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| - Opening a delicatessen in Toronto can be a mug's game. Caught between two of North America's greatest smoked, cured meat centers in Montreal and New York, just about every Toronto deli pales in comparison.
Both Montreal and New York boast their own deli styles and cultures. You may go for the pastrami/corned beef concoctions named after Woody Allen or featured in Rob Reiner movies, or you may prefer the luscious fatty smoked meat of Mordecai Richler's youth. Either way you're biting into something much bigger than a sandwich. Toronto may have recently discovered all manner of charcuterie, but we're a new food town, especially when it comes to the heavy, meat-laden meals that our grandparents preferred while we opted for cookstown greens and artisan goats cheese.
There are some delis that have withstood the test of time. Our family frequented Yitz's on Avenue and Eglinton. The happy yellow sign and vintage comics/songbooks posted along the wall promised the kind of salty meat-goodness that growing palates love. Lightly charred hot dogs, sweet crisp cole slaw, and best of all, their own fries. Today, I'd compare them to loonies in size and color, but I'm old enough to remember when paper money actually mattered.
Yitz's has recently fallen on hard culinary times. Several years ago Mr. Yitz hung up his red socks (I now have several pair myself, as an homage), and sold to a new owner. The food took a dive in consistency and quality, leaving me to wonder about the glowing reviews here and the state of deli in our fine city. A negative review in the Toronto Star confirmed my opinion; the corned beef was dry and texturally unpleasant.
Still, it's close, and as a family favorite deserves a visit, at least once every few years. On this occasion, it was an unexpected pleasure.
We start with soups; the special is yellow pea. It's rich, thickened with noodles and legumes. The peas are nicely melted, not chalky, and complimented by generous chunks of carrot. We forgo the usual matzo balls, which we find mushy, and order the new kreplach soup. The broth is made by a secret process that involves waving a chicken over the pot while dropping chicken base into the water itself, but the kreplach are light and well-seasoned. My inner five year old approves.
My favorite part of the evening is the beef knish which arrives next. Long before a certain Mr. Caplansky began stuffing smoked meat ends into every item on his menu, Yitz blended his product into his beef knish filling. The result is addictive, super-savory meat inside a crispy crust. You can have it with gravy, which appalls the New York and Montreal contingent at the table. Maybe it's a Toronto thing. In any case, it's unnecessary. Better to slather the pastry with some of Yitz's house-made extra hot mustard. The kind made with horseradish, which allegedly grows hair on one's chest.
Food arrives at a fast clip, presented by a disinterested server who spends half the evening getting chewed out by the owner at the next table.
A plate of french fries is inhaled by the table. They're round and ridged like they were when I was a kid, but they lack that consistent crispness that I remember. The last place I had fries like that was Katz's in New York. they were deliriously crunchy and puffy inside.
Sandwiches come warm, on rye bread that holds up to juicy meat. Corned beef is soft, salty, and tangy. Pastrami is more robust, but lacks the subtle sweet/smokiness and unctuousness that comes with really stellar product. Add more extra hot mustard, and you'll weep with joy anyway.
At one point, Yitz's was kosher enough that you couldn't get cream for your coffee. Thankfully, they've amended this policy. You'll need it for the grey, lukewarm brew that's grudgingly slopped into our cups. As it sits, I'm reminded of Johnny Cash singing "ain't no grave". I don't know why.
Baked goods are fair; a trio of chocolate ruggelach meets the traditional requirement that you take coffee or tea "with a little something". The best dessert on the menu, a towering tart lemon meringue pie is not available. It's a shame, but I'm full, and for one evening anyway, reminded of why we came here so often.
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