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Pastrami on Rye with Mustard
By Michael Domino
Seat yourself, tables against the wall . . . you’ll get a waiter.
All others, you are the waiter.
Follow the worn trail on the tile floor.
It will lead you to the pastrami on rye.
Don’t bother; he knows.
He can see it on your face, what you came here for: pastrami on rye.
Okay, say it if you want, but he knows; he is already slicing.
This pastrami melds with the rye and the mustard, no teeth required.
Katz’s Deli, 205 East Houston Street; interior decorators need not apply.
If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. If it is broke, still don’t fix it.
Who needs a sign when there are paper plates and marker pens available?
And eat your pastrami on rye in good company.
Muhammad Ali , Henny Youngman, Jerry Lewis, Mayor Koch, Dolly Parton, Tony Soprano, and Bill Clinton are watchin’ ya chew.
They’re keepin’ ya company.
A revolving Lower East Side door of humanity, all eating hot pastrami.
I hear Spanish, I see Jewish, I nod to the fashion models, I wonder about the street guy and the punks and the clean and the dirty.
The newest and the latest is crowding in on Katz’s.
To be New York, don’t try to be New York.
Take a plate, get on line, sit down, don’t worry, the pastrami is hot, the roof don’t leak, the chair won’t break.
Relax, eat, sit, sip, read, look . . . feel.
Pastrami . . . on rye, with mustard.
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