Read The Second Avenue Deli Cookbook Online
Authors: Sharon Lebewohl
The Second Avenue Deli Cookbook (8 page)
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Lentil Salad
SERVES
6
TO
8
6
TO
8
2 cups lentils
â
cup olive oil
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar
½ cup very finely chopped onion
1 teaspoon crushed fresh garlic
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon fresh-ground pepper
½ teaspoon sugar
1. Rinse lentils under cold water in a colander, and pick through for stones and impurities.
2. In a stockpot, bring 9 cups of water to a vigorous boil. Add lentils, reduce heat, and simmer 35 minutes. Rinse in a strainer under cold water, drain, and place in a large bowl.
3. In another bowl, mix all remaining ingredients well. Pour over lentils and stir well. Serve chilled.
PROMOTIONS, PITCHES â¦Â AND PITCHING NO-HITTERS
Guardian of the Pickles
O
N
M
AY 25, 1994
, in celebration of National Pickle Week (yes, there is a National Pickle Week), fifteen strong-stomached and hungry hopefuls gathered at the Second Avenue Deli for a pickle-eating contest. Techniques varied: some contestants chopped the pickles into bite-sized pieces, while others chomped three or four whole ones at a time. The winner was Guardian Angels founder Curtis Sliwa, who once again proved himself a macho guy by downing close to five pounds of delectable dills in just fifteen minutes! “The secret,” said Curtis, “is you belch after every second pickle to get rid of gas.”
N
M
AY 25, 1994
, in celebration of National Pickle Week (yes, there is a National Pickle Week), fifteen strong-stomached and hungry hopefuls gathered at the Second Avenue Deli for a pickle-eating contest. Techniques varied: some contestants chopped the pickles into bite-sized pieces, while others chomped three or four whole ones at a time. The winner was Guardian Angels founder Curtis Sliwa, who once again proved himself a macho guy by downing close to five pounds of delectable dills in just fifteen minutes! “The secret,” said Curtis, “is you belch after every second pickle to get rid of gas.”
Pickles
MAKES
20
20
You can pickle firm green tomatoes or beets the same way.
20 small Kirby cucumbers (choose firm, fresh, unwaxed, bumpy-textured cucumbers that are close to equal in size)
¾ cup kosher salt
15 whole garlic cloves, unpeeled
1 bunch of fresh dill
2 tablespoons pickling spices or: 1½ teaspoons mustard seeds 1½ teaspoons whole black peppercorns 1 teaspoon coriander seeds 1 teaspoon dill seeds
6 bay leaves
1 hot dried red pepper
1. Scrub the cucumbers with a brush in clear water.
2. Pour 1 gallon of water into a large stockpot, add salt, and bring to a boil. Turn off heat, and allow water to return to room temperature. While water is cooling, wrap unpeeled garlic cloves in a cloth napkin, and crush them lightly with the back of a large knife.
3. Pack the cucumbers tightly into wide-mouthed jars, add all other ingredients (distribute equally), and pour salted water over them. The cucumbers must be covered completely. Put the lid on, shake jar to distribute spices evenly, and store in a cool place (do not refrigerate). Open the jar once a day to skim off foam. In 4 days, the pickles will be half-sour, and can keep, refrigerated, for several weeks. For sour pickles, do not refrigerate until 6 days have passed.
T
HIS CHARMING ODE
to Jewish delicatessen fare, by Abe's friend Israel Shenker, appeared in
The New York Times
in 1984.
HIS CHARMING ODE
to Jewish delicatessen fare, by Abe's friend Israel Shenker, appeared in
The New York Times
in 1984.
Lochs and Bagels
When my wife, Mary, and I left New York five years ago to live in Scotland, Abe Lebewohl wondered why. “What will you find to eat?” he asked.
Mr. Lebewohl owns the Second Ave. Kosher Delicatessen & Restaurant, at the corner of 10th Street, and austerity is not his line. He has pursued the good life throughout Western Europe and Israel, and once almost succeeded in catching a waiter's eye in Russia. Never having been to Scotland, he tried to visualize our setting. “It's like a shtetl?” he suggested. “Between one house and the next, it's a half a mile?” For him, our move to Scotland spelled ethnic starvation.
So he began shipping pastrami. The first parcel arrived like manna from heaven, and we ate as if our lives depended on it.
Our home is in the Trossachs, an area of rural splendor and deli deprivation. The closest Jewish restaurant is in Glasgow, 45 miles away. Last winter, we were snowed in for three weeks. At the height of a raging blizzard, the postman struggled to the door bearing a heavy parcel. Inside, we found a brief note from Mr. Lebewohl and a vast expanse of pastrami.
My wife, moved by the sight of lambs at the window, had renounced eating meat, her abstinence reinforced by the spectacle of pastrami on the hoofâlovely Highland cattle, unpickled, unspiced, unsmoked. Obedient to her master's choice, however, she prepared the pastrami, while the Saint Bernard went onto the ice floes with a rush order for mustard and sour pickles.
Day after day, I feasted on pastrami. Eventually, keen on the scent, local friends arrived to lend a few hands and hear wondrous accounts of this and other exotic delicacies. When I returned to New York for a visit in April, Mr. Lebewohl gave me a menu to nourish nostalgia on long winter evenings. Now, between pangs of heartburn and pastrami deliveries that continue to arrive by mail or occasional itinerant customer pressed into service by Mr. Lebewohl, rise visions of charms remote and inaccessible: boiled beef flanken, potato knishes, noodle pudding, gefilte fish, Yankee bean soup and the penitential half sandwich at half price after buying a whole one at full price.
As I nibble à la carte, my wife labors in the kitchen, indulgently permitting the lambs to trample our shrubs while she bakes shortbread and oatcakes to ship to the Second Ave. Deli, just to show Mr. Lebewohl that ethnicity bites both ways.
Copyright © 1984 by
The New York Times
Co. Reprinted by permission.
The New York Times
Co. Reprinted by permission.
P'tcha
SERVES
8
8
What with boiling calf's feet and embedding the meat in a glutinous jelly, this might be one of those dishes you have to grow up with to appreciate. It's also very garlicky. Abe once fed some p'tcha to an intrepid
New York Times
reporter with the caveat “Don't go on a heavy date after eating this.”
New York Times
reporter with the caveat “Don't go on a heavy date after eating this.”
2 calf's feet, cut into quarters (ask your butcher to do it)
2 cloves garlic, peeled
2 bay leaves
1 large onion, sliced
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1½ teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon whole peppercorns
2 cloves finely chopped or crushed fresh garlic
3 medium hard-boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
Lemon and red horseradish for garnish
1. Wash calf's feet thoroughly. Place them in a large stockpot, cover with water, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Discard cooking water.
2. Rinse the pot, and place calf's feet in it with fresh water to cover. Add 2 cloves garlic, bay leaves, onion, vinegar, salt, and peppercorns. Bring to a boil, cover, and simmer 3 to 4 hours, until the meat falls off the bones. Add a little water if necessary.
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