Chef Ben binges on New York 'barbecue'

Katz's got his tongue and wouldn't let it go

Editor’s Note: Please welcome chef Ben Krodel to The Food Dood Feed. Ben is fresh out of culinary school, which he attended in New York City, and will be writing for The Food Dood Feed henceforth. Ben brings a chef’s point of view to his formidable curiousity about food and the culinary arts. In this essay about pastrami, we set up a campaign (or two!) for Ben going forward. Look forward to Ben forging his own channel very soon.

Being from Oklahoma, I love nothing more than good barbecue. Nothing is more comforting than a four-rib dinner with all the classic sides. Upon moving to New York City for school, I knew I would be leaving the barbecue I had grown up with behind.

Despite what Oklahoma, Texas, Kansas City and the entire Deep South believe, barbecue is prevalent across every region and culture not only of this nation but the world. It’s everywhere and can take many forms.

Anything cooked over live fire or smoke can be classified as barbecue in my book, but that doesn’t capture its spirit. The spirit of barbecue is in culture. Doesn’t matter if it's from Broken Arrow or Brooklyn, regional flourishes and variations are welcome.

In New York it’s possible to find Texas Hill Country-style barbecue, but the real “barbecue” is found at delicatessens. At least when it comes to brisket. Delis are known for smoked white fish and salmon, but the pastrami derived from long-standing delicatessen traditions dating back to the late 1800s is smoked.

Pastrami is made from beef briskets cold-cured for weeks to get the distinctive color. They’re next partially smoked for flavor and added curing. The point at which pitmaster wince when it comes to pastrami is next: steaming. Pastrami travels, a long, slow journey before it’s served, and the time-honored tradition for finishing it is steam. Not as sexy as spending all-night shvitzing in the smokehouse, but in anticipation of a barbecue-deprived stretch, I targeted New York City’s famous pastrami game.

The summer before I moved to New York City for school, I visited it to tour the culinary institute I eventually attended. My brother and I researched pastrami choices prior to the visit and decided we’d skip the legendary Katz’s Deli and head over to Sarge’s. Based on our research, Sarge’s was where the locals ate while Katz’s was for fans of “When Harry Met Sally” and other tourists.

Excitement about Sarge’s was amplified on arrival by a waitress as rude as every stereotypical, cranky server. She wasted no time plopping down a plate of pickles then asking for our order.

We placed it as fast as possible then shifted our focus directly to those pickles. This was my first experience with a real deli pickle and it was delightfully different.

Technically, pickles found in kosher delis are more lacto-fermented rather than pickled. That calls for a salt water brine to preserve the pickles, while also providing a much more complex flavor. My brother, being the smart one of the bunch, ordered a half soup and half sandwich. Ninety-degree temperatures in New York that day kept me away from the soup.

The Matzo Ball soup was striking. The broth was clear and beautiful with a plump matzah ball swimming in the bowl. Next up came the heaping mound of pastrami that buried the rye bread beneath it. One look, and I knew I had screwed up ordering a whole sandwich. If you want the experience of ordering a whole sandwich (or for the pictures) just go with a friend and split it. Let’s just say it’s hard to tackle a long day after an entire pastrami sandwich to yourself.

Each bite was unexpectedly the right ratio of mustard, bread, and pastrami. The meat itself was rich and fatty. Nothing about the preparation took away from the delicious flavor of the meat. There were no bold flavors, just beautifully cooked brisket. Although it wasn’t a religious experience, I loved it and the attention to detail pastrami requires. After returning to Oklahoma, I was hooked.

When I moved to Manhattan, I spent the first month trying to establish a couple spots in my neighborhood that I could rely on for casual bites (pizza, sandwiches, etc.). One day I stumbled upon a deli called Murray’s Sturgeon Shop. Murray’s is a tiny spot located in the Upper West Side, conveniently located near my apartment.

All sorts of kosher classics are presented in a glass case that spans the entire length of the shop. Murray’s is indescribably dingy in the most charming way possible. That charm, coupled with the characters who shop there, instantly made me fall in love. Murray’s is completely stuck in time. Everything from their big neon sign outside to the food they serve is from another era. 

Murray’s pastrami is not the kind that breaks the internet or goes viral on TikTok. It’s practical in size and won't ruin your afternoon. Unlike the other places mentioned, this pastrami is cold and thinly sliced on rye with a quick swipe of their homemade mustard. Nothing special, just good honest neighborhood food. It reminds me of the cold sandwiches my mother would put in my lunch, but this one was from an alternate reality. In another life I could have pictured myself asking my mother for a cold pastrami on rye with mustard instead of the ham and mayo on buttermilk bread I ate as a kid. Every customer deserves to feel at home and you’ll definitely find that at Murray’s.

