and Deli Woman). (more…)
