Katz’s Delicatessen

When I was growing up, a trip to Katz's with my dad wasn't an occasion so different than visiting a grandparent; there was a strange, arcane way we had to observe that was clearly the product of another time. And spending the time was rewarded with a real treat, something that felt comforting and maybe a little overwhelming. Back then, there was liable to be a line, but it was never very long, so it was, without question, worth it.

Today, the place hasn't changed, but the feeling has. Waiting on a line that stretches down the block is part of the experience, and at every table you'll see tourists more preoccupied with taking photos of the food than enjoying it. I can't begrudge them that–there's no place like Katz's. But the hype now affects the actual experience one has there, which is a funny thing. It doesn’t make the food any less delicious.

Katz's sign reads: Katz's that's all! Because at one time it advertised itself as Katz's kosher deli, except it wasn't actually kosher and there was outcry, so they changed the sign. It's just Katz's, that's all. If you're visiting, it's probably on your list. That makes sense: if you've never eaten at Katz's, you want to. The sandwiches are huge, insanely good, and the place is–and I don't use this word lightly–iconic. Mind that the efficiency you're supposed to observe navigating NYC’s streets goes triple here: know what you want by the time it's your turn, and keep things moving. Keep your ticket. Do not lose your ticket. And when the slicer gives you a taste of the meat, TIP THEM.

Your order is simple: pastrami or corned beef on rye with mustard. Pickles. Don't miss out on the pickled green tomatoes. Maybe a knish if you're dead-set on sleeping directly after your meal. A Cel-Ray or cream soda. Simple.

People love calling this place a tourist trap, and it is one. It's also a tourist trap that serves genuinely excellent food in an environment unreplicable by any wannabe or imitator. You'll love what you get at Katz's. The discussion about whether or not it's overrated is silly–it's always been exactly what it is, which is as classic a New York City sandwich in as classic a New York City setting as it gets. And yeah, you're paying a lot, but when you consider that it's probably a bad call to house an entire one of those sandwiches by oneself anyway, the sticker shock lessens. 

Time Out tip: The When Harry Met Sally table is labeled in the center of the restaurant. Snag it if you can.