On a brutally cold winter afternoon of 2023 in New York I found myself craving yet another pastrami on rye so I made my way to Pastrami Queen. Another staple in the New York pastrami pantheon. I changed my order this time, in honor of my brother, I went with the half soup and half sandwich. The Matzo ball soup was simple as it should be with a beautiful clear broth. Perfecting a clear broth is an under-appreciated accomplishment and shows a level of care that I enjoy seeing when eating at a restaurant. The structure of the sandwich stood out. It didn’t explode after the second bite like so many pastramis tend to do. This pastrami was cut a tad thinner than I would like. Generally my rule with brisket of all forms is that thicker cut brisket is of a much higher quality. It’s pretty easy to mask a dry brisket by cutting it thin and letting it sop up all the juice on the cutting board. I am by no means saying this pastrami was dry, it’s just a style preference at this point.

Besides Murray’s, no pastrami experience in New York City is going to be cheap. You’re committing to almost a thirty dollar sandwich every time you walk into these places. About ninety percent of the time I have no issues coughing up the money for something as delicious as a pastrami sandwich, but something about signing my bill at Pastrami Queen for over $45 made me sick to my stomach. I enjoyed it, but I think it's important to consider the price when comparing these sandwiches.

In New York City, especially Manhattan, there’s a border between what tourists do and what people who actually live there do. Some people who visit Manhattan never leave the half mile radius circling their hotel in Midtown. Initially, the idea of dropping my money at a tourist trap scared me.

Legendary Katz’s Deli appears to be the outlier, embraced by both tourists and locals. In the spring of 2024 my brother came to visit me and we decided it was time to try Katz’s. We went on a Thursday night, which proved wise. Zero line to contend with, and the restaurant was half empty. The walls were covered in nostalgia expressed in an endless collage of quirky photos and outdated headshots of their famous patrons who stopped in for pastrami over the years.

Behind the counter at Katz’s are a small army of cutters waiting to put on a show for you before handing you a sandwich packed with flavors you won’t soon forget. The man cutting our pastrami threw down a hunk of brisket on the cutting board that landed with a splat before he went to work. Just like a barbecue joint in Texas, the man at the counter starts slicing thick, vibrantly red slices of cured brisket. Objectively beautiful to the most discerning eye. 

After carving down the brisket, the cutter handed my brother and I a slice of pastrami to sample. Hands-down, the best brisket I ever ate. I questioned everything about the barbecue style brisket I knew and loved prior to trying Katz’s.

The man cutting our pastrami left while we drooled over our sample slices and returned with another steaming brisket. I thought what the hell is he doing with that?

Before I could even finish the thought, he expertly sliced about seventy five percent of it and added that to our already massive sandwiches. We sat down to eat, laughing about the outrageous amount of pastrami piled before our eyes. Here I was, about to make the same mistake of eating a whole pastrami sandwich to myself again. However this time I could care less how terrible I would feel later. Totally worth it.

The pastrami was beyond what you can expect out of a brisket. It was so tender that every fiber could be picked off the meat individually. You could easily pop out your dentures and eat this brisket. Picking up all the stray slices of pastrami that fell out of my sandwich was so good I almost think it’s better by itself. This could very well be the best pastrami in the world. Not to mention that Katz’s pickles were unbelievably good. They had the same fermented flavor as Sarge’s; however, Katz’s were more refined. Katz’s pickles bridged the gap between classic pickles and kosher deli pickles. They still hold that fermented essence but in a lighter more complimentary fashion. 

Anthony Bourdain once said, “You think New York, you think pastrami, you think Katz’s.” Bourdain got pretty much everything right, and this is no exception. Pastrami is a staple of New York, Katz’s being the epicenter for the past hundred and thirty years

When you’re the best, you’re the best for a reason. People are going to want to visit. Especially New Yorkers. I get it. At the end of the day, this is the best pastrami in New York City. If you want to avoid the tourists, go at night on a weekday.

After moving back to Oklahoma this July of 2024, I knew that I would no longer be deprived of the southern barbecue that I grew up with, yet I was left missing the different style of barbecue I had grown accustomed to in New York.  Luckily there are a ton of barbecue restaurants in Oklahoma to explore.

But now I’m missing pastrami. As I embark on a trek for great Oklahoma barbecue, I’ll also be looking for great local delis, specifically those specializing in pastrami.