From City Pages – 100 Favorite Dishes “#6 Brothers Deli Potato Salad: “


One of our old co-workers used to have a weekly Brothers habit: pastrami on rye, plus a trip to the salad bar for a few bites of pickled herring (!), one scoop of the three-bean, and another of the potato salad. We trained ourselves to recognize the crackle of the Styrofoam clamshell as he carried the weighty carryout box back to his desk, and soon enough we’d find a question that needed answering or some excuse to linger over his shoulder, and, plastic spoon in hand, gaze longingly at the potato salad. You’d think potato salad would be pretty much all the same, but no, Brothers version is somehow–we’d like to remain blissfully ignorant of the ingredient list, or we’ll never be able to look at it the same way again–richer, creamier, and more decadent than any other we’ve ever tried. He’d always kindly let us sneak a bite or two, until we wised up and just started hitting Brothers ourselves.

From City Pages “Best of the Twin Cities 2005”

The Brothers Deli
50 South Sixth Street, Skyway Level

Seventy years is a long time to be the pastramiking of Minneapolis, but if you’ve tucked into a pastrami sandwich atBrothers 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 CafĂ©, 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!!!

Restaurant review: Sid’s favorites

Jeremy Iggers,
Star Tribune
October 2, 2003

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.
The pickle jars are gone from the tables, but sandwich prices include a free trip to the deli buffet cart, which offers pickles, pickled beets, potato salad and several prepared salads. On a recent visit, I tried their new grilled beef bulgogi sandwich with red peppers and onions — not exactly traditional deli fare, but terrific.

From City Pages; Volume 23 – Issue 1112 – Dish

The return of an institution proves why God created pastrami.
Oh, Brothers’

by Dara Moskowitz
March 27, 2002

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 justn 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.)