4.5 >- 11
Below, Eric Rosenow and Rudy
Leiser enjoy Lunch at the Stage in
Oak Park, considered the
granddaddy of Detroit's suburban
delis. Waitresses Roz Sonnessahl,
below, and Irene Wagers, above,
serve the lunch crowd.
and everyone came there."
And those who did come —
whether by grand carriages from
their homes or on foot from nearby
businesses and courts — knew
Grandma Lil, the "big lady with the
purplish-white hair," according to
her grandson, who began his own
deli career at age 5, doling out hot-
dog buns by his grandmother's side.
"She didn't actually run the
place," Piaseczny explained, "but she
was always there. Every now and
then someone would dish out too
much and she'd yell Gunug!
(`Enough!')."
As expressways developed and
first-generation Jews became second-
and third-generation Americans,
tastes changed. No longer was the
sauerkraut barrel stored outside the
back door. Nor was tongue the meat
of choice.
"I used to carry two kinds of
tongue — smoked and pickled," re-
called Piaseczny, who now owns a
Lefkofsky's Delicatessen in Eagt De-
troit and Lefkofsky's Commissary
(St. Aubin and Warren), a wholesale
delicatessen supplier. "I made good
money on it. We'd go through six
tongues a day. Then five. Then we
were down to two tongues a week.
And then there were none."
But a new generation of Jews
still flocked to the delis of Northwest
Detroit: Billy's and Lou's and Sol's,
Modern and Brothers, Boesky's and
Topor's. And Fredson's, the place for
a quick rock-'n-rye and fries — for
those daring enough to duck Assis-
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