The proof, fellow foodies, is in the pastrami
Food
Jeremy Beecher
Issue date: 8/29/07 Section: Lifestyle
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Langer's Deli
704 S. Alvarado Street
Hours: Monday -Saturday,
8 a.m. to 4 p.m.
Trojans who make the journey to MacArthur Park usually seek the neighborhood's unique fountain of youth: a sprawling trade in fake IDs of all kinds. Want a new birthday? You got it. Need to show your boss a green card tomorrow? Not a problem. The best Jewish deli food in town? Bear with me.
Coming to this heavily Central American neighborhood for traditional delicatessen might seem like flying to Italy for Chinese. When Langer's Delicatessen opened in 1947, though, it sat amid Los Angeles' largest Jewish community. That group long ago fled the neighborhood's skyrocketing crime, but the family-owned eatery stayed put, maintaining solvency by slashing its hours and offering curbside pickup so diners didn't have to exit their cars. Today, with downtown rebounding and a nearby subway stop shuttling hundreds of downtown suits to the deli every day, Langer's is truly ready for its close-up.
It's hard not to be a bit skeptical on your first visit. Nestled among check-cashing storefronts and Salvadoran pupuserias, the deli's aging façade has seen better days. Inside, the brown-and-orange tiles lining the open kitchen and cramped wooden booths are holdovers from another age.
But no one goes to delis - even the Midtown Manhattan legends - for the ambience, and whatever Langer's lacks in charm it makes up with its food. And where better to start than the pastrami? Don't be dissuaded by the bastardized version served around town at hundreds of deplorable hot dog-and-burrito joints. Tough and rubbery, greasy and flavorless, these monstrosities resemble a Langer's sandwich no more than a Geo Metro recalls a Lamborghini.
No, the Langer's variant is a work of art, honed over decades and unmatched by any other in Los Angeles - maybe the country.
The star, of course, is the pastrami itself. Cured in a house blend of spices, then smoked and finally steamed until falling-apart tender, the hand-sliced meat is a revelation; it dances around the mouth, sugar, salt and spices all vying for attention before the entire mass falls apart on the tongue.
704 S. Alvarado Street
Hours: Monday -Saturday,
8 a.m. to 4 p.m.
Trojans who make the journey to MacArthur Park usually seek the neighborhood's unique fountain of youth: a sprawling trade in fake IDs of all kinds. Want a new birthday? You got it. Need to show your boss a green card tomorrow? Not a problem. The best Jewish deli food in town? Bear with me.
Coming to this heavily Central American neighborhood for traditional delicatessen might seem like flying to Italy for Chinese. When Langer's Delicatessen opened in 1947, though, it sat amid Los Angeles' largest Jewish community. That group long ago fled the neighborhood's skyrocketing crime, but the family-owned eatery stayed put, maintaining solvency by slashing its hours and offering curbside pickup so diners didn't have to exit their cars. Today, with downtown rebounding and a nearby subway stop shuttling hundreds of downtown suits to the deli every day, Langer's is truly ready for its close-up.
It's hard not to be a bit skeptical on your first visit. Nestled among check-cashing storefronts and Salvadoran pupuserias, the deli's aging façade has seen better days. Inside, the brown-and-orange tiles lining the open kitchen and cramped wooden booths are holdovers from another age.
But no one goes to delis - even the Midtown Manhattan legends - for the ambience, and whatever Langer's lacks in charm it makes up with its food. And where better to start than the pastrami? Don't be dissuaded by the bastardized version served around town at hundreds of deplorable hot dog-and-burrito joints. Tough and rubbery, greasy and flavorless, these monstrosities resemble a Langer's sandwich no more than a Geo Metro recalls a Lamborghini.
No, the Langer's variant is a work of art, honed over decades and unmatched by any other in Los Angeles - maybe the country.
The star, of course, is the pastrami itself. Cured in a house blend of spices, then smoked and finally steamed until falling-apart tender, the hand-sliced meat is a revelation; it dances around the mouth, sugar, salt and spices all vying for attention before the entire mass falls apart on the tongue.
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