Look at the photo above. Take as long as you like. Sigh, smile, moan, close your eyes. That’s what a pastrami sandwich from a true Jewish delicatessen can do to a person. Even without that ineffable aroma of seasonings and faint smokiness, it draws you to it and activates the appetite.
       Yet, sadly, this kind of glorious sandwich has become a very rare thing in America, and one need not be a New York prig to contend that outside of New York, good Jewish deli—which is a tautology—is nearly impossible to find, with the exception of one or two places in Los Angeles. (Don’t even mention Schwartz’s Deli in Montreal, where they toss the meat in the window as if they were slabs of carpet.)
       The problem is, even in New York, great deli is difficult to find, with only a handful of places still open that keep to the revered traditions of how to prepare pastrami, brisket, corned beef and tongue, along with chopped liver, borscht, matzoh ball soup and other delicacies. Indeed, the word “delicatessen” comes from the German for delicacies.
       Ratner’s, Dubrow's, Phil Gluckstein’s, Lou G. Siegel’s, Howie’s, O & W, the  Carnegie and Stage delicatessens are all gone; Barney Greengrass (1908) and Russ & Daughters (1914) really only sell smoked fish. The survivors are Liebman’s in the Bronx, Essen in Brooklyn, the venerable Katz’s, the Second Avenue Deli, Sarge’s, Zabars and PJ Bernstein on Third Avenue on the Upper East Side, now with a third generation of family in charge.
      PJB was opened in 1965 by Mr. Bernstein, and one of his many regulars was Alex Slobodski, a New York cabbie who was offered the chance to take the deli over in 1983, swearing he would maintain all the old recipes and traditions. Today his grandson, Eugene, with his father Steve, have kept the place thriving though thick, thin and Covid. Chef Tommy Jedrzejezyk has led the kitchen at PJ Bernstein for more than 20 years.
      One can imagine that, like all the historic delis in New York, PJB has had its slew of regulars, from Lucille Ball, Marisa Tomei and Liza Minnelli to Sean Connery, Mel Brooks and Woody Allen, whose photos line the walls.
      Aside from the meats, one dish seems to sum up the sumptuous nature of PJB: the “Triple Delight” chicken soup ($20.50), which begins with 25 pounds of chicken, bones and vegetables to produce 50 gallons of golden, rich broth (right). This comes to the table in a huge bowl in which noodles have sunk and matzoh balls bob along with the carrots and celery, and the steam that fills the air is as woozy-inducing as those tender matzoh balls and noodles that have fully absorbed the broth. The old cliché that chicken soup is “Jewish penicillin” seems wholly warranted.
      Then there are the kreplach ravioli ($10.50; $19.50 for a quart) filled with succulent brisket of beef and onions, as well as one of the best and most beautiful hot borschts ($19.50) I’ve ever come across (below). Too often borscht tastes too much like beets, but PJB’s is far more complex in its various flavors, not least with the dollop of sour cream you ladle on top. There is also a cold version ($10.50).
      Everything short of the pickles and the desserts are made on premises, like the flaky, crisp pierogies ($15.75) stuffed with either potato or chopped brisket, with sweet fried onions. I loved the pleasingly flavorful ball of chopped chicken liver ($12.95) with purple tangy-sweet onions (below). I took a lot home and ate it for lunch over the next two days with Ritz crackers.
      Since there are nightly specials, you should consult Eugene (a dentist by trade) on the day’s best items (“That one’s okay, this one’s better,” he’ll tell you). They make their own gefilte fish ($12.95) with three kinds of fish— whitefish, cod and pike, but no carp—and while I told him I’m not a fan, he told me to try it with the ruby red horseradish; not least for its lightness and moderate fishiness, it pushed me closer to appreciation of the dish. Steve apologized for not having the cured and smoked sable that evening, shaking his head and saying, “It’s to die for.”
      Next came the meats: PJB slices theirs very thin, almost like prosciutto, and, whether you get it on rye bread or on a platter ($20.95)—about half a pound of meat—the temptation to eat it with your fingers is overwhelming. Superb pastrami and delectable corned beef vie with some of the finest tongue I’ve had. (The breads served are from Eli’s.) The “Cardiologist Special” features pastrami, tongue, and chicken liver pâté for those who have some serious hunger. The side dishes merit ordering, if you have the room, not least the crisp latke potato pancakes served with apple sauce and sour cream ($15.95). Those stuffed sandwiches, from which everyone takes some home, range from $15.95 to $23.95.
      You still want to hear about dessert? Eugene shrugs and says, “We don’t make them, but they’re okay.” He’s not happy with the rugelach cookies (left), though. Still, the cheese cake ($8) is very good, very light.
     It is an absurd omission that New York’s food media have assiduously abandoned writing about the appeal of the city’s remaining delis, instead focusing on pop-ups, food trucks and storefront Asian eateries with ten seats and two good dishes. The panoply of  now sacrosanct Jewish dishes have been ignored at a time when novelty triumphs over consistent, decades long excellence. If you need a reminder of the latter, drop into PJ Bernstein’s, take a look at what’s in the glass counter, smell the chicken soup and the steaming pastrami and you will become a regular forever. What’s not to like?

PJ Bernstein is open daily from 10 AM through dinner. 

