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| - I write this in the middle of a Yelp review jag, in advance of a trip to the real Big Apple.
The New Yorker Deli has been around forever in Toronto terms. It opened in the dying days of the last millennium, the pet project of a refugee from the Pickle Barrel. In some respects, the menu hearkens back to the days when the Pickle Barrel was an honest-to-goodness Deli; before Rose Reisman decided that "deli classics' meant edamame this and portobello that. The woman is a menace to society.
As its name suggest, the New Yorker's menu hews close to deli staples. Chicken soup arrives with noodles, chicken kreplach, giant matzo ball or some combination of all three. The broth shows evidence of chicken-contact, although it is likely fortified with lotsa salt and possible a boullion cube. Kreplach filling tastes light despite a heavy wrapper. The matzo ball is more mush than dumpling, but it's just what the doctor ordered if you've got a head cold.
Sandwiches are decidedly second-tier deli, sourced from third-party suppliers. They lose point for freshness, but hand-sliced and served lean-to-medium they fill a hole in the bay street dining scene. silverstein's rye bread redeems when fresh, and proper brown speckled deli mustard helps along side properly vinegared, not-too-sweet cole slaw. A pack of party sandwiches to go may be expensive for what you get at $6, but sometimes you just want cute crustless sammies accompanied by chips and chocolate milk. Don't judge me. Salads are fresh, but if you order a salad at a deli as your meal, you're no friend of mine.
Diners expecting a true New York deli experience will be disappointed. There are no barrels of complimentary full and half sour pickles, and the fancy soda pops are Boylans rather than Dr. Browns.
While the food has its highs and lows, they're secondary to servers who remember me from my regular visits for greasy breakfast specials and challenges to the "bottomless coffee" policy. Seriously; I'm a caffeine addict now, but would have been a candidate for an intervention way back when. The $2.99 breakfast special I ordered back then is now closer to 5 bucks; the eggs are still better over-easy than scrambled (they vary from properly creamy to overcooked strips of rubber), the sausage and bacon both mahogany crisp (especially when ordered "burnt to hell". Rye toast and bagels are the best toasted options, slathered with salted butter. Home fries are salty crispy cubes of prefab goodness. Portions vary from skimpy to substantial depending on who's manning the stove. Coffee is adequate, but really more about quantity than quality.
Even better, there's NYC prints on the walls and a mural that stretches along the back wall of the joint. In this faux New York, the World Trade Centre still stands. If only it were still thus.
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