HOW I BECAME A FOOD WRITER

As a membership perk of being a member of WDIY, the Lehigh Valley's local National Public Radio affiliate, I began receiving Lehigh Valley Style, a bi-monthly glossy lifestyle magazine. In one of the first issues that I read, I came across an article about local delis. Having grown up with Katz's Delicatessan in New York City as my model, I decided to indicate my dissatisfaction with the article by writing a letter to the editor. It went like this:

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As a practicing gourmand who believes that the existence of herring in cream sauce is proof that there is a God and that She loves us, I sat down to read Lenora Dannelke’s article on delicatessens with great anticipation. It was immediately apparent, however, that Ms. Dannelke has never walked through the door of a real deli.

Contrary to Ms. Dannelke’s opinion, the owners of real delis are not happy people. They resent being taken away from their newspapers to ring the cash register. Customers are a necessary inconvenience to be tolerated – not entertained. Nor are the customers particularly happy. They’re carrying too many packages, they’ve waited in line for too long, and they know that the food isn’t what it used to be and is too darn expensive. And while we’re at it, the waiters are old men with sore feet who think your children need to be popped upside the head to teach them manners. This is fun?

In a real deli, the lox is sliced to order from a slab of smoked salmon by an old man missing the tips from two fingers. In a real deli, pickles don’t come from a stainless steel tray behind a glass case – you fish them from the barrel in front of the counter that’s next to the barrel with the sour tomatoes. The waiters (old men/sore feet) don’t take your order, they tell you what to order. “The corned beef is too fat today. Try the pastrami.” And real delis don’t serve potato chips to anybody for any reason.

So the simple fact of the matter is that there is not a single real deli in the Lehigh Valley, just a few pretty good gourmet sandwich shops. That’s not to say that there aren’t some joints that approximate the atmosphere and dining pleasure of a real deli – they just don’t serve deli food.

Take, for instance, La Placita Mexicana on the corner of 12th and Turner in Allentown. First of all, as is the case in a real deli, English is a second language for the owner and everyone who works there. It’s cramped. There aren’t many seats. The deli case is filled with unfamiliar foods that aren’t date-stamped. But you’ve got to try the torta con chorizo.

A torta is a sandwich and chorizo is spiced sausage that comes in as many different varieties as there are Latin countries. On a Portuguese-style roll they pile fried chorizo, lettuce, tomato, jalapeno, and slices of avocado. I prefer to wash this confection down with lemon/lime soda hecho en Mexico.

While you’re in La Placita, purchase some queso fresco - a salty, crumbly cheese something like feta that you can use to garnish your next salad.

So the next time you enter an eatery that advertises itself as a delicatessen, look for gourmet coffees, muffins, or gift baskets. By all means, enter if you will. The food may well be exemplary, but you can tell by the smiling faces that wherever you are, the real deli is down the street.

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The editor wrote back that she was looking for a new food writer. Was I interested?

I was.

So, for about the next five years, I was the food writer and restaurant reviewer for Lehigh Valley Style. It was not always fun. Restaurants are major advertisers. Give a restaurant a bad review, no matter how well deserved, and that restaurant, as well as many others, might pull their ads. So I was forced to put the best face on things, to write in code, to pretend that I enjoyed eatng in places that were not worth the time or, more importantly, the money.

Eventually, I became disgusted with the hypocrisy. It showed in my writing. The editor informed me that she had decided to go in a different direction. Hence, this blog. I can say what I think and have only my conscience to answer to.

Get ready. Here we go.