Langer's

The prospect of lunch with Jennifer at Langer's was like picking up a Raymond Carver short story. I knew it was going to be good. The only questions were to what level of goodness will it rise, how complex its goodness and will it reach the rarefied air of greatness. First off, Jennifer is a mensch. (Since I went to a Jewish deli I thought I'd use a yiddish term). Sometimes I forget that not all women in L.A. are quirky, affected, aggrieved, and generally problematic. I work at a theater so you can't blame me for my narrow ideas. Jen is smart, stable, and what the Greeks might say about Psyche after reaching Mt. Olympus: whole. This is no small thing. There are shrinks in this city making a killing off young, pretty neurotics who drive the latest Mercedes SLR but can't carry a conversation.
The subject of pastrami has brought some serious debate. Though I doubt marriages have crumbled from it, I'm sure you have a favorite. I can appreciate The Hat chain's version of it but I'm always left feeling the same way when I clean my plate: my body will revolt, making the storming of the Bastille seem like a welcoming committee. The pastrami at the Oinkster, as I've mentioned before, is great with none of the guilt or aftershocks. Take your pick among the many Greek burger dives in East LA and they all have a take on pastrami: Astro Burger, Jim's, Xris, Arry's, Golden Ox. Which begs the question: how did pastrami, a Jewish concoction, end up in East LA? Ah, if you want to solve that riddle, check out the demographics of East LA in the past one hundred years. You may consider eating the pastrami at Langer's while your thumbing through stats about Jewish bagel shops on Whittier Boulevard. The pastrami here is thick, smoky, and reverentially authentic: it's served on rye bread. Contrast this with Tops, The Hat, and Chroni's versions which fill a French roll. A French roll? I think this developed from we Latinos loving our bolillos, and when stuffed with cured meat, even better. For me, I'll take it on rye with a splash of Gulden's. Langer's, like Phillipe and Musso and Frank, is a throwback, a snapshot of life fifty-some odd years ago. The demographics have changed but I suspect the food has not. The pastrami, even with all its competitors, is the best. But remember, upon driving to Langer's these facts: the neighborhood is tough, the hours are stingy, and if you can finagle a decent parking space, lunch is on me.
Jennifer had a great idea. She ordered cheese blintzes which come with sour cream and jelly. These are the A-Rod of blintzes, blintzes that look like Twinkies on steroids. These pop with flavor especially if you garnish them with the cream and jelly. That Jen is a smart girl. I wisely saved my other half of sandwich for later, a culinary treasure in a to-go box that would be the envy of a legion of tatted vatos cruising through East LA.