AH... Pastrami. There's pastrami on the menu. I love good pastrami more than just about any smoked meat product in the universe. Just thinking about it gets me all shook up. And there it is... on the menu, just for me. PASTRAMI! "Oh, yes, I'll have it on rye with lots of mustard please." My voice just slightly quivering. "Sides?" "No, just some frys and an ice tea." The anticipation is almost sexual. Comes the sandwich. An itty-bitty thing with potato chips all over it. You can't win 'em all I think. I sit down. 1 - There are fries in the sandwich - covered with mustard. 2 - This is not pastrami. This is nothing even vaguely resembling pastrami. It kind of looks like tounge if you'd sat a pan on it all day. Wierd, brown. And flavorless. God should strike the person who calls this stuff pastrami down, down, down.
Why is this hole always packed? Six dollar sandwiches with one piece of meat. Counter people with 'tude. Never again. Excuse me please while I drive to Manny's with a friend now. If I don't get the real stuff, I shall die.