New York deli, you're talking Katz's. Crowded, noisy, a barn of a place with celebrity photos plastered along one wall and a counter along the other where you line up to buy a hot dog and a beer, or a bowl of matzoh ball soup, or (as almost everyone does), a sandwich of pastrami or tongue. Cut fresh by a man who knows his business, served with a couple of sliced pickles on the side. Extra mustard's on the table. Harry met Sally here (met her for lunch, actually); Sally demonstrated how a woman fakes an orgasm, and Estelle Reiner (mother of director Rob), sitting at the very table where I wolfed down a splendid tongue sandwich, delivered the immmortal line, "I'll have what she's having."
But the old-fashioned delis are an endangered species. Jewish immigrant families, once their mainstay, are more assimilated, no longer as insular. David Sax, a Canadian, has written a nostalgic book and a blog called Save the Deli. Katz's has been around since 1888, and it's their only store. The best in town, but how long can it last? Sax is optimistic; his book is doiing well.
Katz's Delicatessen, 205 E Houston St, New York City 
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