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Seventy years is a long time to be the pastrami
king of Minneapolis, but if you've tucked into a pastrami sandwich at
Brothers lately, all hot and steamy, piled high on good thick rye,
ecstatic with the precisely correct ratio of soul, nostalgia, and
salt, you'll know that even 70 years in, the reign of this emperor is
still just and good. What, you say, smarty-pants? Nothing in
Minneapolis is 70 years old? We immediately bulldoze anything that
begins to amass that terrifying stink of history? Okay, yes, that is
true. To trace the full 70 years of Brothers you have to remember
Mike's Café, opened by the current Brothers grandfather in the space
now occupied by that check-cashing joint near the 7th St. Entry, where
Grandpa Mike used to cure his own corned beef and pastrami, and simmer
down his own oxtails. Well, today the oxtails are out, and fresh
salads with homemade dressings like blue cheese and mustard-maple are
in, but otherwise the soul, the spirit, and, above all, the corned
beef and pastrami (now flown in from the Bronx) are as strong as 70
years' experience should bring. So won't you join us in offering a
bouquet of exclamation points as a toast to Brothers' first 70 years,
and all our wishes for 70 years more!!!
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Restaurant review: Sid's favorites
Jeremy Iggers, Star
Tribune
October 2, 2003
DELI DELIGHTS For a more casual downtown lunch, Hartman often
drops in at Brothers Deli, where he usually orders the brisket sandwich
and the hearty beet and beef borscht soup. "It's exactly what you get
in New York City when you go to the Stage Deli or the Carnegie Deli,"
says Hartman. "Same corned beef, same brisket, same borscht."
The little skyway lunch spot can't match the classic New York City Jewish
delis for atmosphere, but their deli sandwiches, such as the brisket on
rye, are delicious and reasonably priced. |
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| From City Pages; Volume 23 - Issue 1112 - Dish
The return of an institution proves why God
created pastrami. In 1993 Jeff Burstein decided that he'd start a new deli from scratch. He went and apprenticed at the Carnegie Deli in New York, and the rest is history. Last fall he moved his operation to the new Dorsey building, near Sixth Street South and Nicollet Mall, and went about serving the best pastrami and corned-beef sandwiches in town. What does that mean? Well, it's just that some people have a bone-deep passion and interest in a good sandwich, and they pursue the perfection of it with a talent and attention to detail that everyone else is too lazy or sane to approach. What Burstein does for his pastrami and corned beef is that he imports it all from a kosher butcher in the Bronx, ordering only the best fatty cuts of corned beef. "I learned that at the Carnegie," says Burstein. "The first day I was there I heard the counter man shouting on the phone: 'Send me your fattest corned beef!' That's where all the flavor is. If it's not fat enough, it's not juicy enough. Then we trim the fat off to serve, so it tastes lean and strong, but juicy." They take that good corned beef, then re-pickle it with their own garlic and pickling spice, to get just the right flavor. They keep it hot in steam trays, and by the time you get it, it's potent, soft, full of cloves and garlic, and just smells spectacular. That minutely attended meat is served on bread Burstein orders from a secret source in New York, getting in frozen parbaked loaves and baking them every day. I can't think of any other sandwich in the Twin Cities that has been sourced with such attention. Put a Dr. Brown's soda on your tray and carry it to one of the tables where half-sour pickles wait in large Mason jars and pickled beets hide in small ones, and a little sort of heaven awaits. Personally, I think Brothers' corned beef these days is better than the stuff at such New York temples as the Second Avenue Deli, and I'm not afraid to say it in print, even though I know I'm going to be defending that opinion weekly until the end of time. (The sandwiches cost $4.95 for a normal size, and $8.95 for a gargantuan one.) To read the entire article, please click here... |
