Life in the Deli

Last night, I was watching one of my favorite shows, “Gene Simmons’ Family Jewels” (could there be any doubt after an article like this?). Gene was in a deli with a reporter, and he sat there explaining all the food that was laid out in front of her. This girl didn’t understand – a Jew like me was just sitting back and drooling as Gene was showing her pastrami and corned beef sandwiches, not to mention delicious potato pancakes.

I can’t think of a food experience more Jewish than going out and having delicious delicatessen food. For my family, this was a great bonding experience. When it’s time to flash back on some of the happiest memories of my childhood, it often features sitting down at the deli for some sandwiches.

When I was a kid, it was tradition to go out to our deli in the San Fernando Valley – Art’s Deli on Ventura Boulevard. It would be my uncle, aunt, cousin, grandparents, parents and sister. I remember going over Coldwater Canyon with my grandparents in the car, looking forward to dinner with them in great anticipation. My grandmother would play games with my sister and me in the back seat. For me, I cherished every moment of this part of my life. It was the great part of being just a large, happy family.

We would get there and pass the deli counter, filled with giant roasts and various salads, to get to the counter and put our name on the list. It was a comfort to always hear, between the parties of four, three and two, something along the lines of “Bob, party of nine.” To this day, I still love going out with a ton of people. It feels like family, like home.

There we would sit in a large booth with orange cushions, and we all would order our favorites. Nony would order a lean corned beef, and mom would order tongue (hey, people – don’t knock it until you’ve tried it! It’s good!). Shosh and I would split tongue and corned beef. Dad would order some dish like a kishka that he remembered from his childhood – when his grandmother, an immigrant from Romania, was still able to cook.

Eventually it was served – a divine stack of thinly-sliced meat, in between two tiny pieces of rye bread. I would slather on some spicy mustard and curiously eye my sister as she put ketchup on her corned beef (yes, I know – VERY STRANGE). The slightly sweet yet hearty flavors would dance on my tongue. We’d all eat happily, and I will never forget that image of the nine of us sitting in that corner booth – my grandmother lovingly watching over her two children, their spouses and her three grandchildren with such love and joy. We were nine people coming together in this strange cross section in time, enjoying each other.

Afterwards, we'd wander down Ventura Boulevard, sometimes stopping into the various shops and bookstores. Eventually, we'd get to a hole-in-the-wall Baskin Robbins (or, as my uncle called it, "BR-BR"). I remember sitting there and snacking on our ice cream, laughing. There was also laughter, and the smiles of my Papu and Nony shining down on us.

Now, things are very different. My grandparents are long gone, and things will never be the way they were when my sister and I were little. My uncle is now married to a different woman (and I don’t take anything away from her – I love my Aunt Katie very much). Ari and I are kosher now, so we wouldn’t be ordering a corned beef sandwiches from Art’s – we would go to Pico Kosher Deli, which is actually kosher, not just kosher style. I’m not even sure if my cousin Amy even remembers these special times.

All I know is that in my mind’s eye, I can still see the part of Ventura Boulevard where Art’s is. I can see that nine-person booth and even taste that corned beef sandwich simply melting in my mouth. All I know is that you couldn’t pay me a million dollars for those memories. It reminds me, in all the craziness of childhood, I was always surrounded by love and a wonderful family. None of those people at the table were perfect people, nor did we ever become perfect. But we cherished each other. And I will never forget.

In honor of all things deli, I am bringing out something I love – my mother-in-law’s mock liver. We eat this on Saturday afternoons for Shabbat lunch at her house, and it is so tasty. Remember to chill it thoroughly, as eating it warm is like drinking warm beer. No bueno.

IMA’S MOCK LIVER

1 can well-drained peas or 2 cups defrosted peas (see Quick Tip)

1 large onion, chopped

3 tablespoons margarine

3 cloves garlic

2-3 hard-boiled eggs

¾ cup finely chopped walnuts

¾ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon black pepper

Paprika

Chop the onion and sauté it in the margarine. Finely chop the garlic and add it to the onions and stir. Meanwhile, hard-boil the eggs. Finely chop the walnuts until reaching ¾ cup.

Once hard-boiled eggs are done, cool and peel them. Put the canned peas or the defrosted peas in a bowl, smashing them with a fork. Add the onion mixture, walnuts and eggs and smash into the mixture. Season with the salt and pepper, and put in the refrigerator to cool until serving. Serve with paprika sprinkled on top.

Quick Tip: Canned peas often have a chartreuse hue to them, which might make them slightly unappetizing for some. If you like the stronger green color of fresh peas, I suggest you go for the frozen and just defrost them before adding them.