I had a horrifying episode on night recently at Pastrami Queen, (86 and lex).
I arrived at the takeout counter a little before closing. The fat guy with goatee behind counter
gave me a long sideways glance as he reached for the meat with which to prepare my sandwich. I felt that he was "sizing me up". I soon discover why.
When I arrived home, the sandwich turned out to be all gristle and muscley tendon, not the tender delicious meat that one expects from a nine or ten dollar sandwich, which is what these cost.
I believe he was trying to determine whether or not I knew the difference, and whether I would complain.
I did not complain. I was so fundamentally disheartened by the experience that I promised never to return, a bitter resolve, as I used to count on them for great pastrami. Understand, it wasn't the bad sandwich per se, it was the deliberate criminality of it.
Anyway, if the fat guy wants to make it up to me, feel free to email me an invitation and I will gladly come in for a replacement. But I don't want the confrontation that I feel would result if I were to ask. And I wont be holding my breath.
Nowadays when I get in the mood for pastrami, I think about the nitrates and preservatives, and I eat something else. I used to enjoy going to Pastrami Queen for what was arguably some of the best pastrami left in the City. From the fat guy with the goatee's perspective, at least I used to spend money there.