Mouth-watering scents waft over to two freckled teenage noses mere moments after stepping into Barney Greengrass, the bustling 115 year old deli on 86th and Amsterdam. Familiar phrases mix into chatter about the Jewish delicacies that inhabit every plate in sight, sending a message to my brain: I’ve found my people. This might not seem like quite a big feat when strolling around the Upper West Side, since there tends to be at least one sign of Judaism on every other block, whether it be a lingering scent from freshly baked challah, upbeat Israeli music coming from inside West Side Judaica, or a group of Jewish children on their ways to and from school. Still, brown and curly hair whips around as my friend Nomi’s head swerves in my direction, her eyes filled with elation; there is something so exciting about finding your identity outside of yourself, no matter how common it might be. Mothers schlep in through the glass door entrance, slices of babka make their way to almost every table, “oy”s echo off the walls from various mouths. The epitome of epicurean Jewish life pulses through this unofficial landmark that sits adjacent to a run-down Dunkin’ Donuts. The Sunday morning brunch buzz encourages the famished customers to wait in the dense line that makes its way to the corner of the street each weekend without fail.
Three feet away from the crowded counters, the metal bars on the back of each table’s chairs clank against the next seat. A waiter immediately bombards us with his twenty-times repeated chant: “The latkes! Get some latkes! So fresh, not on the menu, last batch!” Shared looks between Nomi and me acknowledge that these latkes were definitely prepared for last month’s holiday, although the growing smiles on our faces indicate the same thing: those latkes are going to be the first thing we order.
The concentration of Jewish life in this 1,700 square foot space harbors a familiar feeling, transporting me into my grandmother’s kitchen upstate on a fresh spring afternoon. The chalkboard signs that indicate the prices of each bagel and fish combination suddenly become the faded photos from Grandma and Grandpa’s wedding, the fabric-dressed frame fraying at the edges, its pastel yellows and pinks gradually losing their color. The aroma remains unaltered, J&J Kosher Whipped Cream Cheese and fresh thinly cut lox, with a faint scent of steaming hot coffee.
Just yesterday this bewildering portal didn’t exist in my world, and it now provides the same comforting atmosphere as the kitchen in which I spent so many afternoons of my childhood. My identity is reflected in something as commonplace as one of its many delis.
“Lea, Lea! What are you ordering?” As my grandparents’ upstate home fades into the rough upholstery of the deli chairs, the impatient waiter appears, standing over me with his pencil ready at attention. My usual order slips off my tongue without a thought.
“Everything bagel toasted with cream cheese, cucumbers, and lox, please.”
Life updates and catch-ups bounce around our 3×3 table. As the Pesach plans and synagogue gossip pour out, the table slowly fills, the steaming and perfectly-brown-to-a-crisp latkes acting as the centerpiece of a gourmet deli artwork worthy of the Louvre. On the closest corner of the artwork lies an almost perfect replica of my go-to meal at Grandma’s, the three rules for a perfect bagel followed to perfection: the bagel is crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, the lox evenly distributed across the bagel’s surface area, and a coffee stands by its side.
Finding this homemade bagel here, as opposed to my grandmother’s kitchen, allows me to marry the two things I deeply cherish: my Jewish heritage and my city. I love New York because I see myself in it, and my Jewish experience within this city is a pillar of my life. The love and pride I have for my culture are bound by my roots in New York City. When the two interact, it makes for a stronger connection to each aspect of my life. Walking into Barney Greengrass alongside my childhood friend from Jewish day school on that pivotal Sunday morning, I never would have guessed that I would be reminded so clearly of why this city means so much to me.
Join the conversation!
