For most shoppers a trip to the grocery store is an uneventful errand. In the larger scope of life it is painless. It can even be pleasant, as far as chores go. It certainly ranks above cleaning the bathroom.
Going to the grocery store can also be an opportunity to bump into friends, gossip, zone out. Not for me and my mother at Waldbaum's. This wasn't just about running an errand. This was a mission to get a low number in line at the delicatessen.
"Run!" she commanded before the car pulled into the parking space at Waldbaum's. "Get a number!" I sprung from the car and darted into the store across the slippery linoleum floor. Was it dangerous? Yes. I had to avoid huddles of women in bright lipstick exchanging gossip about their neighbors.
"Have you seen Ida's new Mercedes?"
"What was Bobbie thinking? It is fluorescent yellow!"
"Bobby told Saul he is sick of her car accidents. Now they will see her coming."
"Yeah, you can see Ida from five miles away!"
"You can see Ida from the space shuttle."
I had to choose a route. Some aisles were so jammed with carts that I couldn't pass through. I had to move fast so I chose the baking aisle, which was deserted. No one in this town would ever turn on their oven to bake. Maybe to reheat a frozen pound cake, but not to bake from a mix that read "Duncan Hines."
Prepared food was Great Neck's daily bread and the busiest part of the store was the Mecca of prepared food: the deli.
I saw my destination: the bright red machine that printed numbers for the line. Women swarmed around the machine, clutching their numbers in their fists. I plunged in and grabbed a number. 198. The deli man's nasal voice announced, "Number 122. Serving 122." I had time.
I decided to check in with my mother.
"198!" she exclaimed as she perused ten pound mounds of ground beef. "We'll be here all day!"
My mother was always in a rush for no apparent reason. No job, a full time house cleaner, gardeners, etc. but she had little time to spare. I suppose she had places to go that were more pressing than Waldbaum's.
I felt defensive about my high number for the deli line. I should have knocked someone down to get a better number.
"You don't know that for sure." I said. "The line could move fast."
What a liar! I knew the line never moved fast. Why? Because of the sacred ritual of samples.
"I'll have two pounds of tongue," said a lady with orange hair. The deli man opened the case, extracted a log of tongue, lay it on the slicer and sliced off one piece which he offered to the lady.
"O.K.?" he said.
"Fine." she replied after chewing her sample.
As he commenced his work on the log of tongue I wondered why she needed to taste it. Does tongue vary in flavor from week to week? Did the meat processor in New Jersey change the preservatives and spices in the tongue? Anything is possible.
Everyone who orders cold cuts engages in this ritual. Everyone except me.
When my number was called I spoke quickly."I'll have two pounds of pastrami, two pounds of smoked turkey, two pounds of roast beef, one pound of potato salad, one pound of cole slaw and half a pound of scallion cream cheese."
"Anything else?"
"Half a pound of whitefish salad."
The deli guy opened the case and removed a piece of roast beef. He heaved it onto the slicer and cut one slice. He leaned across the counter and offered me the pink slice of meat.
"O.K.?"
"No thanks."
"What?!"
"No thanks."
He chewed on his toothpick, considering the situation. Something was clearly wrong, but what? People were listening to us. I had become a curiosity, maybe a freak. I had to say something, anything.
"I just ate breakfast!" I blurted out.
It was 2PM. The hum of the crowd resumed.
Still working on that toothpick, the deli man sliced meat, scooped salads into plastic containers and placed everything into a brown paper bag. Handing me the bag he said, "Have a nice day," without making eye contact. I guess that was part of the ritual too.
The Essential Pastrami Sandwich
This is a classic deli meat lovers sandwich and the absence of vegetables is essential. That means that lettuce, tomatoes and onions have no place here. Coleslaw, however, is a welcome addition and it is best to place it on the middle layer so the bread does not get soggy.
two slices of rye bread, preferably dark rye
deli mustard, preferably Hebrew National
ten to twelve slices of pastrami
cole slaw (optional)
Spread mustard on both slices of bread. Put five slices of pastrami on one piece and add four tablespoons of coleslaw. Add another layer of pastrami and put the bread on top. You will know you have enough meat on your sandwich if you have to open you mouth very wide to take a bite.
This sandwich tastes even better when accompanied by a dill pickle.