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1.\u00a0\u00a0 JEWISH FORK-LORE<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n Musician Mickey Katz<\/a> called chocolate phosphates “Jew beers.” \u00a0\u00a0He drank them at Solomon’s on E. 105th<\/sup> Street.<\/p>\n I drank mine at Solomon’s at the Cedar Center shopping strip, where Solomon’s moved to.<\/p>\n For some Semitic semantic reason, goys <\/em>occasionally called Cedar Center the Gaza Strip. Now it kind of is.\u00a0 The north side of Cedar Center is concrete chunks and gravel heaps. A real estate developer knocked down the 1950s-era plaza and plans to redevelop. \u00a0Who knows when.<\/p>\n Solomon’s was my family’s deli of choice. <\/strong><\/span>My father, Toby, was a “deli Jew.”\u00a0 In the Jewish world, that’s usually a putdown, meaning the person knows more about corned beef than Rashi.\u00a0 Toby’s favorite food was a “good piece of rye bread.”<\/p>\n Toby, a phosphate fan, probably didn’t drink<\/span> <\/span>more than a dozen real beers his whole life.\u00a0 He should have.\u00a0 In his retirement, when he drank booze he smiled a lot more. \u00a0A bit shiker <\/em>at one party, Toby teed off on a watermelon fruit bowl with a golf club. That stuck with me. \u00a0[Shiker<\/em> is drunk.]<\/p>\n Toby grew up in a deli. <\/strong><\/span>His mother had a candy store\/ deli at E. 118 Street and Kinsman Road. She sold it to her half-brother when he came over from the Old Country.\u00a0 Something fishy about that deal — something involving the half-brother’s wife. \u00a0\u00a0My grandmother went from candy store\/deli owner to simply candy store owner.\u00a0 Not a lateral move.<\/p>\n At the Gaza Strip, there was also Corky & Lenny’s.<\/span> (Still around \u2014 four miles east.)\u00a0\u00a0 A couple small Jews hung out in the rear booth at Corky’s.\u00a0 One was Harvey, who did collections for a major landlord.\u00a0 (Major<\/em>, to me, means more than 1,000 units.) \u00a0I knew Harvey from junior high.<\/p>\n He sued my mother. \u00a0My mother, for health reasons,<\/span> moved from her Beachwood apartment after 27 years into an assisted living facility.\u00a0 She had a couple months left on her lease.\u00a0 Harvey, who represented the major landlord, went after her. \u00a0Harvey’s boss, by the way, loved my band. \u00a0\u00a0So what. \u00a0My mother was collectable.<\/p>\n Freelance journalist David Sax <\/strong>just wrote<\/span><\/span>a book about the decline of delis.\u00a0 Here’s something for the second edition, David: Delis went downhill when they added TVs. \u00a0Now you have to watch the Browns while you eat.<\/p>\n I was deli-famous.\u00a0 At Jack’s Deli<\/span>on Green Road, I had a thank-you note up in the entrance. \u00a0\u00a0My letter was about the terrific tray for my firstborn’s<\/a> bris<\/em>. \u00a0Fatherhood was about buying huge quantities of smoked fish.\u00a0 What a blast.\u00a0 (I ordered the exact same tray for my daughter’s <\/a>naming.)<\/p>\n I complimented Jack’s Deli on its fish,<\/span> which my Aunt Bernice, The Maven, also liked.\u00a0 \u00a0I mentioned “The Maven’s seal of approval” in my letter.\u00a0 Bernice work for a food broker and knew food.<\/p>\n My letter was up for a couple years. (Acknowledgment to Henry Sapoznik for “fork-lore” in this story’s title.)<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n
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