The Beef
Everyone knows you go to Manny’s for the history, the celebrity-watch, the matzoh ball soup, the pastrami, the kind and generous customer service of the Raskin family, and maybe most of all, the deep cutting observations of Gino Gambarota, the old school counter-man, lord of the (meat) slice.
(I love Gino so much, one of my prized possessions is this slap of Gino done by the artist Roux, aka chef Cecilio Rodriguez)
When I brought my toddler son, now 17 as of this very day on which I write, to sample his first Manny’s latke, Gino took one look at him and said, “What a beautiful boy. Good thing he looks like his mother.”
I have been considering plastic surgery ever since.
Gino was not wrong. My oldest does look like my better half and his baby photos are a spitting image of her grandmother’s. And both of these ladies are much better looking than me.
Gino’s gimlet-eyed criticism is my brand of tea.
I also don’t think Manny’s has been better, more focused, or as inviting in the last decade as it has under Dan Raskin’s leadership. Though the pandemic extracted its toll, I believe the investments he’s made will ensure my grandchildren will have a shot to eat there.
As a student of Chicago history, Manny’s existence means so much, because I am keenly aware of the history we’ve lost in the area. I miss the haberdashers, the milliners and even the fabric stores.
Polishes and hot dogs still get slung, but from refurbed modern stands in different locations from their original spots. Due to the pandemic, they’re also no longer open 24/7.
Now that I’m older, lazier, and less of a night owl, this shouldn’t matter, but there’s a certain urban pulse and comfort to know that if you’ve done too many Malört shots straight from the tap at Scofflaw, there’s a juicy bone-in-pork chop available at 3 a.m.. Without that, I might as well move to Schaumburg.
I never got to eat there, but maybe the place I miss most of all from the Maxwell-area, based on what I’ve read, is Nate’s Deli run by the 6’ 5” Nate Duncan, an African American who spoke Yiddish. He learned the language as a long time employee of Lyon’s deli, his prior employer that he bought out. Ironically, they knocked Nate’s down and built a Jamba Juice, which in its own sweet karmic way is also now closed.
The one thing that doesn’t bring me to this corner of the city, however, is Manny’s corned beef.