posted on October 14, 2008 at 2:58 pm
Whenever I mention deli, people inevitably bring up Bagel Palace. I have honestly never been crazy about it. Well, I went back after a few years away to see if I was missing something. We were lucky and got there right before the lines started forming. It only took a brief exchange with our waiter to realize he was in over his head. He ran off to tend to another table while we decided on our order. Ordering was bit frustrating and troublesome because it took him 3 tries for him to write down our order of latkes, matzoh ball soup and a corned beef and pastrami sandwich on untoasted rye. I thought to myself that they must be short-staffed and brushed it off. But the worry turned to dread as soon as I saw the looks on my neighbors’ faces. I was having brunch in the middle of one big clusterf**k.
After a good 15 minutes, our soup arrived. Moon had no silverware and tried to flag down our server, but got up after five minutes to ask a waitress who handed him a teaspoon. As I was eating what has to be the blandest and saddest matzo ball soup I have had in a long time, I spied a food runner come out with our order, which our server nervously sent back. My heart sank
. That food was officially on its way to reheatville and its homecoming was not going to be a joyous occasion. After clearing our soup bowls, the waiter brought out a plate of latkes that were burned around the edges and our sandwich, which was on toasted white bread–not rye. We sent it back because no self-respecting Jew and New Yorker would ever
eat pastrami on white bread. The hockey pucks, I mean, latkes were dry and gummy, but we ate them to tide ourselves over and contemplated making a meal out of the promising cookies from the bakery case.
Our sandwich finally arrived and it was not good, people. Stiff pieces of toasted
rye resembling rice cakes and dry pastrami and corned beef that tasted more like salami. We attempted to salvage it with a lot of mustard, but it quickly became clear that it was beyond repair. We abandoned all hope, begrudgingly paid the $35 bill without the slightest glance at formerly tempting bakery case and fled to Buford Highway for guaranteed salvation.
Address: 2869 N. Druid Hills Rd., 30329