Well, look what the Katz dragged in…

I can’t believe I left some stuff out of my little rant on Chinatown but apparently someone there shares my views on marriage:

IMG_1912 I was debating for a solid 10 minutes whether or not to buy this shirt and cracking jokes about poor bastards who are getting married young before I realized that Brandon and Natalia are engaged… oops. No problem though, they are pretty used to me making fun of just about everything, including them, so it wasn’t really an issue.

Next we were off to one of the highlights of our trip, Katz deli. I was expecting a place with a door and seats where some surly waitress would take our order in some colorful New York way and bring us our smorgasbord of deliciousness. I was wrong.

Here’s how it went, Katz deli is on New York’s NFT list of places (as is advertised in stickers and plaques all over the restaurant) NFT as stated on the stickers, stands for Not For Tourists but can easily slip to No Fucking Tourists and Never Fucking Tourists. I’m not sure if it was the reason tourists don’t come here or implemented to keep them (us) out but the process of getting your food at this place was dizzying.

You walk into a crowd (70+) of people and are handed a ticket, no information is given to you about this ticket or its worth but we were lucky enough to hear someone say “don’t lose the fucking ticket” to their child as we came in.

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Then you are herded into another crowd in front of butcher style counters with sneeze guards and men with knives. We stood there blank faced for a few minutes until what looked like a security guard, but ended up being the most helpful person in the place, yelled “EVERY CUTTER HAS A LINE LINE UP AT THE CUTTERS!!”. Line up at the cutters we did. The pastrami is the golden ticket here but I was in the mood for brisket. It should be mentioned that the promise at this fine establishment is that every sandwich has at very least 1lb of meat in it, they didn’t fail us. The “cutter” that I got was a very entertaining fellow, he asked what I wanted and congratulated me on not going with the status quo, “It’s not always about the pastrami, good call buddy” he said, followed shortly by a small cut of pastrami on a plate in front of me and the words “Not trying to change your mind but you wouldn’t want to have left here without having some”, Jesus Christ on a pogo stick he was right. The pastrami was cut from heavens own pigs and seasoned with love, an orphans love. But, I am too stubborn for my own good and stuck with the brisket. It too was beyond delicious (but not as good as the pastrami) and they definitely fulfilled their promise of at least 1 lb of meat.

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Those potato pancakes were nothing to scoff at either, this food was fit for Zeus or Buddha himself, whichever floats your boat. Here is a shot of the iconic storefront, complete with NY’s finest right outside.

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Ok, I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I seem to be rambling on these posts about NY, I have so much more to say about today but this one is already a bit long so I’ll cut it at this point and reserve my next set of run-ons for another post.

Cojelo,

Robbie

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