The Food Maven Diary
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Big Press Week, Big Kvetch
Last week was quite special for me. There were stories about me and my new book, "Arthur Schwartz's Jewish Home Cooking: Yiddish Recipes Revisited" in, on Monday, New York Magazine, on Wednesday in the New York Times, and on Friday in the New York Daily News. On Saturday, a website called TheCityCook.com mounted an interview with me. You can actually hear my voice. And that's just the first installment. On City Cook, there is also a very complimentary review and a sample recipe - Matzo Balls.
If you don't get any of those publications, I can connect you to them through the miracle of the internet.
As I said in my last letter, one of my greatest desires in life (no joke) was for Alex Witchel, the New York Times star feature writer, to write about me. So I got my wish. If you missed Alex's wonderful New York Times story about trying to recreate her grandmother's fried kreplach in my kitchen, you can still read Missing Ingredient, Gone for Good on the NY Time's website.
If you missed Irene Sax's terrific and very informative story in the Daily News on the kosher stores where I like to buy my Yiddishe foods -- mostly in Brooklyn - then you can read that on line, too: Food Maven Reveals His Favorite Jewish Eats.
Last, but hardly least, Robin Raisfeld and Rob Patronite had of New York Magazine had very nice things to say about "Jewish Home Cooking", too. I was particularly gratified by their review, titled very amusingly, The Derma Diaries, because it was obvious to me that they had actually read my book, and got it! You can read their review on-line at:
KVETCHING AGAIN: THE NEW SECOND AVENUE DELI
I haven't written or publicly uttered a negative word about a restaurant since August, 2004, when I left WOR. Well, hardly a negative word.
Now I have to vent:
I went to the new Second Avenue Deli several weeks ago and had such an unpleasant and very undelicious experience that I have been wanting to share it. However, I decided instead to keep my horror story to myself and a few friends. But some of those friends, some even in the media who had written or spoken well of the place, confessed that they too had horrible experiences. They were saying one thing privately another publicly.
So I've decided to go public. I think you all deserve at least one honest voice. This place is getting far too much hype, far too much positive reinforcement for some really bad food, for it's beyond uncomfortably cramped dining room, and quite disorganized service. There are long lines for tables on the street.
Let me say at the start, however, that the pastrami and corned beef are much improved from the tough and dry meats that were being sold at the old Second Avenue Deli in its last days. That's the only good thing I have to say. Go for a sandwich only - or take out a sandwich if you want to eat in peace and comfort.
Everything else I have tried, however, is very poor quality, or, I should say, very poorly cooked. The chef is the same, but, as Abe always said, he needs to be watched closely. The new owner, Jeremy Lebewohl, Abe's nephew, and his father, Jack Lebewohl, who was the guardian of the old deli after Abe was killed, have no clue about the food. I am certain they do not know good from bad. But, as I always say, the most disheartening thing to me is watching people enjoy bad food.
Some proof about the Lebewohl's food cluelessness: I ate at the old deli just weeks before it closed, when Jack was the watchdog, and I can tell you that the food at that point had deteriorated so badly that we (the we includes Sharon Lebewohl, Abe's daughter, Jack's niece, who was dining with me) had to send half of what we ordered back to the kitchen. That included the deli's famous chopped liver. It was unspeakable - dense, bitter, foul.
The new Second Avenue Deli, is, by the way, not on Second Avenue, but in a small storefront on 33rd St. just west of Third Ave.
Is that an excuse for stuffed cabbage with hard, uncooked rice. I sent it back. Jack and Jeremey came by to see what was wrong. Jack was carrying a plate of stuffed cabbage, eating it as he stood, grinning from ear to ear.
'How is it," said the young Jeremy, "that in my father's piece of cabbage the rice is fully cooked and in yours it wasn't. They were both in the same pan," Jeremy challenged me.
"Easy, I said, your father's was on the bottom of the pan, fully covered with liquid. I'll bet mine was from the top of the pan, where it didn't have the benefit of being submerged."
"How do you know that!?" Jeremey said, again challenging me.
"Because I cook," I answered.
"And the dough on the knishes and on the hot dogs in pastry - in blankets. It's raw on the sides."
I was apparently the first person to complain about the disgustingly raw puff pastry. Jeremy was shocked. Jack was shocked.
"Tell your chef not to pack the hot dogs and knishes into the pan jammed next to each other. The pastry on the sides won't cook."
"How do you know that!?" Jeremy challenged me again.
Apparently he hadn't heard me the first time.
"I cook."
"Everyone's a critic," said Jeremy, as he walked away, not at all taking me seriously.
Except I am a critic. And I can cook, too.
