The Second Avenue Deli Cookbook by Sharon Lebewohl Read Free Book Online

shtetl?” he suggested. “Between one house and the next, it’s a half a mile?” For him, our move to Scotland spelled ethnic starvation.
    So he began shipping pastrami. The first parcel arrived like manna from heaven, and we ate as if our lives depended on it.
    Our home is in the Trossachs, an area of rural splendor and deli deprivation. The closest Jewish restaurant is in Glasgow, 45 miles away. Last winter, we were snowed in for three weeks. At the height of a raging blizzard, the postman struggled to the door bearing a heavy parcel. Inside, we found a brief note from Mr. Lebewohl and a vast expanse of pastrami.
    My wife, moved by the sight of lambs at the window, had renounced eating meat, her abstinence reinforced by the spectacle of pastrami on the hoof—lovely Highland cattle, unpickled, unspiced, unsmoked. Obedient to her master’s choice, however, she prepared the pastrami, while the Saint Bernard went onto the ice floes with a rush order for mustard and sour pickles.
    Day after day, I feasted on pastrami. Eventually, keen on the scent, local friends arrived to lend a few hands and hear wondrous accounts of this and other exotic delicacies. When I returned to New York for a visit in April, Mr. Lebewohl gave me a menu to nourish nostalgia on long winter evenings. Now, between pangs of heartburn and pastrami deliveries that continue to arrive by mail or occasional itinerant customer pressed into service by Mr. Lebewohl, rise visions of charms remote and inaccessible: boiled beef flanken, potato knishes, noodle pudding, gefilte fish, Yankee bean soup and the penitential half sandwich at half price after buying a whole one at full price.
    As I nibble à la carte, my wife labors in the kitchen, indulgently permitting the lambs to trample our shrubs while she bakes shortbread and oatcakes to ship to the Second Ave. Deli, just to show Mr. Lebewohl that ethnicity bites both ways.
    Copyright © 1984 by
The New York Times
Co. Reprinted by permission.

    P’tcha
    SERVES 8
    What with boiling calf’s feet and embedding the meat in a glutinous jelly, this might be one of those dishes you have to grow up with to appreciate. It’s also very garlicky. Abe once fed some p’tcha to an intrepid
New York Times
reporter with the caveat “Don’t go on a heavy date after eating this.”
    2 calf’s feet, cut into quarters (ask your butcher to do it)
    2 cloves garlic, peeled
    2 bay leaves
    1 large onion, sliced
    2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
    1½ teaspoons salt
    1 teaspoon whole peppercorns
    2 cloves finely chopped or crushed fresh garlic
    3 medium hard-boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
    Lemon and red horseradish for garnish
    1. Wash calf’s feet thoroughly. Place them in a large stockpot, cover with water, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Discard cooking water.
    2. Rinse the pot, and place calf’s feet in it with fresh water to cover. Add 2 cloves garlic, bay leaves, onion, vinegar, salt, and peppercorns. Bring to a boil, cover, and simmer 3 to 4 hours, until the meat falls off the bones. Add a little water if necessary.
    3. Remove meat from pot, and strain stock through a colander into a large bowl. Set bowl aside.
    4. Chop the meat and cartilage (discard bones), mix with chopped garlic, and place in the bottom of a shallow pan or serving dish. Arrange egg slices on top, and pour strained cooking liquid over the meat and eggs. Refrigerate until completely jellied and firm (it should have the consistency of Jell-O). Serve cold, with lemon wedges and red horseradish.
    Note: Sharon also likes to eat p’tcha hot, like a soup. Rena did not grow up with it and doesn’t want to know anything about it.

    Stuffed Mushrooms
    MAKES ABOUT 20
    This specialty from our catering menu is a big hit at parties.
    20 large mushrooms, thoroughly scrubbed (choose mushrooms about 1½ to 2 inches in diameter)
    3 tablespoons corn oil
    STUFFING INGREDIENTS
    4