The disappearing deli

Author bemoans demise of Jewish noshing spot, explores future of this cultural icon

All over the country, delis are dying. That’s what author and deli expert David Sax contends. That’s what he writes about on his blog, savethedeli.com, and in his new book, Save the Deli: In Search of Perfect Pastrami, Crusty Rye, and the Heart of the Jewish Delicatessen (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, $24). Chicago is no exception, the lifelong deli devotee says. Its once thriving deli scene is now barely surviving.

“Where each Jewish neighborhood once boasted a dozen delis in its roster,” Sax writes, “now the whole of Chicago and its suburbs barely listed that many.”

Their continuing demise, he and other insiders theorize, stems from a variety of factors — not the least of which are soaring food costs, food production consolidation and younger generations with no inclination to run the family business.

“The original [delis] were the business of immigrants, and there aren’t Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe anymore,” says Sax, 30, a Toronto native who noshed at 150 of the nation’s major and minor delis over the course of three years to research his book, in stores next week.

“A lot of them, the parents got into it ...  so that they could give their kids a step up and get them to go to college and become professionals and lawyers and doctors and bankers. And that’s what happened to a lot of them, and then the delis closed down. Because it’s hard to pass that on to someone. And even when you do, when you sell it to someone else or pass it on to a manager, it’s never the same as someone from the family owning it. They might have a love for the food, but it’s not their name on the sign.”

Ken Raskin, the third-generation owner of Manny’s Cafeteria & Delicatessen on the Near South Side, is bucking that trend. His 26-year-old son Danny co-runs the place and will take the reins when Ken exits.

Open since 1942, Manny’s has long been a gathering place and noshing spot for folks from all walks of life — blue collar types, business titans, politicians (Barack Obama ate there regularly with David Axelrod prior to capturing the presidency), cops and retro-seeking tourists.

Although the lunch line typically is long for Manny’s cafeteria-style fare (everything from brisket and corned beef to potato pancakes and piled-high pastrami), Raskin, who usually arrives for work at 5 a.m. or earlier, says customers are much more concerned with their health today than in the past. As a result, most don’t eat deli on a frequent basis.

But, of course, deli food — much of which is creamed or fried or fatty — isn’t about health. (Sax says half a full-fat corned beef sandwich is better than a whole lean one.) In large part, it’s about taste and tradition, and those are things customers continue to hold dear.

“It’s true, people don’t eat this kind of thing anymore, so we really need to become known as the place to go when you want your fix,” Raskin says as the weekday afternoon rush swirls around him. “Twenty-five years ago, if you looked around the dining room, everyone was talking with each other, they all knew each other, they were here twice a day. They were here for breakfast, they were here for lunch. A very regular crowd ate here every single day.

“Times have changed. People, if they eat this every single day, you won’t be seeing them for too many years, probably.”

Seth Herkowitz, owner of the nascent Steve’s Deli in River West, transplanted an already-successful template from Bloomfield Hills, Mich., where his godparents started the first Steve’s in 1994, to the exceedingly tough Chicago market. It’s working so far, after about a year, he says. But he also knows that keeping any restaurant, let alone a deli, alive in this town is a risky undertaking.

“I think it’s very hard to find the right location here, to get the right mix of commercial, residential and retail,” Herkowitz says. “You have high obstacles in the beginning in terms of food costs compared to, let’s say, a Chinese restaurant or an Italian restaurant. The reason they’re so high is because you have a large variety of food that is very perishable. You have the potential to throw a lot out. [So] you try to manage your inventory that best that you can.”

As Kaufman’s Bagel & Delicatessen co-owner Bette Dworkin notes, delis not only are competing with other types of eateries, but with “people’s memories.”

“So somebody who walks in and says, ‘They tell me you have the best chopped liver, but I bet it’s not like my grandma’s,’ well, it’s never going to be like your grandma’s,” says Dworkin, who runs Kaufman’s with her mother, Judith. “I mean, we can make it exactly the same way, but that’s not going too match your memory. So there’s a piece of that that goes on, too.”

Lester Schlan at the sprawling Max & Benny’s in Northbrook (they had a location near downtown, but it closed not long after opening in August 2006) has stayed above water by catering to a wide variety of customers — as most successful delis do these days.

One reason delis are disappearing, Schlan thinks, is “the base is dying, the older people.”

Also, he notes, in his neck of the woods there aren’t a lot of tourists with “money burning in their pockets,” like the ones who’ll proudly pony up 20 bucks for a corned beef monstrosity in New York.

After touring the country to glean knowledge from other deli owners, Brad Rubin at Eleven City Diner in the South Loop decided to divert from the traditional deli format. In doing so, he imbued his deli-influenced establishment with such modern offerings as a fully stocked bar and a menu that ranges from burgers and salads to pasta and Wisconsin Cheddar cheese fries.

Even so, as the numerous deli delicacies behind glass at the front of the restaurant attest, deli is king here. From corned beef and brisket to golden matzo ball soup and pastrami, the 40-year-old Rubin seems most enamored with the food he grew up eating in Highland Park and around Chicago.

While owning a deli is “fun,” he says his grueling (self-imposed) seven-days-a-week schedule is something most restaurateurs his age or any other age want to avoid.

“I think people still love [delis],” the ever frenetic Rubin says at the tail end of another nutty weekday lunch hour. “But I think there’s a couple things that are very unique to this kind of restaurant. ...  It is a lifestyle and it’s seven days a week. And when it’s a cash business, you’re there. And I think when the [deli-owning] families became successful, they wanted something different for their kids,” he adds, echoing Raskin’s sentiments. “Or their kids wanted something different.”

Still, delis persist, albeit in far fewer locations than in decades past. And the Chicago scene, Sax says, has something else going for it besides tasty grub: an invitingly familial feel.

“Delis are warm inviting places, and the owners tend to be the types of people who kind of bring you in like family,” Sax says. “And sometimes they’ll kind of razz you and rip on you a bit, but generally it’s that kind of ‘Cheers’ type feeling. You feel like you’re welcomed into this place that you belong. And I really found that even more so in Chicago.

“That is just the ethos of that city. It’s a warmhearted place. ...  You can taste that in the love that people put into the food.”