For me, eating at Katz’s is like an astronomer finding a new galaxy or a priest preachin’ ’bout jesus or a doctor saving a baby; it’s the all-enveloping feeling of finally reaching your singular purpose in life. It warms the body, lifts the soul and fills the stomach. Okay, enough idolatry, all readers should already know Katz’s Delicatessen (205 East Houston Street). Really. I ain’t playin’.
The pastrami at Katz is absolutely incredible. It’s huge. It’s fatty and meaty. It’s warm, buttery and soft. It’s already bite-sized. It’s stronger than opium. It’s exactly what the doctor ordered, all the time. The pastrami here is so good that all other things in life fade away. For those biting moments, everything is awash in a golden glow. Life is a sacred gift. But, eventually the taste disappears and you realize you left the oven/iron/torch on, but you don’t care, you go back in for another bite. It’s that good.
The pastrami is good. The mustard is good. The pickles are tasty. I have no idea what the bread taste like, only that it does not distract too much from the incredible pastrami and mustard. Possible downsides? Oh, maybe the daytime tourist crush, the insanely high prices and the fatty meat induced stomach pains. It’s all worth it for a few moments touching god.
My safety blanket
is the warmest, safest blanket.
All other blankets don’t compare
to my amazing pastrami slices
I’m warm.
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