     It’s no secret that the basic process of making a whiskey is to turn a grain like rye, barley or corn into alcohol by cooking it, letting it ferment, distilling it into a vapor then allowing it to become an alcoholic liquid. Variations may include malting the barley to make Scotch. The reason they don’t taste all the same is due to the quality and type of the grain used, the pot still and how the liquor is aged, then blended.
     Once, that was pretty much the whole of it, but in the past thirty years all sorts of machinations have been used to produce new styles of spirits by making them in small batches, unblended or blended, citing progressively older ages (“25 Year Old” actually means that is the youngest whiskey used in a blend), and, increasingly, the make-up of the barrel used, like sherry casks, new oak, old oak, well-charred oak and so on. Such innovations don’t necessarily make such spirits so much better, but do offer variations on flavor—along with bragging rights as to their higher and higher prices.
      Preference should be the guiding light for enjoying whiskies and spirits. Those who like a smokier, peatier Scotch will search out those made in Islay, Scotland; a more refined style would be Highland; a sweeter bourbon may come from a light char and moderate alcohol level; and, of course, the alcohol proof can be manipulated or issued at cask strength to give a whiskey or spirit a bigger bounce.
      That said, just as with wine writers, spirits connoisseurs strive mightily to come up with descriptions that are next to meaningless: A bourbon is described as having “a slightly mouth coating mouth feel, with vanilla in the nose expressed more specifically as a custard, with the caramel being the burnt crust on top of a crème brûlée and the space is around at a cinnamon note.”  A rum is said to taste of “chocolate, buttered sweet potato, dark fruit, caramel, vanilla, brown sugar, and baked apples,” while a Scotch is “complex and layered on the nose; what starts off as herbaceous, with pine cone, tea leaf, lemon oil, and toasted nuts, develops into sweet aromas of candied nuts, cinnamon challah bread, maple syrup, and toffee.” Whatever.
      So, in recommending various spirits I look for the most interesting new iterations and styles—many just released this fall—not by their price, but ones I think readers will enjoy trying, according to their palate and budget.

  
A. H. Hirsch Single Barrel Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey  ($90)—A limited batch of just 57 barrels made in Bardstown, KY, this rendering is non-chilled filtered, combining a mash  of 72% corn, 13% rye, and 15% malted barley, aged for a minimum of six years at 62.5% alcohol. The square bottles are striking.

Horse Soldier Bourbon Commander’s Select ($595)—There’s a real-life story behind Horse Soldier, based on US Army Green Berets who after 9/11 entered Afghanistan on horseback. Several members of that group are behind this bourbon, whose bottle is molded by steel recovered from the World Trade Center. Sales from the Commander’s Select are all donated to maintaining the America Response Monument located at Ground Zero in New York City. Its basic bourbon is $49, the Small Batch Bourbon is  $69.99 and the Barrel Strength Bourbon at 54% alcohol is $85. 

Blue Note Crossroads Small Batch Bourbon ($50)—Bottled at 100 proof (50% alcohol), Blue Note was created over two years of research in a partnership with Tonnellerie Radoux, a boutique wine cooperage in central France. Explains McCauley Williams, President and CEO of B.R. Distilling Company, “We’ve all come to a crossroads in our lives, whether personal or professional . . . We mark our crossroads with the intersection of American and French oak.” It’s a blend of 60% corn, 36% rye and— which is unusual— 4% malted barley, and 100% unfiltered. Though made in Memphis, this is not a Tennessee-style whiskey.

Redwood Empire Grizzly Beast Straight California Bourbon ($100)—This Northern California whiskey shows the trend towards increasing blending, in this case 69% corn, 22% rye, 5% malted barley and 4% wheat, which means it veers away from a strict bourbon definition, but neither is it a Scotch. It’s uniquely Californian, I suppose you would say. It’s 50% alcohol and is aged for five years.

Dry Fly Straight Triticale ($40)—Claiming to be the first to use triticale, a single grain developed in Scotland in the late 1800s from a hybrid of wheat and rye (they also make one of straight wheat), Dry Fly, out of Spokane, Washington, sources its grains from family-owned farms located within 30 miles of the distillery. Launched in 2007, Dry Fly is aged three years in new American oak and released at 45% alcohol.

Stranahan’s Caribbean Rum Cask  ($70 )—This is distilled from 100% malted barley and handmade in small batches in Colorado’s first legal distillery since Prohibition. The Caribbean Rum Cask is made from 100% malted barley, cut to proof with Rocky Mountain water and chill filtered, then aged initially in new, lightly charred American oak, then further aged for up to three years in Caribbean rum barrels.

King of Kentucky Straight Single Barrel Bourbon ($249)—Founded in 1881 and acquired by spirits giant Brown-Forman in 1936 to become a blended whiskey, the brand was discontinued in 1968. Now it’s back in the portfolio, and this is the fourth annual iteration of a 14-year-old as a premium bourbon at barrel strength, with minor filtration, with just 33 barrels released this fall.

Kirk and Sweeney Reserva ($32)—The lovely globular bottle comes with an attachment reading, “Dominican Republic in origin, Long Island New York destination. 860 cases of rum,” a tag from the era of Prohibition for booze sent via a rumrunning schooner named Kirk and Sweeny.  This modern expression is made from black strap molasses, as is usual in that part of the world. There is also a Gran Reserva and XO.  

MOST SHOCKING PROPOSAL OF THE WEEK!

"Groups have been sitting around ordinary tables in ordinary chairs since time immemorial without feeling as though they’re somehow missing out on something — and without excluding entire groups of people. Banquettes are terrible; it’s time to get rid of them.”—“Ban the Banquette” by Terrence Doyle, Eater.com (10/26/21)