Look, I don’t like to complain. I really don’t.
I’d much prefer writing a glowing review of this refreshingly traditional Jewish delicatessen that captures the history and culture of its old-world New York counterparts better than any Jewish deli I’ve seen West of the Mississippi. But then they…
…forgot…
…the…
…mustard.
So now, that’s really all I can talk about.
Here’s how this travesty happened…
“What can I get for you?” asked the nice, young, masked girl at the counter.
“I’ll have the pastrami,” I said.
“Do you want the Reuben or just the regular pastrami?” she asked. I paused to think for a second. “The Reuben has sauerkraut, Russian dressing and mustard, and stuff,” she offered helpfully. “And the pastrami just has mustard.”
“I’ll have the regular pastrami sandwich to go,” I chirped, remembering that the last time we came to Saul’s, Luka (son, 15) had the pastrami sandwich and absolutely loved it. It was a happy moment, right then, as I anticipated this culinary experience.
As my stomach grumbled, I loitered in the foyer, taking in the old-fashioned 50s decor, the delightful ambiance, and the hustling and bustling of the 20+ person staff. I gazed around the room at the 40 or so tables, the red leatherette booths, and the giant photos of big Jewish families from the 1940s or 50s at weddings and other family events.
“What a great place,” I thought to myself. If I lived in North Berkeley, I’d probably eat here all the time.
After about 7 minutes, the sandwich was delivered in a brown paper bag by the same helpful, hardworking girl from the register. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before (at Rose Pizza, also in Berkeley next to The Butcher’s Son), so I was extremely hungry. I walked next door and bought two eclairs from the baker and sauntered over to my car to eat my sandwich.
I took one bite and, while the pastrami was pretty good, something… missing. Something big. Something important. “What was it?” I thought as I choked down another bite. Oh yeah! I know what it is!
Fuck!
They forgot
the fucking
mustard.
As I said, I don’t like to complain. Some people get off on complaining and criticizing. We all know that type of person who is never satisfied. That rather exhausting person who gets a charge from whining about the seat on the plane or the foul weather or the busy traffic. To me, these are just brittle, non-adaptable people who live in an idealized version of reality that really only exists in their minds. These are spoiled, overly-privileged types who harbor outsized perceptions of their own personal control over situations and their importance in the world. For me, this all seems to take more energy than it’s worth and ignores the relative chaos, randomness, and entropy that actually makes up our reality. Shit happens. Accept it and move on fer chrisakes.
But I do make exceptions (clearly). In this particular situation, there were only three ingredients to the sandwich. THREE!! The pastrami, the rye bread, and the mustard (a word that, starts with “must,” I might add).
Let me repeat, the sandwich only had three ingredients …and they forgot one of them. I CAN NOT STRESS enough how disappointing that is.
No, wait, yes I can …
Here a photograph of the mustard that was, in my case, forgotten.
The critical importance of mustard
Let’s go ahead and put aside the many health benefits of mustard. The cancer blocking, headache reducing, digestion enhancing, anti-oxidant and calcium-boosting qualities of this condiment. And we needn’t mention the biblical parables that use the mustard seed to help explain the growth of something small into the kingdom of God. Let’s focus on what mustard brings to a pastrami sandwich… when it is properly included.
Mustard adds acidity and kick that helps balance the fattiness of the pastrami while bringing out the many flavors of the meat – especially that subtle smokiness. Lastly, mustard adds a little more viscosity to the sandwich that lubricates the otherwise dry ingredients: pastrami and bread. There’s also something about pastrami (and corned beef) in particular that cries out for mustard. If you Google the question, “What’s the most important condiment on a pastrami sandwich?” The answer, my friend, is mustard. Spicy mustard, to be more specific. Spicy brown mustard to be succinct. In other words, in the opinion of, like, everyone, the most important ingredient, besides the meat and bread, was left off my sandwich.
You might also say that NOBODY serves a sandwich with JUST bread and pastrami. Unless they live in Crazy Town. I challenge you to find a delicatessen, sandwich shop or restaurant that would do such a thing on purpose. And if you could, and they did – which is highly doubtful – they sure as shit wouldn’t charge $26 for it. Which, yes, is what I paid (after taxes).
The sandwich also came with coleslaw, but they forgot the fork. Grrrrrr.
As I said, I was starving… and, at this point, pretty hangry. So I ate half of the bone-dry, mustardless tragedy and found a plastic spoon in my car to scarf down the thimble of coleslaw. Earlier in the day, I bought some Dusseldorf-style German mustard on a whim. So I saved the other half of the sandwich and drove the 55 minutes home without a single thought in my head EXCEPT how good that sandwich will taste WITH FUCKING MUSTARD.
And it WAS good. Really good. It’s amazing how much FLAVOR one condiment can add. It’s like adding milk to a dry bowl of cereal or salt to unsalted scrambled eggs. Totally different experience. I could now taste the smokiness of the meat and the sandwich went down the gullet much easier. In short, it was a completely different sandwich. Well, half sandwich now.
The 36-year history of Saul’s
Originally a produce depot in the 1930s, the location has been a Berkeley-based delicatessen since the 1950s. Saul’s, which is named after Saul Lichtenstein, opened its doors in 1986 (the year I graduated high school). The current co-owners are chef Peter Levit, who got his start at Oliveto (recently closed) and Chez Panisse, and Karen Adelman. This helps explain their current approach to food - which was a departure from how the previous owners had done things.
Instead of shipping items in from New York, they focus on locally-produced, artisanal ingredients. The meats are raised humanely and sustainably. The fish… sustainably raised. The bread, made by Berkeley powerhouse Acme Bread Company, is all organic. The coffee is fair trade and organic. Eggs are from uncaged, organic chickens. The produce is organic and locally grown. While the owners claim they’re not trying to recreate classic NY-style Jewish delis, that’s essentially what they’ve done, but in a more healthful and ecologically aware way. A nice, ownable hook. I like it… except for the gaping hole in my $26 sandwich.
It’s worth noting that the seven-page menu is very expansive and includes other, I assume, properly-made adorned Jewish foods like knishes, latke’s, blintzes, chopped liver, matzo ball soup, bagels, and so on. In fact, I had the latke’s the last time I was there and they were both generous and delicious. They also have more than 30 sandwiches and lots of to-go meat, fish, soups, salads, bagels and condiments to go. Wow.
I might give them another chance someday. Maybe.